XIII

They had searched the beach for tracks at Puerto Coco and they searched the mangroves beyond with the dinghy. There were some really good places for a turtle boat to hide. But they found nothing and the squalls came out earlier with heavy rain that made the sea look as though it were leaping into the air in white, spurting jets.

Thomas Hudson had walked the beach and gone back inland behind the lagoon. He had found the place where the flamingoes came at high tide and he had seen many wood ibis, the cocos that gave the key its name, and a pair of roseate spoonbills working in the marl of the edge of the lagoon. They were beautiful with the sharp rose of their color against the gray marl and their delicate, quick, forward-running movements, and they had the dreadful, hunger-ridden impersonality of certain wading birds. He could not watch them long because he wanted to check in case the people they were looking for had left the boat in the mangroves and camped in the high ground to be clear of the mosquitoes.

He found nothing but the site of an old charcoal-burning and he came out onto the beach after the first squall hit and Ara had picked him up in the dinghy.

Ara loved running the outboard in the rain and a bad squall and he had told Thomas Hudson none of the searchers had found anything. Everybody was on board but Willie who had taken the furthest stretch of beach beyond the mangroves.

“And you?” Ara asked.

“Me, nothing.”

“This rain will cool off Willie. I’m going to get him when I put you on board. Where do you think they are, Tom?”

“At Guillermo. That’s where I’d be.”

“Me too. That’s what Willie thinks, too.”

“How was he?”

“He’s trying hard, Tom. You know Willie.”

“Yes,” said Thomas Hudson. They came alongside and he climbed aboard.

Thomas Hudson watched Ara pivot the dinghy on her stern and go off into the white squall. Then he called down for a towel and dried himself off on the stern.

Henry said, “Don’t you want a drink, Tom? You were really wet.”

“I’d like one.”

“Do you want straight rum?”

“That’s nice,” Thomas Hudson answered. He went below to get a sweatshirt and shorts and he saw that they were all cheerful.

“We all had a straight rum,” Henry said and brought him a glass half-full. “I don’t think that way if you dry off quickly anyone can catch cold. Do you?”

“Hi, Tom,” said Peters. “Have you joined our little group of health drinkers?”

“When did you wake up?” Thomas Hudson asked him.

“When I heard a gurgling noise.”

“I’ll make a gurgling noise some night and see if that wakes you up.”

“Don’t worry, Tom. Willie does that for me every night.”

Thomas Hudson decided not to drink the rum. Then, seeing them all having had a drink and being cheerful and happy on an uncheerful errand, he thought it would be pompous and priggish not to take it. He wanted it, too.

“Split this with me,” he said to Peters. “You are the only son of a bitch I ever knew that could sleep better with earphones on than without them.”

“That split’s nothing,” Peters said, entrenching himself in the retreat from formal discipline. “That split doesn’t give either of us anything.”

“Get one of your own, then,” Thomas Hudson said. “I like the goddamn stuff as well as you do.”

The others were watching and Thomas Hudson could see Henry’s jaw muscles twitching.

“Drink it up,” Thomas Hudson said. “And run all your mysterious machines tonight as well as you can. For yourself and for the rest of us.”

“For all of us,” Peters said. “Who is the hardest-working man on this ship?”

“Ara,” Thomas Hudson said and sipped the rum for the first time as he looked around. “And every fucking body else on board.”

“Here’s to you, Tom,” Peters said.

“Here’s to you,” Thomas Hudson said and felt the words die cold and stale in his mouth. “To the earphone king,” he said, in order to recover something he had lost. “To all gurgling noises,” he added, being now a long way ahead as he should have been at the start.

“To my commander,” Peters said, running his string out too far.

“Any way you want to take it,” Thomas Hudson said. “There are no articles that cover that with us. But I’ll settle for that. Say it again.”

“To you, Tom.”

“Thanks,” Thomas Hudson said. “But I will be a sad son of a bitch before I drink to you until all your radios and you are functioning.”

Peters looked at him and into his face there came the discipline and into his body, which was in bad shape, the carriage of a man who had served three hitches in something that he had believed in and left for something else, as Willie had, and he said, automatically and without reservations, “Yes sir.”

“Drink to you,” Thomas Hudson said. “And crank up all your fucking miracles.”

“Yes, Tom,” Peters said, without any cheating and without reservations.

Well, I guess that is enough of that, Thomas Hudson thought. I better leave it as it lays and go back to the stern and watch my other problem child come aboard. I can never feel about Peters the way the rest of them all feel. I hope I know as well as they do what his defects are. But he has something. He is like the false carried so far that it is made true. It is certain that he is not up to handling what we have. But maybe he is up to much better things.

Willie’s the same, he thought. One is as bad one way as the other. They ought to be in now.

He saw the dinghy coming through the rain and the white drifted water that curled and blew under the lash of the wind. They were both thoroughly wet when they came aboard. They had not used their raincoats but had kept them wrapped around their niños.

“Hi, Tom,” Willie said. “Nothing but a wet ass and a hungry gut.”

“Take these children,” Ara said and handed the wrapped submachine guns aboard.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing multiplied by ten,” Willie said. He was standing on the stern dripping and Thomas Hudson called to Gil to bring two towels.

Ara pulled the dinghy in by her painter and climbed aboard. “Nothing of nothing of nothing,” he said. “Tom, do we get overtime for rain?”

“We ought to clean those weapons right away,” Willie said.

“We’ll get dry first,” Ara said. “I’m wet enough. First I could never get wet and now I have gooseflesh even on my ass.”

“Tom,” Willie said. “You know those sons of bitches can sail in these squalls if they reef down and have the balls to.”

“I thought of that too.”

“I think they lay up in the daytime with the calm and then run with these afternoon squalls.”

“Where do you put them?”

“I don’t put them past Guillermo. But they could be.”

“We’ll start at daylight and catch them at Guillermo tomorrow.”

“Maybe we’ll find them and maybe they’ll be gone.”

“Sure.”

“Why the hell haven’t we got radar?”

“What good would it do us right now? What do you see in the screen, Willie?”

“I’ll pipe the hell down,” Willie said. “Excuse me, Tom. But chasing something with UHF that hasn’t got a radio . . . ?”

“I know,” said Thomas Hudson. “But do you want to chase any better than we’ve been chasing?”

“Yes. Is that OK?”

“OK.”

“I want to catch the sons of bitches and kill every one of them.”

“What good would that do?”

“You don’t remember the massacre?”

“Don’t give me any of that massacre shit, Willie. You’ve been around too long for that.”

“OK. I just want to kill them. Is that all right?”

“It’s better than the massacre thing. But I want prisoners from a U-boat operating in these waters who can talk.”

“That last one you had didn’t talk much.”

“No. Neither would you if you were up the creek like he was.”

“OK,” Willie said. “Can I draw a slug of the legal?”

“Sure. Get on dry shorts and a shirt and don’t make trouble.”

“With nobody?”

“Grow up,” Thomas Hudson said.

“Drop dead,” Willie said and grinned.

“That’s the way I like you,” Thomas Hudson told him.

“Keep it that way.”