down until her finger ached, using all the battery she could. “It don’t take this long,” the mulatto said.
The big one stared at him.
“I watched them before,” the mulatto said.
The big one said, “How come you ain’t watch how they do it when you watching how long it took?”
“How the fuck you gone see what people doing with those little switches, man?”
“All I know,” the big one said, “you said you could drive it.”
“Shit, nigger, you the one supposed to be mechanically inclined.”
Then the big one bent over to see what she was doing. “It don’t take this long,” he said, repeating what the mulatto had said, and she felt his breath on her scalp.
Then his hand was in her hair again, closing down, pulling out little pieces of her scalp. “You gone do it soon,” he said, “or else we going back downstairs.”
“I was you, I’d do what I could,” the mulatto said. “Arthur got a general resentment of white girls.”
He let go of her hair, and she moved her hand to the starter button. The engine turned over slowly, right on the edge, and then caught. The mulatto smiled, relieved. He looked around again, and none of the boats was coming over for a closer look; no one was watching.
She got up and went back to the wheel and pushed the throttle all the way up, moving the tachometer needle up past three thousand, past the red line, until the engine sounded like it was screaming. She saw the look on the mulatto’s face. “Charging the batteries,” she shouted over the noise; her voice was dry and caught on the words. She turned away, as if to go back down.
There was movement from the other side. The sun came through the swollen tissue of her eye the same way it would come through a shade, and she could just make out the shape of the big one’s head.
“Where you going?” he said.
“The toilet,” she said. “I have to do my toilet.”
“No, ma’am,” he said. Something formal in it, like a remembered courtesy from before, when things were different. The engine was still screaming; Alec never ran it over two thousand in his life.
“I have to,” she said.
He shrugged.
It was easier than she thought. She felt it on her legs, and then on her feet. She wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose, or if it had just happened. Some of it splashed, and that was what drew their attention.
The boat moved and she reached up and grabbed the boom to steady herself, the puddle growing at her feet, both of them still watching, the mulatto beginning to smile, and then she pushed against the boom with all her weight.
The boom swung the foot or so that the ties allowed it to move, hitting the bigger one across the eye. He was there next to her, and then he was falling backward, into the stairwell. One of his hands grabbed the railing, and the woodwork pulled out under his weight. His face disappeared and she heard him fall the rest of the way down.
The mulatto reached for her, smiling at what she’d done, and she pushed the boom at him too. He ducked easily, chuckling at this situation, and tried again. She crossed the open stairwell, and the mulatto came around it after her, holding on to the railing because he was afraid of the water, and she turned away from him and jumped.
She heard the engine cough once before she hit the water then regain itself at a slightly different pitch.
She swam hard for fifty yards and then turned on her back to take off the shirt, and saw them standing together on the deck, arguing. The exhaust was pouring black smoke. She got out of the shirt, and the going was easier.
When she looked again, five minutes later, they were at the bow, tugging at the anchor line, but the engine had quit. She put her face in the water and did not look back again until she reached the marina.
A
The big one stared at him.
“I watched them before,” the mulatto said.
The big one said, “How come you ain’t watch how they do it when you watching how long it took?”
“How the fuck you gone see what people doing with those little switches, man?”
“All I know,” the big one said, “you said you could drive it.”
“Shit, nigger, you the one supposed to be mechanically inclined.”
Then the big one bent over to see what she was doing. “It don’t take this long,” he said, repeating what the mulatto had said, and she felt his breath on her scalp.
Then his hand was in her hair again, closing down, pulling out little pieces of her scalp. “You gone do it soon,” he said, “or else we going back downstairs.”
“I was you, I’d do what I could,” the mulatto said. “Arthur got a general resentment of white girls.”
He let go of her hair, and she moved her hand to the starter button. The engine turned over slowly, right on the edge, and then caught. The mulatto smiled, relieved. He looked around again, and none of the boats was coming over for a closer look; no one was watching.
She got up and went back to the wheel and pushed the throttle all the way up, moving the tachometer needle up past three thousand, past the red line, until the engine sounded like it was screaming. She saw the look on the mulatto’s face. “Charging the batteries,” she shouted over the noise; her voice was dry and caught on the words. She turned away, as if to go back down.
There was movement from the other side. The sun came through the swollen tissue of her eye the same way it would come through a shade, and she could just make out the shape of the big one’s head.
“Where you going?” he said.
“The toilet,” she said. “I have to do my toilet.”
“No, ma’am,” he said. Something formal in it, like a remembered courtesy from before, when things were different. The engine was still screaming; Alec never ran it over two thousand in his life.
“I have to,” she said.
He shrugged.
It was easier than she thought. She felt it on her legs, and then on her feet. She wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose, or if it had just happened. Some of it splashed, and that was what drew their attention.
The boat moved and she reached up and grabbed the boom to steady herself, the puddle growing at her feet, both of them still watching, the mulatto beginning to smile, and then she pushed against the boom with all her weight.
The boom swung the foot or so that the ties allowed it to move, hitting the bigger one across the eye. He was there next to her, and then he was falling backward, into the stairwell. One of his hands grabbed the railing, and the woodwork pulled out under his weight. His face disappeared and she heard him fall the rest of the way down.
The mulatto reached for her, smiling at what she’d done, and she pushed the boom at him too. He ducked easily, chuckling at this situation, and tried again. She crossed the open stairwell, and the mulatto came around it after her, holding on to the railing because he was afraid of the water, and she turned away from him and jumped.
She heard the engine cough once before she hit the water then regain itself at a slightly different pitch.
She swam hard for fifty yards and then turned on her back to take off the shirt, and saw them standing together on the deck, arguing. The exhaust was pouring black smoke. She got out of the shirt, and the going was easier.
When she looked again, five minutes later, they were at the bow, tugging at the anchor line, but the engine had quit. She put her face in the water and did not look back again until she reached the marina.
A
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