Page 156 of The End of the World As We Know It
Edmund didn’t say,Aye, aye. He looked so crushed that Marie felt sorry for him.
“Why did that guy burn your boat?” Marie asked. The hidden story cried out to be told before they were alone with this man. “He wasn’t just some random pirate.”
The Boat Man looked at her, surprised by her insight. Up close, she saw how leathery his skin was from the sun, making his age impossible to guess. “What’s that, girlie?”
“My name’s Marie.”
Edmund snickered. “Better call her by her name.” (Which was funny, since neither of them called the Boat Man by his name, which he’d said was John. Or maybe Jake.)
The Boat Man licked his parched lips. “All righty then…Marie. That fuckstick was married to the love of my life. She ran away from him and lived on my boat with me for six months. Best six months of my whole life. Then he threatened her like the piece of shit he is and she went back to him. She didn’t make it—but he did. Cuz there ain’t no justice or right in this shitty world, is there?”
They agreed that there was no justice or right. And yes, the world obviously was shitty.
“My only regret is, I should’ve killed that asshole,” he went on. “That way I could have been with her at the end instead of him.”
They sat in silence that felt like a funeral, with seagulls as their sad choir. Marie remembered that she would miss the sound of seagulls on the open water. Granpè Jean had told her that he thought he was dead on his leaky boat until the morning he heard the seagulls’ cries.
“Can we go kill him?” Edmund said. “Before we go?”
Marie sucked her teeth, annoyed. Edmund couldn’twaitto kill someone, the sin of sins.
“No point now,” the Boat Man said.
“Who was that dead woman by the buoy?” Marie said. Now thatthey were teaming together, she was more troubled by the memory of him sitting placidly above a corpse. Had he killed her? Was that what her dream had been trying to tell her?
“Some jumper, I guess. I was thinking about doing it, too. Till…” His voice sounded strangled. The navigation meeting was over then, because he stood up and walked away to be by himself, swinging by the taut ropes.
Edmund leaned over to whisper to Marie. “Is hecrying? What a pussy. If some guy burnedmyboat, I would’ve shot him a hundred times. And no way we’re dumpingProud Mary. If he doesn’t watch out, I’m gonna dumphim.” He pulled open his jacket to show Marie that he was still carrying one of his guns, maybe a .32. Of course he was. Maybe she should be, too. She had her choice of guns and ammo from the heavy bag Edmund had moved to their shared cabin.
Marie looked toward the Boat Man, mostly to make sure he hadn’t overheard Edmund. But he was out on the back of the vessel (the stern?) staring across the marina toward where his boat, and his best times, once had been moored. Marie felt a strong urge to climb offProud Maryand return to the pier, terrified to share such a confined home with two people who both might be as nutty as a Mr. Goodbar—and Edmund wasfor sure. Could she protect any of them once they were trapped together?
The Boat Man felt her staring. He turned around and seemed pleased, grinning at her with those rotting teeth. He took off his captain’s cap and dipped it in a way that was supposed to look gentlemanly. But the gesture only made Marie shiver, worse than being calledgirlie.
“Wind’s picking up, crew!” he called out. The grief in his voice was replaced by excitement. “Yo ho ho! Time to set sail!”
Exactly what a pirate would say.
At first, Marie wondered why she hadn’t sailed away long before. The Boat Man and Edmund were focused on what lay ahead, adjusting their course, but Marie stared behind her. As theProud Marychugged from the harbor, the green-blue waters fully embracing them, she thought she’d never seen anything as exciting as the land fading away.
All of the dead, gone. The smell, gone. The memories, gone. (Oh, the memories would assault her the rest of her life, but at least she would not be immersed in them from the time she woke each day.) Her joints shook with combined grief and ecstasy as the land began to look hazy. Imaginary. Only the water was real. She hadn’t realized how hard it had been to breathe until she drew in salty air that bathed her lungs. Had Granpè Jean felt this when he left Ayiti? She was sure he had. She could almost feel his steady hands on her shoulders.
This was the sensible thing, he seemed to assure her.You’re in control of your future now.
For their first meal together, she spread out a white tablecloth she found folded in a drawer. They already had five eggs, so Marie whipped up a Spam omelet for them to share, and it was pretty tasty even though Edmund drowned his in ketchup from the fast-food packets his uncle had left behind. They ate at the cockpit table together like a family breakfast inLittle House on the Prairie, laughing and smiling while the chickens clucked.
It’s working, she thought.We’re actually doing this.
A jinx if there ever was one.
“There you go,” the Boat Man said, looking at Marie. “I knew you had a smile in you.”
He winked at her again.. The idea that he was noticing whether or not she smiled made Marie lose her appetite.
“Wind’s good,” the Boat Man said. “Let’s unfurl those sails and knock off the engine. Gotta save our fuel.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!” Edmund said. He leaped from his seat mid-bite to go to the controls.
By lunchtime, she saw the clouds. Summertime was always the time for storms, so she wasn’t surprised when the clear skies began to fill with paint brush strokes of gray clouds that were only white at the edges, darkest in their bellies. Rain had a smell, too, even before it began. Storms were the main villain in all of Granpè Jean’s worst stories at sea.
