Hostages to Fortune by William Humphrey Page A

moments of such self-complacency, for meanwhile, at the marina, the superintendent had spotted them at anchor inside the harbor and his helper was even then on his way out in the skiff with orders to go as fast as he could go.
    The superintendent had worked at the marina for many years. He had been there when the Thayers and the Curtises first cruised together. That was how he knew they would drop anchor at that spot in the harbor before coming on in to dock. They had stopped there at the end of their cruise ever since the first one, for, because of what happened then, it had become a rite. The superintendent knew the story. How for their last meal on board Tony had saved a steak and had stopped there to cook and eat it. Tony’s way of cooking a steak on board the boat was to soak newspapers and lay them in a pad on the deck of the cockpit and build his charcoal fire in a grill set on the pad of paper. Seeing this for the first time, his passenger was dubious, not to say apprehensive.
    They had had a drink and were having just one more before having another when Tony became dissatisfied with his fire. He went below to the galley and returned with a paper cup full of alcohol. When he poured the alcohol on the charcoal it flared and the stream became a fuse leading to the cup. It was not the first time this had ever happened. Tony was used to it. But he was not and when Tony set the cup on the deck to burn itself out he stamped on it. Tony did a back somersault over the rail, hit the water feet first and sank from sight. All this had happened in a second.
    Tony surfaced with his drowned pipe clenched between his teeth. He was wearing shorts and when the cup was stamped his bare legs had been spattered with drops of burning alcohol. Tony’s leap into the water had been as instinctive as was his stamping out the fire. Now patches of hair were gone from Tony’s legs as though moths had been at him. They dried him off and rubbed him with an unguent. He was not much hurt. He, Ben, burned more with shame than Tony did with pain. Over their next drink it turned into comedy.
    Now it was one of the many memories that bound them to each other and, he supplying the steak, it had become a tradition to round out their cruise with a last meal in this same spot. It was this spot that the superintendent of the marina had kept an eye on since the first phone call the day before yesterday, not much expecting to see the boat until about now, but watching nevertheless because of the urgency in the woman’s voice at the other end of the wire and because of his promise not just to have the call returned as soon as they docked but to do better than that by sending his helper out in the skiff as soon as they came in sight.
    It was Tony’s alarm that alarmed him. Not for himself, or if so, only as a reflex and only for a moment, but for his friend. Tony’s inner battering was blazoned by that bandage on his forehead and the livid bruise surrounding it and by the bleariness of his eyes, alcohol-induced but that was not to dismiss it, for alcohol was only the symptom of a far deeper distress. Poor Tony, how changed he was! Always so cool, so steady, prepared to cope with whatever came—now this timorousness, this dread of life.
    Tony offered to come ashore with him. In the way the offer was made there was something hesitant, apprehensive, insincere, a look in the eyes or an undertone to the words that saddened him for his friend as nothing before had done. Once the bravest and most generous of friends, his suffering had turned Tony cowardly and self-protective. He had troubles enough of his own, he could take on no part of anybody else’s. He was able no longer to get outside himself, which was the first requirement for friendship as it was for love, and share in another life. He was glad he had declined that offer and insisted that Tony stay aboard the boat. He was glad of that, at least.
    â€œWe’ll put everything