Page 76 of The Hitchhiker in Panama
“I knew it could happen,” she went on, “and I did it anyway. So I had to leave. It was unprofessional of me, and while I am glad to be on board this boat, I miss the dynamic of professional crew.”
We were silent for a moment.
“And maybe,” she said with a slight smile, “I miss land a lot.”
* * *
Neither Eivind nor I were sleeping. Eivind tossed and turned, kicking and stretching. I had an itch that wouldnot go away.
“Eivind! Jesus!” I huffed as he flipped over again. “What is going on over there?”
“I was too busy cleaning bird shit off the boat to exercise this morning, and then it got hot, and I feel . . . justuncomfortable.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got something going on with my bum. Seriously, it’s so itchy!”
“Really?” Eivind switched on the light and sat up in bed. “Let me see.”
I turned over, throwing a leg over his lap and burying my face in the mattress. Eivind’s hand smoothed my skin, and he clucked his tongue.
“You have a rash here. Did you shower today?”
“Just before bed. It’s so hot, there’s no point in showering during the day. I’m just going to get sweaty again.”
“Lila,” he chided, “we are lucky enough to have a watermaker, and you can do a quick rinse twice a day, especially with the cockpit as wet as it has been lately. If you are sitting on damp cushions or shorts, you will get a rash.”
I whimpered into the sheets. “The shower’s just so small, and when the boat rolls a lot . . . I’m not seasick, but it’s still uncomfortable.”
“I know.” He patted my butt. “Hold on, I have some cream.” Eivind threw on shorts and grabbed his headlamp before disappearing into the hallway. He was back a few minutes later, and he sat on the bed and pulled me into his lap.
“This is not too bad. I have seen worse.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Do I want to know how bad it gets?”
“Well, we had a friend who crossed the Atlantic without a watermaker, and he got becalmed for a few days. If you do not have fresh water, you rinse off in salt water more often, and when he arrived in the Caribbean, he had a rash all over his entire body.”
“Ew.”
“An even worse one . . . we watched a documentary at a film festival about these two guys who rowed across the Atlantic. They ended up having to, ah . . . drain the boils on each other’s butts.”
“Eivind! Gross!” I swatted at him, and he laughed.
“It did look painful.”
“I bet. Well, no boils on my bum, right?”
“Hmm . . . I may have to do a big inspection,” he teased, running his hands over me. “No boils. But you might want to think about doing your watches downstairs during the day now. You can check the horizon from the windows and use the downstairs electronics. And there is a fan we can blow onto the desk. You will not be wet from the waves, and you might sweat less.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You are welcome, darling.” He kissed me quickly on the lips and rolled over onto his back.
I followed him, resting on my side, and swung a leg over Eivind’s. “I know you missed your workout this morning, but you could do a different workout . . .”
Thirty-Four
I had a lazy morning. Eivind was up on watch, but, having nothing better to do, I stayed in bed and read.
My phone alarm went off at 11:45—it was time for my shift. I dressed and opened the door to the main salon where Marcella prepped lunch. Most of our meals nowadays were some variation of bread and canned meat. Yesterday had been tuna; today was pâté. As bland as eating out of cans seemed, Marcella always managed to pull out a treat to go with it: spicy mustard or capers. Add in the homemade bread, and lunches were shockingly amazing.
