Part II

After a few days, the crew has settled into their routines to the point people can have a little more fun, starting with Kevin's "Modern Shanty Contest" to replace the traditional 19th century working songs that provide the coordinating rhythm to large groups of people hauling lines like the mainsail halyard or the braces. "Bad Romance" (Alex' contribution) is a little too fast, but "Before He Cheats" (mine) works well. "I Love Rock n' Roll" (Will) left up for debate. The entire process has the captain vacillating between horror and hysterics as he stands behind the wheel with a customary military rigidity too long used to be shed now, in old uniform slacks and loud Hawaiian shirt which I take to be his celebration of civilian sailing. Off duty folks start hanging out in scattered little gatherings on deck or on the rack above the winch where the lumpy bundles of sails provides an ideal place for lounging. At meals the groups become more fluid as people start to mingle between watches.

I tend to stick close to the Captain to pick his brain for nautical knowledge in general as well as Naval history, the lack of attention given to both the Royal Navy's history, as well as the developing naval forces of the Commonwealth Nations, in this region of the world being of concern to us both. He keeps hinting heavily there's a doctorate in it for me. I keep hinting heavily back that I really want to return to the Ancient Mediterranean at some point. That was what I got into Naval History to study after all.

"So how did you end up with Greg here?" John asks me over the remnants of dinner one night, probably desperate to drag the conversation out of the dry pages of historiography.

To which I relate how I got drawn into studying the history of the Royal Navy by accident. "One of my classmates had taken the Naval History course the semester…term before I did and she had done her term paper and presentation on…"

"Oh God." The Captain winces, having heard this story before.

"…"The Frequency and Recurrence of Sodomy and Bestiality on Royal Naval Vessels of the Napoleonic Wars" which in the department was popularly known as the "Buggery in the British Navy Paper.""

At "sodomy" John has started to choke. By "buggery" he is chortling is the most remarkably adorable manner.

"Like you lot were much better…Regulation brothels," The Captain counters in annoyance.

"Monty took good care of his troops. And at least the Army knows where to put it." This results in a display of British inter-service rivalry I have not had the pleasure of, so I let the two men give each other a hard time until the Captain quits the table longing for "the days of proper Naval discipline of the cat".

"You shagged cats too?" John asks the older man's retreating back to get the one-finger salute in response. "Not my type, mate." John rejoins dryly.

After the chuckling subsides, John smiles, a gentle curve of his narrow lips conveying a startlingly genuine warmth. "You didn't finish telling me how you got into Greg's program, sorry."

I shrug, "The end of the story isn't nearly as interesting as the beginning." I talk about how being competitive with my classmate made me stumble onto an academic gap of study focused on the Royal Navy that I have been swimming in since. He narrows his eyes in interest while I am talking, but at the end he nods politely, obviously not seeing the importance of the work.

"Sorry. I hear Greg talking about some of the things he is working on and I can't believe what some people get paid for."

"Well, we aren't paid a lot. And I can see where from the outside it looks like historians get caught up in a lot of trivial minutia, but the general idea is that by studying the details we will understand the larger events better. In my case the progression of the power of the nation state and the development of the military as a disciplined fighting force. And in understanding how things came to be, we learn, hopefully, how to best move forward in the future."

He tips his head to the side slightly, reinforcing the raptor analogy I had at first impression, considering the idea and then dismissing it. "A bit above my pay grade, I'm afraid."

"If today's political climate is anything to go by, learning from the past is above everyone's pay grade." He grunts in agreement as he polishes off his coffee. "How long were you in?"

"Thirteen years."

"Infantry?"

A furrow appears between his brows, "Didn't realize it showed."

"The grease paint is practically still oozing from your pores. My mother's family is Army; there is just something in the way you hold yourself, how you've kept in shape…"

"So you've noticed my shape." An eyebrow cocks in amusement as I feel my face flaming.

"Where did you serve?" I keep the conversation on track.

He lets me get away with it, though there is a merry lascivious light in his eyes that does not bode well for the future. "Kuwait, Kosovo, Sierra Leone, and Afghanistan."

"…Damn."

"I saw my fair share."

"That's a bit more than "fair share". Are you still in?"

"No," He looks down at table, shifting tensely, "No. Took early retirement. Shoulder injury."

Not that injured from what I have seen. "Couldn't tie you to a desk job, huh?"

"Not for love nor money." He smiles that gentle closed lip smirk again and I decide I like it. "I do security contract work now, lots of travel. Which reminds me, I've been meaning to thank you for helping Alex. She's come a long way this last week."

"It's the environment. You know how training via immersion is."

"True, but you made it understandable. She's had a really rough time this year. It's good to see her exerting herself and, well, as happy as she can be. Happy for Alex. I…" he rubs a hand over his eyes and smirks with a wry sadness, "I'm still getting over the fact that she's not ten anymore, let alone turning 18."

I wonder when someone tattooed "family counseling" on my forehead. "Welcome to teenage girls. In my experience father - daughter relationships are the most awkward because they are the most alien, especially through adolescence." I get up to take my dishes to the galley. He starts to clear the rest of table. "Unless there are some mutual interests, it can be very hard to find a common ground."

""We have not had anything in common for years and when her mother died I was not around as much as I wanted to be, as I should have been."

"Is that why she is so angry?"

"Her mother died while I was in the…out of the country," he says, putting the dishes down in the wash station and thanking the member of C watch on galley duty before continuing, "...and six weeks after I got home I was sent out again on a trip that turned into a clu…a mess."

"My virgin ears can take "clusterfuck.""

He smiles a bit at that. "I didn't get home for a month. By the time I got back…You've seen what it's been like."

"Couldn't you have turned down the contract?"

"I don't have that liberty."

"Well...the truth is you're stuck. You try too hard she hates you. You give up she hates you. You're just going to have to wait it out. While she hates you. Just make sure she knows that you love her and that you are there when she is ready."

"And when will that be, I wonder." he says dryly as we head up the stairs to the lab. Him in front of me this time.

"I don't know. Even if I did know the entirety of everything that went on between you two, there really is no way to predict how long that kind of anger can last. Just know that I say this from experience: That if nothing else, there will come a day when she will simply be tired of the weight of it. The trick is when she does finally gets tired of it, to be there so she doesn't just walk away for good." I lean against the side of the hull as an endless horizon of dark blue water slides by, scattered with vast, yellow-green mats of sargassum weed as if we were sailing through an endless marsh.

Just add lilies and you have C.S. Lewis' vision of the ends of the Narnian earth.

John hangs onto one of the ropes as the breeze ruffles his hair just a tad, looking at me oddly. I'm struck by how dramatically the light changes the color of his eyes, what appeared grey below deck is now a dark watery blue. I'm almost tempted to take him over to the other side of the ship to see if the bright light of the afternoon sun makes a difference. He is about to say something when three of C watch walk by on the way forward.

"Need a hand?"

So John and I go help the strike and furl the jib, pulling the sail down and then climbing out onto the head rig netting to fold it properly and tie it to the bowsprit. Knots are one of my weak points, I just get them confused so easily, so John has to show me how to tie a proper reef knot. We're just wrapping that up when I hear a splash slightly out of rhythm with the water against the hull.

"John." I touch his arm lightly, "Look down."

At that moment, a sleek grey shape breaks the surface as a spotted dolphin surges forward under us. I count seven bow-riding, darting in and out of the wave created by the hull of the ship, surfing it to reach greater speeds than they could on their own.

You have not been in the presence of essential and unparalleled joy de vivre until you have watched dolphins at play. Be as cynical and jaded as you want, Mother Nature will strip it from you in an instant with a jump and a splash.

Especially when one dolphin keeps trying to do a barrel roll only to land on his or her side.

Watching John's reaction to them is almost as much fun as watching them, his movements darting as he looks between his feet and then over the bowsprit and then behind him, trying to follow every member of the pod, his expression a unique combination of wonder, curiosity, and intense focus.

Word travels fast and soon everyone not on duty has come to the bow to see the first dolphins of the trip. Most look over the side of the hull, but since it is Alex' first time I pass her my harness and trade places with her on the headrig.

I watch the pair from the bow. John's attention fixed now on his daughter's innocent laughter. Not touching or speaking to her, but standing close to her. Watching her be ten again, probably.

After the dolphins went their way, there was a quick conference between Alex and John that seemed to result in a détente for the next couple days. Not that they spent time together, but John could haul on the same rope as his daughter without waves of "sullen" radiating off her. They once even managed to sit at the same table civilly, though the topics of conversation around them were carefully chosen to be completely neutral.

"Gods willing, " I say to Rene as we are "skylarking", playing around in the rigging of the masts. At this particular moment we are climbing up the foremast shrouds to the course yardarm, "...we've seen the end of the worst of it."

"Teenagers." She reminds me shakily.

I remember that Rene never spent much time aloft on our first trip. Climbing 40 to 100 feet above the hard teak deck of a moving ship, its roll accentuated through the mast until you can be swaying in arcs of dozen feet or more, can be somewhat daunting. "You o.k.?"

"Yeah. I'll conquer this."

Better keep her talking. "Were you that bad as a kid? I think I was worse."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"I was more the "withdraw and write horribly self involved poetry in my voluminous journal" type. I didn't have the Daddy issues you and Alex had, but I had my own angst….Oh shit. How do I get up over this? I can't remember."

Rene has reached the cross trees, where the yardarm is attached, requiring her to let go of the comforting shrouds and find a very awkward leverage to haul herself onto the platform that juts out over her head.

After coaching her up onto the platform, she sits, dangling her legs over the edge as the wind tosses her brown curls in her face. "O.K., that's far enough for the first time out." So we sit and watch the horizon, greatly expanded by our height over the water so that we can see the sails of six of our sister ships around us. We chat about Rene's master's thesis, the book I am working on, what we have read lately. Enjoy thrashing Stephanie Meyer within an inch of her life to much laughter.

"Don't say that in front of Alex tho'." Rene interjects, "She *loves* those gawdawful things."

I groan, "Why am I not surprised? Please tell me you have been trying to get her to move on to real books?"

"I'm working on it. I wish we had some Anne Rice on board, at least then she could decently written Vampire romance."

"Little chance of coming across an English copy of that on this trip, at least until we hit Port Antonio. How is she doing?" Off duty, Alex has been spending more time with the folks closer to her own age, though even then that's 2 to 6 years older.

Rene shrugs, "She's a kid, but she's British so it's inherently less obnoxious on the surface. She's read some, what has been assigned in school mostly, but she really isn't an abstract thinker. She's smart though. Kevin started walking her through the first steps of stellar navigation and she's picking it up like *that*." Rene snaps her fingers, "I was surprised when she said she wasn't going to college."

"She isn't?"

"No. Self-destructive angry teen syndrome. She blew off her A levels completely."

"Ouch."

"After this trip, she moving in with a friend and going to work in a clothing store."

"That's just sad. She's sharper than that."

"That is one of the points of contention between her and her Dad, but I gather the divorce was really messy and since he doesn't have a degree, he doesn't exactly have a good position to argue from."

"They were divorced?"

"Yeah, a few years before her Mom died. When she was 13 I think."

"That explains it." I look down at the quarter deck to see John, in a white and tan ratty T-shirt and cargo pants ensemble, wiping his hands on a rag and talking with the Captain. "I wondered why he seemed so…detached from his wife, ex-wife's, death."

"And why he was flirting with you only months afterward?"

"Seems a slightly less tacky now. Only a slightly though." John and I have spoken a couple times after our initial conversation. Sixty percent of his talk is interestingly topical, an outline of the major political players in Pakistan and a very colorfully informative play-by-play of the Battle of El Alamein being highlights. Thirty-five percent is personal, mostly Alex while sharing small anecdotes. And then there's that last five percent. Unfortunately, despite my consistent rebuffs he seems unable to resist making increasingly suggestive comments, taking an almost sadistic delight in making me blush. This morning he is on a "ginger" kick. Hence one of the reasons I'm up the mast.

And given the little wave and big grin he just gave me before going back below decks, he knows it.

"So…" Rene follows my gaze with one of her mischievous smiles, "What is going on?"

I shrug, "Nothing. Holiday flirting. Probably because I'm one the few females on this ship *not* close to his daughter's age."

"Oh sure….What was it they voted you at the end of the class last time?"

"Shut up."

As much as I would like to stay up the mast, my watch comes on after lunch and I get to fill the log book for the first hour, which includes touring the ship. Which includes reading the temperature gauges in the engine room.

The stream of profanity is a trickle now as John has managed to keep the desalination system limping along for drinking and cooking purposes until we get to the Dominican Republic.

"Will you be able to get the part that you need in Samana?" I call down the hatch in the floor to the engine compartment.

"Yeah." John's voice is given deeper resonance in the steel lined room below, "Greg radioed ahead for it as soon as I figured out what the problem is. It should be waiting for us when we arrive tomorrow. Coming up."

"Well, that will be a relief." I reply. Since the engine is off, I can take the nominal readings from the control panel in the upper deck as John climbs the short ladder from the cramped engine compartment. With an engine big enough to drive 280 ton displacement vessel and other systems, the lower compartment gets stuffy even when the engine is off and John's T-shirt is sweat stained. As he rakes his fingers through his damp hair, I'm struck by the image and smile.

"What?"

"Roll a pack of cigarettes in your sleeve and you'd look like a greaser from the 50's."

He chuckles, "Quit when Lexie was little. Not to say that on days like this having a beer and a fag doesn't sound like heaven."

"I quit ages ago, but there are some days I have to keep reminding myself that I am *not* a smoker anymore."

"The hardest bit when I'm out having a meal or just a drink."

"Ah yes, the eternal "pub balance": Drink in one hand, cigarette in the other. Understandable. That doesn't bother me so much tho'. It's sitting in front of the TV I can't do anymore. I can't sit that still without doing something. The problem is to supplement the…" I make the gesture of lifting a cigarette to my lips, "…I eat. So after gaining several pounds, I just stopped watching TV. I still get fidgety in movie theatres tho'."

His mouth has started to tilt sideways as that salacious glimmer comes into his eyes, "Sounds like an oral fixation."

"One you are not equipped to help me with." I snap back dryly as I turn towards the door.

"Prude. I bet there isn't a single strand of real ginger on you."

I pause at the door, drumming my fingers on the handle as John starts to go back down the ladder.

"You know how much I liked sucking my thumb as a kid?" John looks up at me as I lean over the hatchway on my hands and knees, purring my words. "The feel of something warm and firm and fleshy against my tongue? Mmmmm. I still love that feeling, but alas no one has ever lasted long enough to satisfy the craving." I pout for a moment, before..."I believe the expression on your face is what is termed "gobsmacked" in your country, is it not? You stupid man. Don't you know it's *always* the quiet ones?"

And I dart out the door and slam it behind me before his neurons start firing again.

By the time I have finished filling out the hourly log, I regret my outburst. The problem with men is that when you escalate, so do they. While John's comments have been teasingly suggestive they have not crossed the line into crass provocation that I just did.

Stepping out into the afternoon breeze, I decide I will handle the situation like any rational adult would.

I'll avoid him for the next few days.

...