Safe from the Sea by Peter Geye Page B

something like that from the boss’s mouth?”
    “It’d scare the shit out of me.”
    “Well, it scared the shit out of me, too. Jan and Joe and me got together in the chart room. Old Jan, he briefed us. We got our position figured out, and we decided to bring her around and head straight west for Thunder Bay, where the Lachete , Prudence , and Heldig were already at anchor.
    “We had a little shelter from the worst of it, being as close as we were to the north shore, but it wasn’t like we could just tip our caps and wave good-bye to those seas. We were going to pay for it. The good news was that once we got around, the wind would have been behind us and getting to Thunder Bay would have come pretty easy. Anyway, it was the only option we had.
    “Goddamn,” Olaf almost whispered, “I remember like it was yesterday. He had the engine going slow astern while he waited for just the right lull—it seemed like days—and as soon as he felt it, he ordered engines full ahead and the rudder full left. Everyone in the wheelhouse swayed and lurched and grabbed for a railing or something to hold on to as she slid down one side of a trough and up another. She listed bad for a second or two while a big swell washed over the length of the deck.
    “We took a couple more waves before we got on course, but we did manage to get turned around. We were looking at two and a half hours,” Olaf mused. “Two and a half, maybe three. That’s nothing. It’s the amount of time it takes to play a baseball game or drive from Duluth to Misquah. It’s nothing .”
    “But it was too long,” Noah said.
    “A half hour would have been too long,” Olaf concluded, making to stand up. He planted his slippers two feet apart, rested his elbows on his knees, lifted his head from beneath his drooping shoulders, and straightened at the knees, still bent at the waist. As he labored, a spasm of pain must have shot through his stomach because he fell back into the chair clenching his guts.
    Noah jumped from the sofa and found himself standing over the old man with his hands out. His father’s face was frozen and gnarled in pain. “What can I do?” Noah asked. “Can I help?”
    Olaf took a deep, tremulous breath and rolled his head back. “It’s cold in here,” he said. “I was going to put another log on the fire.”
    Without a word Noah opened the stove and put a heavy piece of wood in among the embers.
    “I need a pillow for my back,” Olaf said. “Could you get one?”
    Noah went into the bedroom and grabbed one of the down pillows from his father’s bed.
    “Here,” he said as he helped his father forward, pushing the lumpy, uncovered pillow down between the chair and his father’s lower back. “Do you want some aspirin or ibuprofen?”
    “Nah,” Olaf wheezed.
    “A glass of water?”
    Olaf looked up at him. “I could use a glass of water.”
    Noah brought him the water. “Lift your head,” he said.
    When Olaf did, Noah took the afghan from behind him. The old man’s head fell back and rested on the chair again, and the soft, white, wrinkleless flesh of his neck was exposed in the lamplight. Noah stopped and stared at it. He wanted to touch it, to feel it, to confirm that it was as delicate and velvety as it looked.
    “What?” Olaf asked, rolling his eyes up to look at Noah.
    “Here,” Noah said, handing him the glass of water and putting the afghan over his father’s lap. “How often is that sort of thing happening?”
    “Not often,” Olaf said. “Not often at all.” Again he waved his hand. “Grab that book over there.” He pointed at the bottom shelf of the chest-high bookcase next to the sofa.
    “Which book?” Noah asked.
    “I forget what it’s called. The black one.”
    Noah pulled a book from the shelf. “This?”
    “Let me see,” Olaf said. He took the book and thumbed through to the back of it. “This is the one, it’s got transcripts of the radio contact between Jan and the Coast Guard and the