Ghost Sea: A Novel (Dugger/Nello Series) by Ferenc Máté Read Free Book Online

couldn’t stand it beyond ten. I rowed back to ask if she would like some more lessons, but was told by the cabin boy that Mr. and Mrs. Hay had gone inland for a few days.
    That night I slept in peace.
    The evening of the day she returned, there was a large gathering on the yacht. By sunset, the aft deck was crowded with well-dressed people. It had been so hot I had anchored out to catch a bit of breeze. I was close enough to them that I could see her clearly through the binoculars, her bare shoulders among the suits and gowns, smiling here, nodding there, laughing, reaching out and touching an arm fleetingly, but occasionally her smile faded and she glanced toward the ketch. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I rowed over to Hoffar’s to play cards with some fishermen on a crate on the docks. And lost. The yacht was dark and silent when I returned after midnight.
    I slept restlessly in the cockpit until I was awoken by a thud. Stars filled the night; the mainmast loomed like a dark road among them. A sliver moon hovered near the horizon, with a fainter glow behind it where its darkness ended, and I watched, bewitched by that curve of light, when a pale, ghostlike shape swam suddenly before it. A sail. A small sail.
    She moved awkwardly, trying to hold on to the caprail of the ketch with one hand, fending off the slowly weaving boom with the other. I could barely see her face until she looked up and the anchor lantern reached her with its glow. She looked thrilled having sailed in the dark, but it was mixed with a fragile, captivating fear.
    I sat on the deck with my hand on the caprail barely touching hers. She stood there with her face close to mine. “I just came over to….” She fell silent and said softly, “I just came.”
    As gently as I could, I held her head in my hand; felt her cheekbone, her hair, the bone around her eyes, the hollow of her temple, her heart beating there. With the heel of my palm I touched the corner of her lips, and she closed her eyes and tilted her head, let it weigh in my hand.
    We stayed unmoving for a long time. When she raised her eyes, they sparkled with tears.
     
     
    A FTER A WHILE she said, “I’d better go. Someone might notice that the sail has stopped moving.”
    I swung my legs out over the gunwale.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “I’m coming with you. Move over.”
    “I don’t want you to.”
    “As long as the sail is moving, no one will see me in the dark.”
    She remained silent.
    “I’ll sit on the floorboards if you’re afraid.”
    “It isn’t just that,” she said.
    “What, then?”
    Instead of answering, she looked away.
    A sudden anger filled me. “Then why did you come?”
    She turned back to me, her face confused. “I don’t have to justify everything,” she said. “It’s my boat.”
    “But I’m its captain. Now shut up and move over. And why don’t you learn to button your blouse.” She had miss-buttoned at the bottom and skipped another at the top.
    She gave a nervous laugh, and moved toward the stern. “I almost came in my pajamas,” she said.
    I pushed us away from the ketch.
    “Sit down before you tip us,” I said.
    “Yes, Captain.”
    The breeze filled the sail and the dinghy heeled so I had to crouch quickly onto the floorboards at her feet.
    “Spread your legs.”
    “What does—”
    “I have to sit somewhere; just shut up and spread your legs.”
    She spread her knees but only enough to give me room to sit and lean back barely past them. I put my hand over hers on the tiller to head us up into the puff of wind.
    “I like it when you tell me to shut up,” she said softly.
    “Good. Then do it. And watch where you’re steering.”
    We were beating away from the ketch and the yacht—tacked twice unnecessarily to give whoever might be watching a good show—and headed toward the far tip of the bay, where the great firs blocked the moonlight, darkening the sea. In their lee, the wind softened and we ghosted in the