The truth of his statement disarmed me. “Why be with me at all, then?”
Matteo shrugged. “Perhaps he is enamored by your talent. Or your cock. You’d know better than me. I only wanted to assure you, there’s no coercion taking place. Arden is not destitute. He has a career and marketable skills. He can end our arrangement at any time, and so long as he keeps my confidence, we will part as dear friends.”
His message was clear, and it was something Arden had said himself. Hechoseto cater to this man and his lifestyle. The one rule he’d given me was not to interfere.
“And now, I have a question for you, Michael. What are your intentions for our dear Arden?”
“I want to marry him.”
Matteo seemed surprised by my surety.
“You are ambitious.”
“You don’t think he’d want that?” It had never occurred to me that Arden might not want a long-term commitment, a sure sign of my own arrogance.
“Arden is wild at heart. The few times I’ve tried to tame him, I’ve been confronted with an obstinance I cannot match. But you’re younger and perhaps better suited for the challenge.”
From across the veranda, Arden caught my eye and gave a cautious smile.
“I love him,” I said. The realization pained me a little more each time.
“Tread lightly then. And if and when you muck it up, maybe Arden will consider me a suitable alternative.” Matteo smiled and lifted his glass. “Salute.”
Part IV.
The boy got his sea legs. He learned, through the captain’s tutelage, when the sails needed to be trimmed or lowered or reconfigured to catch the wind. He learned how to tease the anchor to make sure it took, how to navigate the shallows and avoid running aground on the many coral reefs, a beautiful but treacherous minefield.
He became so adept in his role as first mate, that he and the captain sometimes went whole days without speaking in complete sentences, both of them focused on keeping Tondaleo on course and her “fat ass” on the move. Both the captain and the boy bemoaned her tendency to stall out in perfect winds. She was stubborn in getting going in the first place, determined to chart her own course rather than sticking to the one they provided.
“Like being married to an ugly woman,” the captain said, “but one who can cook.”
The boy also learned how to collect rainwater and filter it, how to prepare meals, take inventory of their supplies, and make lists of what they needed when they went to port. He learned the basics of first aid, like when the captain hooked his own thumb, and the boy had to remove the sharp metal and doctor the wound. He learned how to fish, clean their catches, and how to season and prepare the meat, or else store them in their freezer for later. He even learned how to mend clothing and repair the tough canvas sail covers, which the captain appreciated.
The boy grew six inches overnight, and with his newfound height, took on other privileges as well—a cold beer at the end of a hard day, a smoke on the upper deck after the sun had gone down. He started growing hair—down there—and experienced new, strange desires as well. The need to run as fast as he could, which he did often enough in the early mornings by sprinting along the beaches when they were anchored offshore. The need to shout into the wind and storms when the weather was bad, to curse his fortune on the roof during a rainstorm when he was cleaning the deck so that they might collect water to replenish their tank. The need to fight, which the captain provided opportunity often enough.
The boy also began to question the captain’s methods, to grumble when he didn’t agree, to even make improvisations without the captain’s knowledge. He never defied him outright, though. He remembered all too well the night he’d spent shivering on a deserted island, after the captain had made him walk the plank. The boy had spent the entire night believing himself wholly forsaken.
The boy traded some of his gentlemanly manners for the salt and grit of a sailor. He didn’t even think of the man as his father anymore, but as his captain.
One afternoon, when the captain woke from his regular nap, he looked at the compass and said, “You’re off course. Move aside and let me take over.”
The boy kept his hands firmly planted on the wheel. “The wind is in the west. We’ll go with it, and then motor south along the island when we arrive. It’s faster this way.”
“Uses up more gas.”
“We’ll refuel in Georgetown.”
“You payin?” The captain spat out the door and into the water.
“Yeah, been saving up my wages.”
The captain gave him a dark look, one that said the boy had won but only because he didn’t care to argue anymore.
“I’m going for a smoke,” the captain said at last. He grabbed his soft pack of Newports from the helm and took them with him to the boat’s bow where he settled there like a gargoyle.
The captain got him back the next morning, though, when the boy awoke to find his thin blanket tented and the captain standing over him with a knowing look. “Better go take care of that. Might help with your bitchy attitude.”
The boy burned with embarrassment, from the surface of his skin to his hot molten core. He had only a loose understanding of what the captain meant. He’d allowed himself only furtive touches, usually when he was in the warm shallow water and out of the captain’s view. Those caresses made it stiff and tender, and sometimes his balls ached as well. The boy didn’t like that aching, irritable feeling. It was like being hungry and knowing there was nothing left to eat.
