Brando refused to look at me then. He refused to share even a glimpse of all he had seen, knowing I would see it. “Yeah.” He put a hand to the back of my neck and let it sit there, wanting to squeeze but unable to.
The man I presumed to be Captain O’Malley emerged from the tinted door not long after, a sullen-looking Agwe following him. But Agwe didn’t come close to the deck again. He leaned against the boat, arms crossed, watching me. It was more like a man watched a siren, knowing what she was. He didn’t trust me. Wariness pulsed off of him like a swarm of hornets. His mouth moved, but no sound escaped. He could’ve been praying.
“Fausti!” Captain O’Malley greeted Brando with his arms spread open. The man jumped down from the lower deck, landing on the pier with a resounding thud.
For his assumed age, which had to be close to early seventies, he was nimble. He was sun-worn and as tough as leather—his blonde hair was bleached, curling up around his ears, fringing his hat, which seemed like a souvenir from his Bering Sea days.
That was the extent of the influence, though. The rest of him was tropical. Thin shirt, Bahama shorts, and boat shoes. A lit cigar bobbed from the side of his mouth. A thin line of smoke purled above his head, a sweet smell perfuming the air around him.
Brando and Captain O’Malley did the one-armed man hug, patting each other on the back. As curious as ever, I wondered how they had met. They were such an unlikely pair.
“Captain O’Malley,” Brando said, patting the man again. He turned toward me. “My wife, Scarlett Fausti.”
“Ah!” The man took triple sidelong puffs on his lit tobacco. “You finally wised up and married the girl, I see! Hello, Gem.” He shook my hand vigorously. “Tibbott O’Malley, but folks call me Captain O’Malley, or Captain will do too. I’m really a pirate, born hundreds of years too late! Pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, my voice and arm vibrating from the wild motion of his shake.
He elbowed Brando in the ribs. “I see you left out her beauty. Plenty of sharks around that one, aye? She’s some bait.” He winked at me.
I winked back. His owlish eyes blinked at me for a moment before he threw back his head and chortled at the sky, smoke disappearing in the glare. Brando then went on to introduce Uncle Tito and Aunt Lola, who Captain O’Malley seemed thoroughly intrigued to meet. He loved the Italian language, although he didn’t speak it himself.
“Come aboard, come aboard!” Captain O’Malley said at last, showing us the way. “Plenty of fish in the sea, and the time has come that we catch ’em!”
Agwe’s eyes stayed with me the entire time. Even when Brando stepped in front of me, he seemed to see right through him, knowing exactly where I was by instinct.
Brando kept my hand as we followed Captain O’Malley to the second deck, which was covered with a thin material that allowed the air in through gaping slits, and when we got close enough to Agwe, he slid to the side, never turning his back on me.
“Hmph.” I pulled at the cross around my neck, worrying it. I had never met anyone that seemed to take such an extreme dislike to me; not that it wasn’t impossible, but I usually had to open my mouth first.
I took a seat next to Aunt Lola, setting my small bag at my feet. Captain O’Malley lifted his arm in response to another man who had jumped on the pier to collect the rest of our things, and he waved goodbye after he finished his task.
Brando was getting antsy with the tape securing his hands. So he talked Uncle Tito into wrapping them individually so that he could at least flex them. Uncle Tito could have done that to begin with, but I think he was trying to teach Brando a lesson.
We were off a minute later, cruising the turquoise sea, cutting its surface like glass and ruffling the water in shocking white sprays. The further offshore we went, the darker the water became, a fathomless blue. The bullet of a yacht started to pick up speed, moving in a rhythmic bobbing motion, wind circulating in our cabin, warding off the heat with its constant flow.
Mountains rose in the distance, rolling crests that seemed to reach the clouds in heaven. Others seemed close enough to touch, carpeted in green and exploding with life. Sandy beaches circled them like irregularly shaped beige rings.
Every so often we would pass islands where other yachts docked, some of the inhabitants fishing or swimming in the water.
Brando and Uncle Tito kept up a steady conversation with Captain O’Malley, both men grilling him on the particulars of the yacht. Brando had strong sea legs, and he moved like a man who could live on a boat.
Agwe entered the cabin, this time not meeting my eye. He asked the men if they wanted something to drink. Brando accepted a cold beer, Uncle Tito a drink made with gin, curaçao, fresh juice from a lime, and orange bitters. Nothing for the captain. Aunt Lola accepted a glass of champagne, and instead of asking me what I wanted, he only chucked his chin toward me.
I asked Aunt Lola to speak for me, since we seemednotto be on speaking terms. All I wanted was sparkling water. He almost seemed relieved when she did and handed her the cold bottle without a problem.
The urge to ask him“what the hell, man?”was strong,but I refrained and held my tongue by drowning the words with fizzy water.
We dropped anchor an hour or so later, to a relieved looking Agwe, in an area that still held the fathomless blue tinge of deep water. The only sign of life was the outline of a mountain in the remote distance and a few birds that had taken to the island in front of it.
We were led back downstairs to the flying bridge. This time I took my camera with me. This was our time, our life, and these pictures would be the only memories left after we were gone.
I had no idea when I had become so morbid, but it was hard not to think in those terms. Life was short.
Brando removed his shirt, handing it to me. He stretched his arms, all of his muscles waking up, moving with his lithe movements. He ran a hand through his hair, the sun making it seem even more smooth and silky, and his skin seemed an even darker bronze. The humid air coated his skin with a dewy sheen.
My mouth watered, and I had to swallow. “Here,” I said, putting my water down, digging in my bag. I handed him his hat.
He put it on backward and then he paused for a moment. He shook his head and started to look through Captain’s impressive line of fishing poles. Seeing that Brando was busy contemplating the vast collection, the captain went to take a seat next to me. Brando noticed and asked the man his opinion on the matter.
