Two large Samsonite suitcases sat in the lobby next to one of those little makeup cases like my mother used to have. The ones with the mirror inside the lid and a tray full of various concoctions and tools.
“Could you help me get these down to the dock, Johnny? I need to make sure Tambourine’s ready.” She was all business. I looked around for Charlie but didn't see him anywhere.
I nodded and started picking up bags. As she turned away and headed up the stairs, a flicker of doubt skipped into my brain, but I blinked it away and headed outside. My feet clumped over loose boards as I made my way around the lodge then down the stairs to the dock. The hollow sound of my steps echoed off the water six feet below.
I found the yellow inflatable at the end of the stretch of wooden planks. It was tied at the bottom of a short ladder, about fourteen feet long with an aluminum floor. I’d seen plenty of them around the waterways in coastal Alaska.
There were benches to sit six people, but I grimaced at the idea of moving over the frigid water in the fog. I grunted and swung the bags into the boat space and climbed in to get them settled. I pulled off my own green pack and situated it in a hopefully dry corner. A fifty horsepower Evinrude was attached to the rear, and it looked well used but serviceable. I heard footsteps and turned to see Charlie coming down the dock with a back pack and Greta’s make up case. I studied his face for signs of trouble, but he was busy wrestling with the bags. A seagull standing on a post nearby hopped into the air and flew away silently at the sight of him.
“You ready?” he grunted at me. He had his hood up, but even in the dim light I could see his eyeballs racking back and forth behind the coke bottle lenses.
“I guess.” There was no turning back but sight of the water chilled my spine. I was not looking forward to the voyage. Usually I was the one in charge of the transportation. I was out of my element on the water. It didn’t comfort me in the slightest that Charlie was apparently experienced at this kind of trip.
I looked across the bay toward Chenega. The ocean was flat with a slight breeze rippling its surface. I couldn’t see our destination through the fog which hovered above the surface thirty feet high at best. The water lapped at the side of the boat with a limp misleading innocence. It looked cold. The kind of cold that would paralyze a man in minutes.
“It should be alright out there,” Charlie said. “The Sound doesn’t get big waves unless there’s a lot of wind.”
“Don’t you want to use the bigger boat?” I asked glancing toward an old fishing rig with a glassed in cabin beached past the end of the dock.
“Nope, out of diesel,” he muttered swinging the pack on board.
"You got life vests?" I asked.
“Oh yeah. Course, they won’t help you much. This water’s like lemonade laced with poison, ya know? Looks sweet, can’t wait to kill ya,” he laughed, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was still bothered about the generator.
“You got any other generators so I could make a sat phone call?”
“No, I needed all the gas we had left for this trip. We’re cutting it close as it is after the cops took the skiff.”
Great, I thought to myself and started thinking how to get myself out of going along. It seemed like a journey into never never land. I wondered why the troopers had taken a skiff instead of this smaller faster Zodiac. Before I could come up with anything, Charlie asked me to help him tie down the bags with a length of yellow nylon cord. Then I heard Greta’s heels on the hollow boards above us. Charlie turned and helped her down the ladder.
“Where’s Tamby?” Charlie asked her.
“He’s looking for Tank. Damn dog disappeared when he saw us packing.”
“Aw, shit,” Charlie said. “We’re not taking that worthless mutt.”
He clambered up the ladder leaving us and the inflatable rocking against its ropes. The old black tires at the edge of the dock smelled of rotting seaweed and mold. Greta had moved forward and was settling in against the rubber side wall at the bow.
It started to rain heavily. I looked at Greta. She had on a bright blue plastic raincoat with a hood surrounding her head and face. Her blond hair set off the hood like one of those old renaissance paintings with the cherubs and their halos. She sat motionless in the sudden downpour and stared over the side at the water next to her. Raindrops danced on the surface like tiny ballerinas in lace.
I was puzzled by the disconnect. She seemed aloof and distant, and I started to wonder if I'd been dreaming at the fire pit less than an hour before. As if reading my mind, her eyes lifted toward me and with a tiny grin, she winked, then went blank again dropping her gaze back to the water.
I heard a shout. Charlie’s voice roared above us from just outside the lodge.
“Now, goddamn it. We’re not taking him. Let’s go!” I felt my teeth clench and looked again to Greta. She didn’t move, and she didn’t look back at me either. She was watching the rain drops.
I stood up when I heard heavy steps and a struggle on the dock. I looked up to see Charlie dragging the kid by his collar. The boy’s legs were kicking at the loose boards trying to stop himself but it was pointless. Charlie easily hauled him like a bag of trash and practically threw him down the ladder.
I caught him on the way down. “Easy there, buddy. I’ve got you.” He was a skinny thing and weighed less than the suitcases I’d carried for Greta. His face was pinched and red. He squeezed his eyes shut like he was expecting a punch any second. Tears streaked down both cheeks and his chest was heaving as he choked back on the sobs wracking his whole body. I tried to make eye contact to rekindle our connection but he wouldn't look at me.
I carried him forward and set him down between the bags and Greta. She didn’t turn toward us. Her gaze was still fixed on the water’s surface, but the rain had stopped.
“Here, Tambourine,” I said, settling him against the hard rubber gunwale. His name felt odd coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t help shaking my head at the pathetic sight of him as he slumped to the floor of the boat at Greta’s feet. He buried his face in his arms and didn’t make a sound.
I looked up to see Charlie untying the ropes. Greta held the bow line and waited as if she'd done it a thousand times. Charlie tossed me a small pink pack. It was new looking and decorated with cartoon drawings. I looked closer and recognized the character. Sponge Bob Square Pants. I set it at Tambourine’s feet.
As Charlie climbed down into the boat it lurched with his weight. I grabbed for a hold and waited while he took up a position by the engine. Then I moved to the middle and found a place on top of the baggage where I hoped the balance was okay. Charlie fiddled with the gas can and pulled the engine rope. It started on the third tug coughing oily blue smoke across the water.
With a clunk the motor shifted into gear. Greta released the rope and we maneuvered away from the dock and turned to head into the channel. Charlie twisted the throttle and the boat began to move away from the lodge and across the tiny cove before entering the bigger water ahead.
I turned to look behind us. Charlie sat on a rear corner of the inflatable with his hand on the throttle staring out into the fog. His face was set and hard and he peered into the distance like a man trying to be a million miles away. I thought about the airplane and felt a pang in my stomach.
Then I spotted the dog running down the dock toward us. When he got to the water’s edge he stopped and began to pace back and forth, his small body quivering. No one else noticed him at first. Then he yelped out an odd sound.
Tambourine’s head jerked up as if he’d been shocked. He struggled to his knees and gaped back at his dog, his red face contorted. The scruffy animal saw him and started barking and jumping frantically. Each time he barked the effort lifted him off his front legs.
Charlie looked over his shoulder with disgust and gunned the engine. Tambourine stood up, raised his arms and reached out in a silent plea. Then he cried out, “Tank!”
I reached forward to steady him in the rocking boa
t, but he shook me off. I saw Greta turn then and look back at Charlie. I looked back at Charlie too and saw his eyes lock with hers just for an instant. His face hardened and his lower jaw pushed forward. He racked the throttle to its stop and yanked on the tiller. The boat tilted hard to the left, and I grabbed for a better hand hold just in time. When I was sure I wasn’t going in, I glared at Charlie. I thought the boy might be thrown overboard, but he only fell to his knees and kept reaching for his dog with one hand.
“Goddamn it, Tamby,” Charlie shouted. I tensed myself thinking that any moment Charlie might lurch across me to hit the kid. But instead he stayed put and kept the tight bank up until the boat was pointed at the dock again. As we approached the ladder Greta stood up and caught the edge of the dock with one hand. Then she tied the bow rope to a cleat.
Charlie shut off the engine abruptly and grabbed hold of the ladder. Tank hung his homely face over the side of the dock wagging all over and grinning at Tambourine with a drooling smile. The kid stood up and reached for him, but Charlie grabbed the back of his coat and threw him harshly to the floor. Tank whimpered, tucked his tail and ran across the dock headed for the lodge.
Charlie screamed, “Get the hell back here,” Then he grunted and pulled himself up the ladder. His heavy feet thundered across the wooden surface, and the boards rattled and shook above us like a rock slide hitting an old cabin.
Tambourine started for the ladder but Greta grabbed him and held on. He tried to fight but she held fast. His shoulders slumped and he turned and stared at her. His eyes searched her face, but I couldn’t tell what he found there. She stared back at him with a warning look and then lifted her face to the sky with no expression.
A sharp yowl rang out. Tambourine looked in the direction of the sound. I stood up and saw a shadow of the big man against the water thirty yards away. He was standing at the edge of the dock holding the dog by the collar as it struggled at the end of his arm. The boy’s arms reached out again. His mouth dropped open and his face went slack in anticipation.
Then a shot rang out. The roar of the forty four sent a shock wave toward us. A dark shape fell from the dock and splashed into the water. I watched stunned as the liquid surface below the dock rose and fell. A dark shape floated there for a moment before it slipped out of sight. Ripples rushed toward us, slapping at the weather beaten posts and passing by the boat on both sides. The first one was strong. The next three were much smaller and then they were done. The water returned to its normally placid and indifferent state.
The three of us in the boat were frozen in place. Disbelief flooded through me. Before the reverberations had even settled in my ears, Charlie was climbing down the ladder and starting the engine again. Greta reached up and released the bow rope. Her face was grim.
I looked at Tambourine. He stood frozen in the same pose he’d held for the last several minutes. When Charlie racked the throttle to send us away from the dock, he collapsed face down on the floor of the boat. He made no sound, but I could see his small shoulders shaking inside his coat. The windows of the lodge on the bank high above watched us leave like an old jack o'lantern left rotting on a forgotten porch. Their gaping panes reflected the gray fog all around us.
Charlie turned the boat and we left the shelter of the cove heading out into the foggy expanse of water that was Prince William Sound. The wind picked up with our speed and I pulled my cap down tighter on my head. Wet air hit my glasses as I squinted into the distance for the dim promise of a shoreline three miles into the gloom. The engine rumbled and the rubber contours of the inflatable vibrated and bumped across tiny waves underneath us. Small splashes of foam flew up and out from the bottom of the boat as we thumped along.
Taroka Island faded into the fog behind us and ahead lay the uncertain future of a thousand whispered wishes.