Fr. Houdek is well liked here, but we get fewer at mass every Sunday. That is how it seems to me. The people like him, but do not come. This morning, I said the ten o'clock mass. Until today, I have been careful to speak out as little as possible, keeping my homilies brief and talking only about the gospel for the day (or the bazaar). Today I was brief, too, but I talked about marriage, the sacred character of it and the need for repentance. Without it there can be no forgiveness.
Where there is no repentance, forgiveness is only permission by another name. I hope I said that.
The human heart is like a bird, I said. It flutters from this place to that- then back to the first as often as not. Poets say we must follow our hearts. Anyone who reads their lives will soon see where that leads and where it ends.
The people were not smiling when mass was over. I shook their hands as I always do, standing in the blessed winter sunshine outside the doors. I hate doing it, but it is my duty and I try to do it well. Usually someone says how hard my hand is. No one did that today.
Maybe it would have been better if they had smiled. Soon, very soon now, the communists will fall. Then I will begin the long voyage back to her. Returning to our old position meant sailing against the wind, and that meant tacking this way and that, in a ship without a mainmast. I would be lying if I said we gained with every tack we made. Often enough we gained nothing, and sometimes we actually lost, thrown back by the wind. Half the watch was putting up the jury mast, a poor stubby thing but the longest spar we had. It is no easy matter to tack a square-rigged ship, so we put a gaffsail on the jury mast. Tacking means sailing as close to the wind as possible, and one always wishes to sail a little closer. Another point, half a point. I prayed for both of those.
We made long tacks, of course, an hour this way and two that way. With our crew we had to, and Antonio proved his worth once and for all. Jarden and the quartermaster wanted to throw half the cargo overboard. That would have hurt more than it helped, I think. Riding deep gave the keel more bite.
We saw nothing that first day, but by the end of it the jury mast was up and the new gaffsail filling, and we had a handier crew than the one that had eaten breakfast that morning. One of the good things about a gaffsail is that the gaff can reach higher than the mast. With a short mast like ours, that is a great advantage. There are bad things, too, but that good one was plenty good enough for me just then.
Sleeping was a problem. Jarden wanted to give me the captain's cabin. I would have felt like a bully if I had taken it, and if I had shared it with him he would have wanted to give me the bunk while he slept on the floor with Azuka. I ended up sleeping on the quarterdeck aft of the wheel, saying I was worried that the jury mast would not hold in a blow, and that we might pass the Magdelena in the dark. None of it was true, although the last came near it.
In one way my sleeping on deck like that was good, but it was bad in another. When I finally stretched out on my folded canvas, I never guessed that it was the beginning of a night I would never forget. Each night in the rectory, when I have brushed my teeth and gotten into my pajamas, I cannot help remembering that one. No other night of my life has been quite like it. Let me start with the good.
The night sky was as clear as crystal, and there was no moon. I looked out into the vast universe, saluting suns and families of suns far away, and watched the planets creep among them-bloody Mars, and Venus radiant and pure in her robe of cloud. For the first time in my life I really understood that I rode a planet like those, that Earth and I were swinging through the dark vault even when we smiled in the sunlight. All my life I had thought of Heaven as a vague place far away, a mysterious land outside the universe where God sits a golden throne. That night I realized that Heaven is not far away at all-that Heaven is wherever God is, and that God is everywhere. That every human soul is His throne room.
Hell is right here, too.
The artists of the Middle Ages painted allegories, we say. What really happened was that they saw more clearly than we do, and painted what they saw-angels and devils, beasts, and half-human monsters like me.
How long did I lie there staring up at the stars? It must have been some time, since I distinctly recall their movement across the sky. I knew then that the blessed dead see God face-to-face, and felt that I, too, had seen some small part of what they saw. It was glorious, and beyond my poor powers of description. Eventually I slept.
A woman was caressing me when I woke, and I was naked, or seemed naked, from the waist down. I thought then that I was wrong, that Novia had not been left behind on the Magdelena, that she was here with me on this ship. How had I come to make such a foolish mistake? Had I dreamed that she had been left behind? She kissed me and stretched her bare body on mine, and did certain other things it would be wrong for me to describe here or anywhere. It felt good. I would be lying if I said that it did not. There was clean desire in it, and love, too. Real love.
Here at the Youth Center, I have heard boys say that there is good sex and bad sex, but that even bad sex is pretty good. I have had bad sex and they are wrong. They speak as they do because they think it sounds cool. They will change their minds about how it sounds when they get older. I have had bad sex, as I said, but I had none that night.
When I really woke at last, I sat up-and lay down again at once. "Azuka," I whispered, "what are you up to? Jarden will kill us."
She giggled. "He sleeps, Chris. I tired him very, very big."
"Me, too."
"Not nearly so grand as Jarden. Nor will he kill you. I have taken your measure and his. He could not do it and would not try. Mzwilili will not care. He is honored."
So there were three of us. It took me a second or so to digest that.
"You must not tell your Novia. She will be angry with me. Tell her too much, if you enjoy this telling." Azuka giggled again. "You lie to make her jealous. That is what Novia shall think. I must be with when you tell, Chris." She kissed me. "I wish to hear everything."
"If I had any guts at all, I'd throw you over the railing." I started to stand up and discovered that my pants were still around one ankle.
"You will not do that."
I knew she was right. I liked her too much.
Okay, I loved her. Besides, she had saved us from hanging. I made her go back to Jarden, and made her promise to be quiet about it.
"I will not wake him," she whispered. "Too much you have tired me, Chris."
After that I went forward to relieve myself. The watch was snoring through the making tack, lying on deck like so many dead men. When I came back, I had a long talk with the man at the wheel. When I felt sure he would keep his mouth shut, I lay back down again and slept until the sun woke me. I guess I ought to say here that Magdelena was lying alongside the next morning, but she was not. I know we did not sight her that day. It may have been the day after, but I cannot be sure.
When we did, she had a Spanish capture with her. That was the Castillo Blanco, but you could not buy hamburgers on her. Jokes aside, the Castillo Blanco was a galley, and maybe the most beautiful ship I ever saw, low, slick, and sleek, with two fore-and-aft masts and a long bowsprit that carried two square spirit sails. Before I go any further with this, I ought to say that she was not like the kind of galley people think of today when they hear the word, a sort of prison ship with galley slaves chained to the oars. She had oarlocks in the rails and the long oars we call sweeps, but the crew pulled them, not slaves, and although they could be very, very handy in a dead calm, they did not get used a whole lot. I had already fallen in love with Magdelena. You have probably seen that, if you have actually read this far. With Castillo Blanco it was different. I did not really fall hard for the Magdelena until we had her bottom clean and the jib up. With Castillo Blanco it was love at first sight.
Jarden launched the boat Antonio had come in, and had me rowed over to Magdelena. Azuka was left behind on the Rosa. Rombeau and Novia were waiting for me as I came over the side of the Magdelena. We set a course for Port Royal and told Jarden to follow us. And it was like coming home. This is pretty stupid, I know, but I am going to do it anyway. For the past two days I have been trying to talk myself out of telling what Rombeau said and what I said, what Novia said, how we hugged and kissed and held hands, and all that. I have been trying, but I cannot do it. Those things are too important to me. If I do not write about the things that were important to me, I cannot write at all.
The weather was great. There was a little breeze to cool us off, and the sun was low in the west. That sunset had FAIR WEATHER written all over it. The stormy season was coming, but there were not any storms yet. Or if there were, they were nowhere near us. I got one of the men to carry a chair up for Novia. The rest of us stood, or sat on the railing.
But before I tell about that-the whole crew was glad to see me, and it was something I will never forget. They came crowding around when I came up on board, and we shook hands and hugged each other and all that. I had never made a special effort to learn everybody's name, but I found out I had learned practically all of them. Mostly it was just the last name, which was what we used mainly. Sometimes it was the first name or a nickname, but I had some kind of a name for just about everybody.
Then Novia came pushing through, and we hugged and kissed for about a year, and she gave me that wonderful smile. A long time after that Rombeau got me aft and had Dubec chase the crew back where they were supposed to be, although the mizzen men were close enough to hear a lot and the man at the wheel must have heard everything.
I said, "You got someone to navigate for you, someone off that beautiful white galley. Who is it?"
Rombeau's eyes got a little wider-which I enjoyed, I admit. "How did you know, Captain?"
"It made sense, that's all. I would have done the same thing. Who is it?"
"The captain. He and his ship were all we got, but we did get him. His name is Ojeda." Rombeau paused. "He was reluctant at first. I was able to persuade him. He-all the prisoners are below, in chains. You wish to speak to him?"
I did, and we sent one of Dubec's men to fetch him. He was smaller than I expected, and stood very straight. His beard and mustache must have looked neat and cool when he stood on his own little quarterdeck. There on the afterdeck of the Magdelena they were just sad.
I had the idea that it might be good not to let him know I spoke Spanish. Rombeau had surely been speaking French to him, so that was what I did, too. "You were master of the Castillo Blanco? What are you doing here?"
He nodded. His French was really bad, and pretty often he had to make signs. I will not give all that. "We could not resist" was what he meant. "Six little guns I have. He swear our lives we have."
"I see. Was the promise kept? All of you are still alive?"
He nodded.
"How many?"
"Owner and his wife. Treated much badly, we are. Alvarez. Three seamen."
Rombeau touched my arm when Ojeda said that, and I knew something was up. I said, "Who is Alvarez?"
Ojeda was at a loss for words. At last he said, "Me oficial, Senor. He help me."
"Your mate."
He nodded, looking relieved. "Si."
"It doesn't seem like much of a crew for such a fine ship."
He shrugged. It meant, "I am not the owner."
Rombeau had been holding the prisoners below. I called Menton over and told him to take Ojeda to the bow and keep him there. "Don't beat him unless he gives you trouble," I said. "Don't talk to him, and don't let him talk to anybody."
Rombeau chuckled when they had gone. "They cannot plot, Captain. Menton has no Spanish and the other no French."
"Does Ojeda not know any, or just pretend he doesn't?" I asked. Rombeau had no answer for that, so he changed the subject. "There is a woman hiding on board the Castillo Blanco. Did he tell you? I could not understand all he said."
"He said the owner and his wife, but the way he said it, it sounded like the wife was down in the hold."
"Another woman. Perhaps a man, too."
"You haven't been able to find them?"
Rombeau shook his head. "Not yet."
Novia said, "A woman only, Crisoforo. No man."
"It would be pretty hard to hide on a ship," I told them, "and that one's not nearly as big as this one."
"Yet she is there," Rombeau insisted.
Naturally I quizzed them, and here is what it came down to: there were two nice cabins on the Castillo Blanco and Ojeda had not been living in either one. One had been for the owner and his wife. A woman had been living in the other one. A woman's clothing was scattered around in there, there was some jewelry not in the jewelry box, and so forth. Powder and rouge left open. There was a man's baggage in there, too, but all that had been neatly stowed away.
I asked Novia why she had said there was only a woman.
"Because that captain protect her. He will lie to you. He will say there is no woman. It is most dangerous for him, my heart, and he know it. But he will do it, because she has no protector. You are not Spanish nor is Rombeau, thus you do not understand. I am Spanish and I comprehend him. There is the woman, alone, hiding on his ship. Or he think this."