The sloop bucked a little as the bow chopped into a wave and fell a
few points off course. The steady chugging of the small marine engine
pushed her on, sidling up over the low rollers and sliding down the
other side joyfully like a little kid on a playground coaster. The wind
was cool and gentle, the sun bright in the southeast. We were running
north, close to the coast, with Bowen Island and Gibsons already far
astern. At that time of year, and in the middle of the week, traffic
was light. The nearest ship was only a smudge on the horizon. I bent a
line around the tiller and went below.
In the starboard bunk Pat lay sleeping quietly. A light breeze from the
port floated a wisp of hair and dropped it back on her forehead with
each lift of the bow. I bent over and kissed her gently on the mouth.
She smiled faintly in her sleep and her arms came up around my neck as
she began to wake up. I disengaged them gently.
"Go back to sleep darling. It's not time for your watch yet."
I straightened the covers over her, and went into the tiny galley.
The coffee was hot and the eggs I had set on the stove previously were
boiling. I sat down to eat. The benzedrine I had taken to keep me going
all through the night was wearing off. I could feel the faint quivering
of fatigue in my arms and legs. My eyes were dry and burning a little.
In two or three hours I could wake Pat and get some sleep myself. In
the meantime all I had to do was to steer the sloop north, towards one
of our favorite islands, a small, uninhabited, rock and tree covered
hump where we could be alone to rest and relax.
And as I ate quickly and quietly, as I cleaned up the dishes and went
back on deck, the words of Dr. Hallam kept running through my head like
a squirrel through a maze, darting and searching for the answer. "Only
the Chinese are dying as individuals, but I fear we are dying--as a
nation!"
I had sat there, flabbergasted, my mouth open like a moron, the
incredible statement echoing through the suddenly empty chambers of my
brain.
"The ferret...." Pat spoke through the horror-stiffened fingers that
clawed at her mouth. Her eyes stared widely at the deliberately
composed features of the director.
"Yes, my dear ... the ferret."
"Oh, no.... Oh, God no ... not now!" It was not a cry of anguish for
the world but something personal, deeper, a cry of despair.
"What's all the fuss about?" I said crossly. "I don't get it." I turned
to Pat. "What're you having a hissy about?"
Hallam looked at me with patient resignation.
"If you were a woman you'd be having a hissy too, as you call it."
"That's her word for it sir," I said. "If you two are all up in the air
because a ferret has an abortion I can't see why. There are plenty of
diseases that affect animals differently to man. What about undulant
fever? It causes abortion in cattle but doesn't affect pregnant women
any more than many other serious diseases do. So a ferret drops its
kittens! So it might have done it equally with any other high fever."
"You're quite right John," Hallam said, "but remember, this is no
ordinary disease. This is a secret weapon and, if it does cause
miscarriages and perhaps permanent damage to the ovaries, the result
will be a catastrophe for the West."
"Doggone it, Chief, if you'll pardon my saying so, you're getting
positively paranoid about this whole business. We haven't a shred of
real evidence so far."
"Again you're right, but this is one time where intuition and a high
index of suspicion should prevail over cool scientific detachment. We
haven't got time for a series of controlled experiments. We've got to
guess, and guess right!"
"He's right, John!"
"OK Pat, OK! Trot out your woman's intuition and we'll all fly off
into the wild blue yonder. I only hope we don't come down with a dull
thud."
"All the ferrets are snuffling with the flu," Hallam said. "It's
unfortunate that only one was pregnant, otherwise we might have had
confirmation of our hunch by now."
"I haven't heard of any increase in miscarriages among pregnant women
who got the flu," I said. "To me that's pretty good evidence that the
bug doesn't affect human beings that way. For that matter, there were
more reports of testicular involvement than of ovarian disease."
"If it does affect pregnant women, maybe it affects the fetus. Maybe
children will be born deformed like the cases of German measles in
early pregnancy," Pat said.
"That's a gruesome thought," I said. "You two give me the creeps this
morning." I looked at my watch. "Lord it's five o'clock! This has been
a rough session."
"And not finished yet," groaned Hallam, pushing up out of his chair.
"Only the ferrets are sick so far. We'll sacrifice a few females ...
and some males too. Send them down to Smith for examination. He has
a doctor and technicians on twenty-four hour duty and they can get
cracking right away. Tell him to concentrate on glandular tissues, with
first priority for the sex glands. And get cultures from the usual
tissues before you send them down."
"Will do," I said, and left the room.
I was back in half an hour. Both Pat and Dr. Hallam came into the
living room shortly afterwards.
"None of the other animals show any sign of illness yet," Pat said.
"We'll have to wait a little longer."
"Look, I don't think anything will happen for the next twenty-four
hours," the chief said. "Why don't you two buzz off. Relax all you can.
There's a busy time coming and you won't be able to get out again for a
while. It's early ... you could get down to the boat and go for a sail.
Keep away from people; I don't want you catching the flu. Come back
early tomorrow morning so nobody will be around."
"What about you?" Pat and I said it together.
"I'll get some sleep now and then putter around and read until I hear
from Smith."
"Smith was there himself. He said he would do some frozen sections as
well as the usual paraffin."
"In that case I shall have some more toast and coffee and wait up for
the reports. But you had better go now. It will be six o'clock before
you get out of the building. Any later and there will be too many
people about."
So here we were, running up the coast and running away from the world's
troubles, if we could, for one bright day. I went below and woke Pat.
* * * * *
The sudden quietness as the motor died aroused me with a start. I sat
up and looked through the porthole to see trees and rocks gliding
slowly by. I recognized the little patch of brown sand set between two
large green lichen-covered boulders. The anchor went down. We were at
our island.
There were still two or three hours until sunset. The air was warm and
the water calm in the sheltered cove. I yawned my way up on deck to see
Pat, in a low cut bathing suit, spreading a large blanket for a sunbath.
We sat down on the blanket and she leaned over to pass me a cigarette.
I took it, being careful not to look directly at her. There was much
too much to see and my blood pressure was already high enough.
We smoked in silence for a while, watching the seagulls preen
themselves on the rocks to which they had returned when the boat
stopped moving.
"John, do you really believe the virus is a natural mutation?"
"I don't know, Baby, I just don't know."
"Then why do you keep arguing with Dr. Hallam about it?"
"I'm not arguing, Baby. I'm trying to keep this thing within the bounds
of reason. We haven't a single bit of evidence yet to prove it isn't a
natural disease, so why go overboard?"
"The structure of the virus isn't normal."
"So far, that seems to be so, but that doesn't prove it's synthetic
either."
"But what if it does cause permanent damage to the ovaries?"
"Then, Toots, this old continent of North America is in one hell of a
fix."
"I can't imagine how I'd feel if I got a disease and knew I could never
have children."
"There are plenty of people that way now."
"Not millions of them, and not me! I always wanted babies but my
husband wanted to wait. He was too busy making money ... and having a
good time."
"A good time with whom?"
"That's the question that finally broke it up. It's just as well there
were no children, I suppose." She leaned over towards me and put her
hands on mine. "If I ever marry again, I want a man who wants children."
This time I looked straight at her, and the hell with my blood
pressure.
"I want your kids," I said, and pulled her down into my arms.
She broke loose after a while, though I could feel her quivering. It
was always the same. I had never been able to break down that last
little bit of resistance, that fear of being hurt again. Maybe I never
would. I sighed resignedly and sat up.
"Might as well go fishing," I said and I went to lay out the lines and
hoist the mainsail.
* * * * *
The wall of fog had been moving towards us over the empty sea like
a great, flat-topped Antarctic iceberg, shining whitely in the gold
light of the Western sun. Beside me, the mainsail hung slackly from the
mast, the edge flipping idly in a stray puff of wind. Slowly the white
cliff approached, and as slowly changed to an amoeboid mass of vapor,
tumbling lazily, sending out streamers that twisted and vanished as
they reached too far from the cool mother mist. One, stronger than the
rest, waved a filmy pseudopod over my head and, for an instant, the
gold light whitened. Another came, and another, and then we were gone,
into the soft wet coolness of the seaborne cloud. The light faded,
both from the fog blanket and from the setting of the sun. I hauled
in the fishing lines and stowed them. I lit the running lights. I was
shivering as I secured the sail, checked the gear and went below.
In the little triangular cabin, tucked under the forepart of the sloop,
Pat was busy. The hissing of the pressure lamp and the crackling of
hamburgers on the stove made a pleasant, home-like sound. It was
cosy and warm here, in contrast to the fog-chill above. The smell of
onions and beef drifted back to where I stood and I sniffed hungrily.
She'd be a good wife, I thought as I watched her, and a good mistress
too. She was still wearing her bathing suit and, as I looked from her
full brown thighs up over the curving hip-line to the small breasts
pushing against the thin bra, I felt the slow pounding pulse and deep
excitement of desire. Quietly I came close behind her. She started
as my cold hands touched her, the instant of realization passed, and
then she came back hard against me and her eyes were on mine as she
turned her lips for my kiss. For a moment only she stayed, then, with a
backward shove of her body, she tried to push me away.
"Look, darling, this is all very nice, but the hamburgers are burning."
"Let them," I whispered, my hands roving a bit. "I'm burning too."
"That can wait." Her eyes seemed to promise me as she brushed at a
stray brown curl with the back of her hand. The spatula, waving above
her head, flashed in the flickering gas light. I let her go.
"Why don't you fix us a drink? There's time before we eat."
"If I drink too much I won't want you or the hamburgers either,"
I complained, but I went to the cooler and pulled out the gin and
vermouth. "Someday," I thought morosely, "someday, she must give in."
I put her drink in the shelf where she could reach it as she worked and
squeezed between the bench seat and the folding table while I watched
her toss a salad. As a medical technician she was good, and the same
thoroughness and skill went into her cooking; into everything she did
for that matter.
The drink was good and the salad sat before me in its green crispness.
Pat was lifting the hamburgers off the fire and, as the cracking
ceased, I felt a low, insistent, base rumble rise above the hissing of
the lamp. The night was quiet, no foghorns because there were no ships
near enough. We had drifted fairly close to the mainland, behind some
small islands, off the usual channels. The auxiliary motor was still
shut down and for a moment I wondered if the currents had carried us
in towards the rocks; but the noise was not the splash of waves on
shore, it was too steady. Now Pat was standing, frying pan and spatula
in either hand, and her straight dark eyebrows down in a frown of
concentration.
"Do you hear it too?"
She nodded.
"Keep the hamburgers warm, I'm going up to have a look."
She moved back to the stove as I climbed up into the cockpit.
* * * * *
In a rising breeze the mist was swirling and, from the east, as the fog
patches thinned out, the lighter cloud showed where a full moon lay
hidden. The noise was louder now, and coming fast, a beat of engines
rising above the splash of wavelets against the bow of the sloop. I
couldn't see where the ship was. There was no foghorn; neither the
doleful groaning of the deep sea ships nor the sharp cough of the
coastal steamer, bouncing its sound waves off the island hills, told me
where it lay.
"The stupid oaf," I muttered to myself. "What's he doing in this
deserted channel, and why doesn't he signal?"
There was no time to wonder. I jumped to the stern and grasped the
tiller while I pushed down firmly on the starter button. The engine was
cold and coughed reluctantly in the foggy air. I was still prodding the
starter and working the throttle when the fog bank broke apart.
Above, to the east, the mottled moon, pale grey and blue like a
Danish cheese, had risen over the Coast Range. Across the waters
of the channel ran a rippling bar of light, cutting in half the
white-walled arena of fog as the late afternoon sun pierces the dust
of a Mexican corrida. Charging out of the misty north, like a Miura
bull from the gate, came a black, high-prowed ship, moving fast through
its phosphorescent bow wave. It came on, straight for us, and the
sputtering motor still did not respond. I stood up and worked the
tiller back and forth, trying to scull with the rudder and swing our
bow to starboard.
"Pat, Pat, for God's sake get on deck! It's a collision!"
I was still yelling when the thick black mass rose over me and the
bowsprit of the sloop splintered and buckled. The jolt threw me to
my knees but I held the rudder hard over and we slid by, bumping and
scraping along the port side of the vessel.
It was not a big ship, but bigger than a halibut boat. It seemed about
the size and shape of those floating canneries I'd seen in Hokkaido
when I'd worked with the Japanese National Police in 1952. I don't know
whether that thought was first in my mind or whether it came later
but I do know, in the middle of all the confusion I heard a command
screamed out in Japanese, and the answering "_Hai_" barked back as
only the Japs can say it. I thought I must have been mistaken when, a
moment later, I saw the man. The moon was full on his face as he leaned
out over the side, near the stern. For an instant we were quite close
as I stood up, cursing the stupid so-and-so's who were ruining the
beautiful woodwork of my boat. He was fair-haired, with a short brush
cut. The eyes were deep set and shadowed too much to see the color. His
face was broad, with high cheek bones, and the mouth wide and heavy
under a short nose. I couldn't tell his height, but he looked strong
and stocky. His hands, gripping the rail, seemed powerful even in that
light. As we passed, the moonlight caught them and was reflected in a
dull red glow from some large stone, a ring I presumed, on the back
of his left hand. He didn't move or speak and I lost sight of him a
second later when the pitching of the yacht in the stern wash threw me
again to the deck. By the time I recovered, the steamer was across the
open space and plunging back into the fog. In the swirling mist of its
passage the flag at the stern fluttered out straight. It looked like a
red ball on a white field.
"The hamburgers! My God, the hamburgers are on fire!"
I turned around, still dazed, to see Pat unscramble herself in the
cockpit and drop back into the galley. I left her to it while I checked
the wreckage of the port side fittings. We weren't holed, thank
Goodness, so we could run for home under our own power. I steered in
close to the shore of one of the islands where the fog had lifted, and
dropped anchor. Then I went below. Pat was at the stove again. A new
batch of hamburgers was under way and only a stain on the floor showed
what had happened to the first lot.
"Mix us a drink, a big drink," was all she said, then.
* * * * *
The hamburgers were gone and we sat over our coffee. I was drowsy from
the warmth and the hot sweetness of the Drambuie felt good as I took it
slowly. Pat was rolling hers around the liqueur glass and watching the
oily liquid slide back to the bottom. A quiet woman ordinarily, she was
extremely so this night.
"Why so quiet, darling?" I reached for her hand. She looked at me and
said nothing.
"Is it that damned ferret again?"
She nodded.
"Don't let it worry you so much, sweet. It's only a hunch and I don't
think he's right."
"What if he is right, what then?" She went on without waiting for an
answer. "I want children, I don't want to be sterile."
"Well you aren't, or at least I don't suppose so. Probably you won't
be."
She looked at me scornfully. "What chance have I of avoiding the flu
when millions of others are getting it?"
"Oh Lord, you women! Can't you see there's absolutely no evidence for
this silly fear of yours? Damn Hallam and his wild ideas! Why don't you
forget it?"
"Because I think he's right, that's why." She stood up abruptly. "Let's
go on deck."
I followed her out into the cockpit. We were still at anchor, intending
to start back after a few hours sleep. The sloop was as quiet as a
resting seabird in the black shadow of a rocky point. It was cold. In
a few minutes Pat shivered and came close to me, her arms about my
waist. The keen air had awakened me, and, as I caressed her, smoothing
away the little pebbles of gooseflesh on her shoulders and back, her
warm body against mine stirred again the desire I had felt before the
collision. She must have known. Slowly her arms came up and around
my neck. Her head, cushioned on my chest, lifted and her full lips
brushed mine lightly. For a moment I hesitated. Through the thin suit
she felt naked under my hands, trembling with cold and excitement.
"I can't take much more of this, Pat," I whispered. "Either you quit
right now or you go down to bed."
Her eyes opened. She looked straight at me for a long moment.
"Will your bunk hold both of us?" she asked as her lips closed hard on
mine.