Leaving New York

Chapter 3

I helped Wolf the next day prepare Brotchen--small, crusty rolls. Wolf also had me pinch-hitting as a waiter on my second day. It sure was nice not to have to swab down bathrooms like I thought I would. My shifts were twelve on/twelve off, so after work, I was exhausted. When I got back to the cabin, Carlos was lying on his bunk in gym shorts reading "Popular Science."

"Jack—what's up?"

"Finished my shift."

"How'd it go?"

"Good."

"Is it the job you wanted? I heard Wolf's got you baking up a storm. Usually, you guys swab the deck and check the container clamps for a million hours a day."

"I heard they were supposed to have another guy; maybe he was the baker."

"Staffing is always kooky on the sea. I'm the Chief Officer, but I'm trained as a mechanic, so I do that too."

"I'm glad to work in the kitchen but willing to do anything."

"Cool."

"What's a wiper?"

"The dudes that run the engines, clean the engine room and get oil in every orifice of their body."

"Ha ha."

"How long you on for?"

"Just until we make Europe.

"Oh. Where you from?"

"New York—I was a fireman . . . retired about a year ago."

"What a cool job. So, you got a pension?"

"Yeah. How long you been at sea?"

"Ten years."

His cell phone rang; it sounded important.

"Yes, sir. What? All right, I'll get everyone together. I'll see you in a minute." He rang off. "That was the captain; we got an S.O.S. call--somebody nearby."

"Wow." I glanced through the big picture window at the enormous white caps. Carlos pulled on yellow rain gear.

"We're going to have to find whoever it is—could get pretty dicey."

I said, "No problem." I put on my yellow gear too.

My adrenaline pumped as it did when we careened in the fire truck through Manhattan streets. A speaker screeched to life, "All off-duty crew—report to the dining room."

When I got there, a talkative group of eight guys was scanning the ocean.

Carlos yelled, "Okay, folks! We're close to the distress call location. If you see anything, use the intercom to call the bridge. Don't go on deck alone—forty-knot winds."

I looked out the port side. I remembered a guy from fire department headquarters who would come to the station once a year to brush us up on water rescues, but I couldn't remember much. I could see a guy in yellow squall gear climb up the radio mast to the crow's nest, where he shined a spotlight from port to starboard.

When the searchlight was on the starboard side, a crewman next to me shouted, "There—I see something!" He raised his binoculars. "It looks like a capsized boat." I ran to the intercom—Carlos' voice crackled.

"Yes? Yes?"

"Carlos, we see something to starboard—at two o'clock a thousand feet out. Shine the light back there."

I could hear Carlos shouting on the bridge and then, "Yes. I see it."

The ship's whistle blew as we got closer to a white bouncing keel.