What We Do without Money

by Victoria Polk

(continued from p. 29 of print edition)

read part one

That night I woke up when a boat bumped against the hull. There was laughter and the sound of someone tripping on the companionway. I got up and went to the main salon, blinking in the dark. Through the smoked glass windows I could see Stan and Dulcie stumbling on board. They were drunk and Dulcie was dancing on deck in a tight skirt. Stan grabbed at her, pulling her down. The boat lurched slightly from a passing wake and they fell against each other. Dulcie shoved him away laughing but then got drunkenly serious and slowly unzipped her skirt, pulling it and the rest of her clothes off until she stood, smoothly naked. When Stan reached for her she climbed away onto a cockpit seat. She stood posing like a model, one leg bent, head up, small breasts pushed together as she leaned slightly forward. There was a sheen on her; some outside light her skin picked up. When he tried for her again she climbed out of reach. She laughed but this time he shook his head and gave up, making his way blindly towards the aft cabin. Dulcie stood alone for a moment surrounded by stars. When she heard Stan calling she grabbed her clothes and held them tightly against her; bent and docile. She hurried after him.

We were having the worst heat wave in years, people said. The Christmas winds had come and gone, and every day was full of a building heat that wasn’t relieved by even a slight breeze. There was nothing to do but just keep working, and it kept getting hotter. The trees and bushes were dusty by the side of the roads. No one ventured out until after dark and then they shuffled along in the streets, moving slowly from one place to the other. The boat generators roared, keeping their interiors cool. Grace closed her shop, someone said, shut tight as a drum.

Stan came and went, without a word. He spent all his time at the club or with friends, and wasn’t seen in town. Dulcie spent hours down by the docks waiting for him. We’d been on the boat for a few weeks and it felt like years.

One day when Mike was in town and Stan was gone, I signed off the boat. All I could hear were my own footfalls until the path opened up near Grace’s. There were no cooking smells or sounds of music or people. The place was closed up tightly with pink-painted shutters nailed over the windows and all the tables piled together. The sign that readAmazing Grace—Straight Aheadhad been pried off the bush, and one lone goat stood by the dark house steadily chewing a dish towel. I thought Grace was gone for good until I saw her sitting under the lime tree.

She was sitting on the worn bench were the old men played Warri every night. Her feet sat in a pan of cool water, and there was a pitcher of limeade propped up next to her. She sat comfortably with her hands folded in her lap. From this part of the hill you could see all the boats of Falmouth Harbor lined up in rows. Goliath sat among them, her wide transom facing the shore and looking from this height like all the other yachts in the harbor.

“It’s too hot to be walking, don’t you know,” she said, moving over slightly to make room for me on the bench. I was dizzy from the trip and breathing hard. She spoke softly and poured a rum glass full of limeade for me. I drank it down.

Grace sighed. “There’s nothing I can do for my girl now. I keep her home, I beat her every time I see her, I lock her in, I set people to watch her so she don’t leave, but she leave. Every night she gone.” She shook her head. “Her sister in New York say I should send Dulcie to her, but I say, if I can’t keep her from one man here, how she going to protect this girl from a sea of men there, eh? How is anyone to protect a girl from a man? How I supposed to stop her? She has money now. He gave it to her.” She sighed. “She’ll come back when he’s tired of her. Until then, I don’t know.”

“You’ve done everything you can, Grace.”

“Not everything,” she said, eyes sharp and staring. “You don’t look so good, Amy. You know, a woman when she’s grown better learn to watch out for herself. It’s one thing for a girl, young and ignorant, but once she grown she should take care.”

“I know.” I drank another glass of limeade and got up to leave, thanking her. The heat hit me like a fist when I left the tree shade, and I cut a broad leaf from the bush and held it over my head like Grace said I should. “Don’t you go down the hill by yourself. What if you fall down fainting? Leon will go with you.” Grace yelled out and Leon appeared from the house, well-dressed and looking at his watch.

“I didn’t mean to get you out of the house.”

“It’s okay,” he said. I’m going into town anyway to catch the bus. I’m doing some work in St. John. It’s extra on my day off, but hey, what we do without money?” He laughed and shook his head. He wore a good straw hat and ironed clothes again, with patches of baby powder on his neck and chest. He looked fresh and relaxed. “Besides, Grace always like you.”

“Not lately. I came up to apologize about Dulcie.”

“Why you care so much about Dulcie’s misdeeds, eh?

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He shrugged. “Dulcie’s quiet, but she’s smart—always arranging things for herself. She’ll be all right. Who knows? Maybe Dulcie will misdeed herself right into a good future.” He laughed heartily at this and turned at the bottom of the hill, heading to town. “I go this way now.” I waved thanks and kept the leaf above me, walking on.

I woke up in the middle of the night. The boat was cool but the land steamed in the dank air. Mike slept quietly under a sheet. I stared at all the boat hulls along the dock in that bright light. The gleaming topsides looked mottled and pitted. There were swarms of small black bugs clinging to the slick white surfaces. Rain flies, Grace had called them. They were everywhere, swarming on the boats in thick dark masses. They came out on nights like this, which meant the rains would come soon. Stan and Dulcie were out there also, standing on the end of the dock with the moonlight bearing down on them. She was shouting, calling him a liar and a fat man. At one point Stan started to leave and Dulcie hit him in the back of his head. When he came on board he staggered, almost losing his footing on the slick teak deck. When I lay back down to sleep I saw Mike’s eyes wide open. He’d been darkened even more by the sun in the past few weeks and his eyes were an unearthly white. I felt him watching as I turned away.

The next morning Stan was up early. Everyone on board could hear him. “I don’t understand why this is such a surprise,” he yelled, leaning into Mike. “I hired you to drive this boat, it’s that simple. Now I want to get out of here, and I want to do that as soon as I can. I don’t care how many little chores you’ve got to do before we leave, as long as we’re out of here today. If you can’t do that, I’m sure I can find a captain on this island who will.” He paced the deck, dropping cigar ashes everywhere.

“The cook’s got to provision ... ,” Mike said.

“So do it! What’s everyone waiting for? This is a boat, you’re the crew, and we’re going boating now, you get it?”

Mike stood completely still. “Where are we going?”

“Away from here, that’s for sure.” Stan rubbed his hands through his hair and walked away. Mike watched him.

“Where are we going?” he asked again.

“Trinidad,” Stan yelled out. “It’s Carnival, I heard.”

The crew was on deck now. Mike turned towards them and his face was dark, hostile, and hard like a shell. “You heard him,” he said.

We left at nightfall. I stood on deck when the engines started up. They made deep, throaty sounds as Mike eased her from the dock. The water churned with phosphorescence and the air in the harbor was rank with diesel fumes. The boat pivoted slowly. In the yellow light from the moon I could make out a dark figure on shore, throwing something. A small stone hit the deck and skidded into the scupper.

With water seething from our props I held the rail and watched the island slip away. In front of us was the mouth of the harbor and the Caribbean Sea. I turned to face the breeze. The night was clear and the water churned below, fanning out in a long flat wake behind us. We faced Montserrat, surrounded by ash clouds that covered the stars. There was a wide band of pumice rock bobbing on the water and we plowed through it like parting a field of stones.

Stan sat in the main salon watching videos. I peered at him through a porthole, hunched over in his chair and smoking one cigar after the other. I passed by unnoticed.

I slept well as we cruised south at eighteen knots. Mike set watches and came down to the cabin to rest on short breaks. In the early morning he was gone and I stepped out on deck to feel the air. It was a beautiful day, with the Grenadines in our wake and a shining sea between us and Venezuela. I leaned into the warm breeze. A weight had been lifted off me now, like I had escaped something.

I heard running water down below in the master cabin. That was odd since Stan was never up early. I went below for coffee and when I came back on deck I stopped short, looking down. There, leading out from the master stateroom, were small wet footprints surrounded by white baby powder. I looked up and saw Stan.

“Well,” he said, puffing an early morning cigar, “seems we have a stowaway.” Dulcie stood behind him, wrapped in a white towel. She smiled at me.

“Nice to be away, eh?”

By the time I got to the pilothouse I was shaking. “Do you know who’s here?”

“Yes,” Mike said. You were sleeping when Stan found her. She’d stowed away in the shower stall. When he went below to let her out they started yelling at each other, but then it got quiet and the next thing you know he’s up here announcing to the crew that we have a guest on board.”

“Do we call anybody?”

“No. We’re going to Trinidad, and Dulcie’s coming with us. Stan talked to his friends who are going to meet us there, and he was bragging about his island babe. I guess he’s not sending her home.”

“What about Grace?”

“I asked Dulcie when she was going to tell her mom. She said she’d call Leon today, and he’ll tell her.” He shrugged. “It’s their business.”

“She better call soon. This is like, kidnapping, or something. She’s a minor. Grace must be going crazy.”

“Dulcie told her she was going to St. John’s for a few days.”

I sighed, looking aft. There was nothing but water behind us now.

Stan was planning a big party once we got to Trinidad, and he gathered the crew on the aft deck for a full staff meeting about it. Dulcie was there with him, sitting quietly. “I want this boat spotless,” Stan said, “and I want two more coats of varnish on the deck furniture. I’ve got a tub of caviar coming from St. Martin, and I want it sitting in the middle of a shining table. Is that clear?” he said. The crew nodded. Dulcie leaned back against the cabin house wearing an iridescent blue dress that shimmered in the bright sun. Everyone watched her. She wore a dark green band around her hair that offset the dress, and her brown skin shone against the white boat hull. Mike stared at her. “You look like the deep blue sea,” he said. She smiled.

I spent the day getting things ready. After talking to Stan I realized he hadn’t actually ordered his caviar but expected it, anyway. There was one wholesaler I knew on the French side of St. Martin, but I couldn’t get through on the sat-com. I sat down for awhile on the aft deck settee, staring at the sea. It was the end of the day and the sea held more light than the sky.

I turned and saw Dulcie. She sat down in a deck chair, hugging her legs like a child. “My mother thought I would never run off like this, because I was scared of many things. Now I’m only scared of being poor. My sisters and Leon, they smart—really smart—but I’m not like them. All I have is this,” she looked down the length of her body. “My mother says I compromise myself. But I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’ll tell my mother. Maybe she’ll understand then.” She faced me and I stared at the perfect symmetry of her features. “After Trinidad, Stan and I fly to New York. Leon says once I’m working and the money comes he’ll take care of it, and my mother. Grace will have a brand new house way up in the hills overlooking English and Falmouth harbors. That’s what she wants.” I could barely see her in the growing darkness, but her face was set. “I do this to take care of myself and my family,” she said, looking at my crew clothes. “What you do this for?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

“I’ve always known what I had to do, even when I was small. Now it’s time.” When she left I watched her walk away, swinging her arms carelessly and looking for Stan.

“Little miss,” I said, hissing. “Little miss thing.” It was a clear night with a warm wind and the sky was a curved dome of bright lights. I watched a satellite travel through the constellations like a slow shooting star.

Mike and Stan argued about the approach. Stan wanted to go around the southern end of Trinidad and enter through Serpent’s Mouth, because he saw it on the chart and liked the name. Mike said the sooner we got into the Gulf of Paria, the better. He told Stan we could enter directly from the north through Dragon’s Mouth, which sounded just as good. Stan agreed finally, but told Mike he was a smart-ass.

We anchored in a harbor full of jellyfish and oil rigs. Carnival had begun, and music blared from the shore. Goliath was suddenly crawling with people, with yacht club launches bringing more guests on every trip. I ordered cases of champagne and even the caviar, and hired a local steel band for the week. Somehow Dulcie found time to shop in town. She had clothes now, brightly colored but tasteful. She wore sunglasses and looked a good deal older. Stan held her tightly and introduced her to island officials, club commodores, local businessmen. She held her head high and smiled slightly. With Stan’s American friends she was more animated, and every one of them said they’d show her New York. She kept their cards.

I hired locals to help onboard. All of Goliath ’s systems were running at full capacity and the crew was exhausted. The generators roared all night. Mike brought the boat in for water and supplies whenever he could. We had no time and few words for each other. One evening during a cocktail party I found myself cornered by a sunburned man in a linen blazer. He held my arm to keep my attention as he ordered his drinks. Across the deck I could see Mike by the boarding ladder greeting guests and shaking their hands. We looked at each other as strangers held us.

Someone said a small boatful of harbor thieves tried to board us earlier, but a gun-wielding bay patrol spirited them away before there was an incident. Everyone heard shots. Last night one woman guest barricaded her husband in the chain locker and cried until someone let him out. People swarmed the deck and leaned into each other laughing; their backs to the sea.

The island quieted down as soon as Carnival was over. The guests disappeared as quickly as they came. I bought a case of bleach and the crew started scrubbing the dried drinks, food, and bleeding crepe-paper dye off the decks. Stan and Dulcie were getting ready to leave for the States, and Goliath was due back in Antigua. As soon as they were gone we’d head up to the Antilles where I’d look for a new boat. I had no idea what Mike would do.

Dulcie came over to say goodbye. She was dressed in black for traveling but looked cool in the island sun. “You’ll talk to Grace, Amy?” she asked.

“I will. Hell, I might even take your job once we’re back in Antigua. I’ve had enough boats for awhile.”

She shrugged. “You do what’s best.”

Mike was in the pilot house. He stared at the chart plotter with his face in his tattooed hands, and didn’t look up when I entered.

He leaned out the window and shouted orders to the mate. The engines roared and the anchor rose through the gelatinous harbor water. “Let’s get out of here.”

I stood on the aft deck while we left. The boat moved quickly and I watched the town, the gulf, and then the whole island recede in our wake. We were in open water now, and Goliath pitched and rolled on the ocean swells. I planted my feet well, guarding my balance. The water rushed by.

Victoria Polk sails with her yacht captain husband and lives in Rhode Island. Her work has been published inThe Caribbean Writer.