The Wanderer Read online

  “Maybe Bompie never told you,” Uncle Dock said.

  “Why would he tell you and not me?” Uncle Stew was getting very red in the face. “Mo?” he said. “You heard this story before?”

  “Nope,” my dad said.

  “See?” Uncle Stew said.

  “But then,” my dad said, “that one about the car in the river—that one sounded familiar.”

  “Nobody ever tells me anything!” Uncle Stew said.

  The whole time this was going on, Sophie just sat there juggling pretzel packets.

  UNDER WAY

  CHAPTER 23

  WHOOSH!

  The sea, the sea, the sea!

  Yesterday afternoon, Cody came running down the dock saying, “Uncle Dock’s says it’s zero hour. Get your stuff. We’re going.”

  “You mean now?” I said. “Like right this minute?”

  “Yep!” He was grinning his wide, wide grin. “This is it, Sophie!”

  I ran around getting my stuff and didn’t have a whole lot of time to think about what was happening or how I felt about it, but here we are, we are on our way! Whoosh, we are off!

  The first couple hours were frenzied, with everyone double-checking his own stuff and arguing over space, and Uncle Stew and Brian handing out assignments and schedules and trying their best to make me feel like a slug, but I was having none of it, and I kept my cool and didn’t even get too snotty with them.

  As we were leaving the Bay of Fundy, we heard a plop and another plop and plop plop plop! Surrounding us were dozens of seals, sticking their sweet faces out of the water to have a look around.

  “Hey, there, darlin’—” Cody said, as they twitched their whiskers at us. Even Brian seemed taken with them; for once he didn’t have a bossy comment to make. He sat on deck with his hands cupped under his chin, watching the seals.

  Uncle Mo sat on the aft deck, sketching. I like his drawings. He showed me how the seals that are farther away should appear smaller in the drawing than the ones closer up. I tried to draw them, too, but my drawing wasn’t as good as Uncle Mo’s.

  “Are you an artist?” I asked him.

  “Me?” he said. “No.”

  “But you look like an artist to me,” I said. “You draw really good stuff.”

  “Naw,” he said. “This isn’t so hot. I’m pretty rusty.”

  I asked him what his job was, what he did for a living. He frowned. “I’m a number-cruncher. I sit at a computer all day and mess around with numbers.”

  “But did you want to be an artist?” I asked. “Before you were a number-cruncher?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Why didn’t I what?” Mo said. He was putting whiskers on the seals in his drawing.

  “Be an artist. Why didn’t you become an artist instead of a number-cruncher?”

  He used his finger to smudge the water line in his drawing, making it look soft and fuzzy and more like water. I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me, but finally he said, “I dunno. Why does anybody become anything?”

  “Isn’t it because they want to?” I asked. “Don’t you become what you want to become?”

  He looked at me. His mouth was partly open and it seemed like there were words in there but they couldn’t come out. He closed his mouth and tried again. “Not usually, Sophie. That’s not the way it works usually.”

  “But why not? Why wouldn’t a person do what he was good at and what he wanted to do?”

  Now Uncle Mo was drawing ripples around the seals. “Because sometimes, Sophie, a person just needs a job. And sometimes the job he can get is not the one he most wants.”

  “Well, I hope I don’t do that,” I said. “I hope I don’t get a job I don’t want. It seems like such a waste.”

  “Ah,” Uncle Mo said, putting away his drawing. “Youth.”

  There was no moon that first night, and it was eerie, so dark, the sky and the sea folding a huge black blanket around us. I saw a sparkle and a flash in the water, and then more sparkles and flashes, little streams of light trailing beside the boat, as if the lights were little beacons from someone lost down below.

  “Phosphorescent plankton!” Uncle Dock said. “Beauteous!”

  All along the sides of the boat, little spots flashed all night, like underwater fireflies. It seemed magical and mysterious, as if they were sending me a message in code. I wanted so badly to decode their message, but I couldn’t, and I got yelled at because I was so busy watching the flashing fish-lights that I wasn’t paying attention to the sails.

  Later that night, as we were pushing out into the open ocean, we heard a loud rushing of water, a spewing and bellowing. Whales! It was too dark to see them, but one blew so close to us that I nearly shinnied up the mast. It sounded huge, gargantuan!

  Sometimes when I think about what is happening, I get the cold shivers. We’re crossing the ocean! And now we won’t be able to get off the boat and walk around. There will be no new people to meet, no new foods to try, no time alone, no land, no fresh water, no trees, no exercise except boat exercise. And how will we all get along, cooped up like this, with no chance to get away from each other?

  I’m worried about being cooped up with Uncle Mo because he is often so loud, and he and Cody seem always on the verge of knocking each other’s block off. And then there’s Uncle Stew and Brian, always bossing everyone about and fussing over things and making me feel very, very small. Uncle Dock is the calmest, and the one I feel most comfortable around, but sometimes he seems disorganized and so worried about what might happen that I wonder if he’s really going to let us carry on, or if he will make us turn back when he finds the first leak or broken bit.

  But all of those worries are countered by this huge, surging, pushing feeling, as if the sea is calling and the wind is pushing and whoosh off we are going, whoosh! And you feel as if this is where you should be and you wonder where you are going and you can’t even think because whoosh, you are off, whoosh!

  Boom! Thunder now! The weather report calls for hail and strong winds—whoa! That’ll liven things up, for sure.

  CHAPTER 24

  ORANGES AND PIZZA

  Un-be-liev-able! We are actually on our way!

  It’s raining, but who cares? We have wind and are sailing along! I was standing up on deck letting the wind splosh my face and I was looking up at the sails and I thought it was the prettiest sight I’d ever seen. You feel so free!

  Caught my dad practicing juggling with oranges today! When he saw me watching, he dropped the oranges, and said, “It’s stupid, juggling.”

  I’ve been sitting here thinking about the night before we left Grand Manan, when my father and I called Mom to say good-bye (again). She sounded awfully cheery. Maybe she’s getting used to being on her own, without anyone hassling her.

  Dad’s end of the conversation was weird, not his usual barking self. He kept saying “I know,” and “I will,” and “It’s okay,” and little two-word sentences like that. At the end, he got kind of choked up (this is my father??) and told her he loved her.

  Man!

  When he hung up the phone, he said, “Want a pizza?”

  CHAPTER 25

  FIRED

  The sea!

  We’re doing two-person watches right now, and I’m on with Uncle Dock again, which is good, except that he doesn’t like to steer if it’s raining, and it has been raining since we left. He wants to use the autohelm, but I’d rather steer the whole time than use that thing. I feel as if we’re more in control of where we’re going if someone is actually steering.

  The wind has been good and steady, and so far we’re making good time. It would be nice if it would stop raining, but when I’m feeling cold and miserable, I remember something Bompie once said: “Suffering builds character.” He said that if you are always lolling around and being pampered and life is too easy, then you turn into a spineless wimp, but if you encounter suffering, you learn to face challenges and you get str
onger. It sounds like something a grandparent might say, doesn’t it?

  This morning, when I was in the forecabin getting dressed, I heard Uncle Dock and Uncle Stew talking in the galley. Uncle Stew didn’t sound like his normal bossy self. His voice was all scratchy and his words were stumbling out.

  “I don’t know why—I had no idea—it was out of the blue—I was good at that job—”

  “You’ll find something else,” Uncle Dock said.

  “What if I don’t?” Uncle Stew said. “I shouldn’t have come. I should be out there looking for a job—”

  “This is the best thing for you,” Uncle Dock said. “Trust me.”

  I was shocked. Uncle Stew got fired? That’s what it sounded like, anyway. When I came out of the cabin, Uncle Stew turned away from me, hiding his face.

  “Hey there, Sophie,” Uncle Dock said. “Brian’s been calling for you—”

  “Why? The toilet need cleaning?” I said. It was just a joke but I was sorry I said it, because Uncle Stew probably didn’t need to hear me talking like that about Brian when he was sitting there feeling so miserable about losing his job.

  CHAPTER 26

  CODE

  Here’s a weird thing. My dad gave his first lesson in radio code. I thought it was going to be mega-boring and that he would be a grouchy teacher, but you can tell he really likes this stuff and it was actually interesting. It’s like secret code. And it’s something that Mr. Know-it-all Brian and his know-it-all father don’t know yet, so we’re all learning it at the same time. I am going to learn it first and I am going to learn it better. So there, Mr. Know-it-all!

  It’s so cool, this radio code thing. Each letter of the alphabet has a word that goes with it, like this:

  A is Alpha

  B is Bravo

  C is Charlie

  D is Delta

  E is Echo

  And on like that. So if you say the word dad, for instance, and you want to make sure the person on the other end hears you correctly, you say: “Dad: Delta-Alpha-Delta.” Is that cool or what?

  CHAPTER 27

  INSURANCE

  The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolls and rolls and calls to me! All day long it changes color, from blue to black to gray and all the shades in between, and I love the sea, I love the sea!

  The Wanderer has been keeping good speed so far, and we’re now on a good beam reach straight ahead—across we go! Most of our watch time is taken up with trimming sails and keeping a steady course, and our off-watch time is filled with cleaning and cooking and keeping things in order (this makes Brian and Uncle Stew happy).

  Last night we spoke with another vessel on the radio; it was a lone sailor having electrical trouble and he needed to know where he was. He didn’t need other assistance, but all night I kept thinking about him out there on his own. Was he glad to be on his own, or was he afraid?

  When I came off watch, Uncle Stew was talking to the sailor on the radio again.

  “Didn’t you sleep?” I asked Uncle Stew.

  “Naw—just trying to figure out how this thing works, that’s all.”

  He didn’t fool me. He was worried about the sailor too.

  I said, “If you think this is too nosy, you don’t have to answer, but I was wondering. What do you do—what’s your job—when you’re working?”

  He didn’t look up at me. “When I’m working, I sell insurance.”

  “You mean like life insurance and car insurance and stuff like that?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You can never have too much insurance.”

  “I don’t get how that life insurance works,” I said. “You pay money to insure what—that you stay alive? How is paying money going to help you stay alive? And if you don’t stay alive—well, what good is the insurance?”

  Uncle Stew rubbed his forehead. I was probably giving him a headache. “It’s kind of complicated,” he said. “The insurance helps the people who are left behind.”

  “So do you like doing that?” I asked.

  “Doing what?”

  “Selling insurance.”

  “Not really. Anyway, I got fired.”

  “Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” I said. “Now you can do what you really want.”

  “Huh,” he said.

  “What would that be?” I asked. “What do you really really want to do?”

  “You know what, Sophie?” Uncle Stew said. “I have no idea. No idea whatsoever. Isn’t that pitiful?”

  “Yep,” I said. Well, it was true. It sounded really pitiful to me.

  The waves have been slowly getting bigger, and the forecabin bounces around like a roller coaster. When I was asleep in there, I dreamed I was not yet born and my mother was running a marathon. All this rocking motion makes me so sleepy, and it is tempting to spend all my off-watch time snuggled up in my narrow bunk, but I’d get in trouble if I did. Brian or Uncle Stew would be jabbing me and telling me about my assignments.

  Cody has been learning about ham radio, and Uncle Dock surprised me by saying that my father was trying to get a single sideband antenna hooked up, and if he did, we could be in touch with him via the ham radio. In a way, I loved that idea, thinking that I’d still be in touch, but I was also disappointed because it seemed as if it would be cheating, as if I’d be getting extra help or something.

  I’ve been thinking about Bompie, carrying on conversations with him in my head. “Here we come, Bompie! Sailing over the mighty seas to the rolling green hills of England. Here we come!”

  CHAPTER 28

  CHARLIE-OSCAR-DELTA-YANKEE

  Whoo! We are moving along! No detours! Spooky fog out there, though, makes everything look like a horror movie. You expect some big monster to come looming up out of the deep and swallow you up.

  Learned more radio code. Here’s the whole alphabet:

  A

  Alpha

  B

  Bravo

  C

  Charlie

  D

  Delta

  E

  Echo

  F

  Foxtrot

  G

  Golf

  H

  Hotel

  I

  India

  J

  Juliet

  K

  Kilo

  L

  Lima

  M

  Mike

  N

  November

  O

  Oscar

  P

  Papa

  Q

  Quebec

  R

  Romeo

  S

  Sierra

  T

  Tango

  U

  Uniform

  V

  Victor

  W

  Whiskey

  X

  X-ray

  Y

  Yankee

  Z

  Zulu

  So here’s my name in radio code: Cody: Charlie-Oscar-Delta-Yankee. Is that cool or what?

  And my dad’s name, Mo, becomes: Mike-Oscar.

  And Sophie is Sierra-Oscar-Papa-Hotel-India-Echo.

  We’ve been calling each other Charlie-Oscar and Mike-Oscar and Sierra-Oscar for practice.

  “You seen Mike-Oscar?”

  “I think he’s up on deck with Sierra-Oscar.”

  Like that.

  Brian’s name becomes: Bravo-Romeo-India-Alpha-November. So we’ve been calling him Bravo-Romeo. “Oh Romeo! Bravo-Romeo!” He actually laughed. Brian laughed.

  Learned a cool knot from Sierra-Oscar-Papa-Hotel-India-Echo (Sophie). It’s called a clove hitch.

  I just practiced on my shoelaces. Tied them to a pole down below deck. Got yelled at. “What the heck are you doing tying your shoes to a pole while you’ve still got your shoes on your feet?” Uncle Stew shouted. “What if you had to get up in a hurry?”

  “I’d kick my shoes off,” I said.

  CHAPTER 29

  BLIPS

  Here we are, well out in
the big blue, rolling, rolling, sailing on to England. Out here, I feel as if the ocean is alive, as if it is living and breathing, and moody, oh so moody! Sometimes it is calm and smooth, as if it were asleep; and sometimes it is playful, splashing and rolling; and sometimes it is angry and knocks us about. It’s as if the ocean has many sides, like me.

  We spent yesterday in major work mode because two grommets on the mainsail tore out. Uncle Stew and Brian fluttered around trying to find someone to blame. Apparently whoever let out the sail (Uncle Stew says it was Cody; Cody says it was Brian) forgot to also let out the outhaul line, so the tension was too great along one side of the sail and pop went the grommets.

  Grommets. Slides. Outhaul. I already knew what these words meant, but Cody cannot get them in his head—or if he can, he refuses to use the right words. He calls the grommets hole thingys and the slides metal thingys and the outhaul that line thingy. He and Uncle Stew had a major fight yesterday when Cody was telling him about the hole thingys tearing and coming away from the metal-slide thingys.

  “What the heck are you talking about?” Uncle Stew yelled at Cody. “You sound like an idjit. You don’t belong on this boat if you can’t learn the proper names for things.”

  “I know what I’m doing, even if I don’t call things by their la-dee-dah names,” Cody said.

  “There’s a reason why everything has a name,” Uncle Stew insisted. He was poking Cody’s shoulder with his finger. “What are you going to say in an emergency? Help! The hole thingy is loose!?”