Time and Again(22)

“I will not have you calling me ‘boss.’ Oh, and one more thing: I am looking to hire a full-time secretary. You know anyone who might be interested?”

“I don't, but I will ask around. When do you need her?”

“In truth, about three years ago, if I am being honest with myself.”

Henry could almost hear the smile over the phone. “See you later.”





Chapter Eighteen



The waves, cold, relentless, and seemingly unprovoked, had followed them since the day after they left the Tyrrhenian Sea. The crew and captain couldn’t remember a longer, more miserable trip. To a man, they were a new crew; the captain had only been aboard since the year before, when The Siena left Yard 136 in Denmark. The Siena was a beautiful ship, her displacement 15,295 tons, the length overall or LOA stretching an impressive 491 feet, and the beam 64 feet. She had a top speed of 16.75 knots, but today, she was tired and worn, along with her crew and captain, and two Greek passengers.

Cargo ships sometimes have a handful of passengers, but not often. On this voyage, some palms were greased, so that two middle-aged, but muscular men could accompany a box. The manifest was clear, detailing every item aboard…except the box. For this courtesy, a whole bucket of grease was required. The captain didn’t know the contents, nor did he care. The Greek men, who had guarded it for years, had a vague understanding of the contents. They knew some stories. They knew the people who had found it.

In their youth, they had both loved listening to the theories about what it was, that it might be cursed, and the speculation of hidden powers. Neither man had ever witnessed anything unusual from the object; it just looked like a box with gears, all shinny and impressive. It was a very old box. Both men now believed in the curse and, since they couldn’t eat for all of the sea sickness, spent their days praying to Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, thieves, and children. When this didn’t work, they turned their attention to Saint Christopher, since they were traveling.

Today, the North Atlantic was rougher than any of the previous days. The captain didn’t think they weren’t in mortal danger, but that might have been hubris on his part. The year before, The Southern Districts, a former naval ship with a full load of bulk sulfur heading for Bucksport, Maine, had moved through gusts of force 9 squalls, and then force 8 gusts. On December 11, it was reported that they were overdue, and the search began.

The captain thought about his friend who had been a first mate on The Southern Districts. He wondered if the wreck would ever be discovered. His own first mate gave an update: force 9 winds, and squalls. There wasn’t any sign of it letting up either.

The captain said a prayer.

The Siena would be lost at sea, though not on this day, or the next one, either.





Chapter Nineteen



The sleep was not the least bit restful. Henry had expected to dream of Katarina or to have nightmares about Mickey. Instead, he had short dreams. All night, he was chased or drowning or fighting with some strange man. Each mini drama had one thread of similarity: something beyond his control was causing pain, and his struggling against the control just made it worse.

Henry didn't like it. He preferred to be in control, even when asleep. Henry often remembered his dreams; he was also good at being lucid in the nocturnal stories. Last night, he was not, and it started his day off on the wrong foot.

When Henry got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, he hit his toe. It hurt, and it was bewildering to him. He had never hurt himself in his own home, even when drunk. After a short burst of cursing, which he generally didn't do, there wasn’t any improvement in his toe. His gut told him that he should be careful today. It also told him that a big breakfast was in order, though, admittedly, his gut told him this on most mornings, and sometimes late at night.

Henry showered, shaved, clipped his toe nails, and spent several minutes looking at his big toe, which seemed none too pleased with him. Henry rewarded his disgruntled toe and all the other toes with a fresh pair of socks, never worn. This went a long way towards forgiveness.

He spent the first hour of the morning mostly lost in the trivial. It was as if the last 28 hours had so worn his brain, it needed some alone time. Henry let his mind wander aimlessly while his hands made a three egg omelet, brewed some coffee, buttered some toast, and then decided to add a bonus piece of toast, with grape jelly.

The radio gave some good news about a missing boy who had been found. A different man's voice talked about the weather and a violent storm in the Atlantic. Henry noted the weather report and gave a look to the corner to see if his umbrella was there. It was, and ready for action. Henry changed the station and listened to some music, a tune by Stan Kenton, “The Peanut Vendor”, which always reminded him of baseball. Henry thought about Vero Beach, which is where his beloved Brooklyn Dodgers had been holding spring training since 1949. This led his brain conveniently back to Mickey.