“Yes, Tom,” Antonio said.
“Ara likes to lift anchors.”
“Nobody likes to lift anchors.”
“Ara.”
Antonio smiled and said, “Maybe. Anyway I agree with you.”
“We always agree sooner or later.”
“But we mustn’t let it be when it is too late.”
Thomas Hudson watched the maneuver and looked ahead at the green key that was showing dark now at the roots of the mangroves as the tide fell. They could be in the bight on the south side of that key, he thought. This wind is going to blow until two or three o’clock in the morning and they could try to break out and run either of the channels in daylight when the flood starts. Then they could run that big lake of a bay where there is nothing to worry about all night. They have lights and a good channel to get out with at the far end. It all depends on the wind.
Ever since they had grounded he had felt, in a way, reprieved. When they had grounded he had felt the heavy bump of the ship as though he were hit himself. He knew it was not rocky as she hit. He could feel that in his hands and through the soles of his feet. But the grounding had come to him as a personal wound. Then, later, had come the feeling of reprieve that a wound brings. He still had the feeling of the bad dream and that it all had happened before. But it had not happened in this way and now, grounded, he had the temporary reprieve. He knew that it was only a reprieve but he relaxed in it.
Ara came up on the bridge and said, “It’s good holding-ground, Tom. We have them in there good with a trip line to the big one. When we raise the big one we can get out fast. We buoyed both the stern anchors with trip lines.”
“I saw. Thank you.”
“Don’t feel bad, Tom. The sons of bitches may be just behind that other key.”
“I don’t feel bad. I just feel delayed.”
“It’s not like smashing up a car or losing a ship. We’re just aground waiting for a tide.”
“I know.”
“Both wheels are sound. She’s just in mud up to her ass.”
“I know. I put her there.”
“She’ll come off as easy as she went in.”
“Sure she will.”
“Tom. Are you worried about anything?”
“What would I be worried about?”
“Nothing. I only worried if you were worried.”
“The hell with worry,” Thomas Hudson said. “You and Gil go down. See everybody eats well and is cheerful. Afterwards we’ll go in and check that key. That’s all there is to do.”
“Willie and I can go now. We don’t have to eat.”
“No. I’m going in later with Willie and Peters.”
“Not me?”
“No. Peters speaks German. Don’t tell him he’s going in. Just wake him up and see he drinks plenty of coffee.”
“Why can’t I go, too?”
“The dinghy is too damn small.”
Gil left him the big glasses and went down with Ara. Thomas Hudson studied the key carefully with the big glasses and saw that the mangroves were too high for him to learn anything about what was inside. There were other trees mixed with the mangroves on the solid part of the key and they brought the height up even more so that he could not possibly see if there was any mast showing in the horseshoe-shaped shelter on the far side. The big glasses hurt his eyes and he put them in their case and hung the strap of the case on a hook and laid the glasses flat on the frag rack.
He was happy to be alone again on the flying bridge and he relaxed for the short time of his reprieve. He watched the shore birds working on the flats and he remembered what they had meant to him when he was a boy. He could not feel the same about them now and he had no wish to kill them ever. But he remembered the early days with his father in a blind on some sand-spit with tin decoys out and how they would come in as the tide lowered and bared the flats and how he would whistle the flock in as they were circling. It was a sad whistle and he made it now and turned one flock. But they veered off from the stranded ship and went far out to feed.