Cross Passage

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"Oh no, Max, it is just fine as it is. I wouldn't have it any other way, really."

I couldn't argue with her smile if I wanted to and we made further small talk at the board before we excused ourselves and left our guest to return to her quarters.

"Captain, I'm sure the crew will be pleased." My 1st Officer stated through a grin as wide as his face.

'No doubt they will be' I mused to myself as I climbed the steps to the bridge...

Roger Chaffee took us out of port several hours later and in old form gave a wink when he noticed Ms. Kirsten on the observation deck. The female form always seems to capture his eye.

"Next time, old friend." And he was off to the skiff on the starboard side.

The crew hands of the Molly Seine numbered nine and to a man, every one of them from Portugal. They had been on board for the past several crossings with a couple of them replacements as one or the other changed ships or moved onto other ventures. While the storied tales of seamen from every far off land are sometimes true and numerous, most containership crew hands are all of the same nationality; familiar language and customs makes for a far more harmonious journey in the long run.

A couple old time Portuguese sailors ran the crew with an iron hand when needed which was rare; most of their pent up fidgets were relieved on shore. Besides, working 12 hours on and 12 off on rotating shifts for ten weeks didn't leave much time for mischief. Nonetheless with Ms. Kirsten on board I had each of my staff keep a watchful eye.

"Max, it is amazingly brilliant out here! Is it always like this?" Ms. Kirsten asked me a couple evenings into the voyage while standing high on the observation deck.

"The only light for a long ways is up there unless the deck lights are on."

There was a crescent moon that evening and the backdrop of a million stars against a black sky to each horizon set the mood for our excursion. I felt her hand press against the small of my back and Jesus Christ, if I didn't get a damn hard on. Not a half assed prick either; I was going full mast. Maybe it was her scent or maybe just not possessing a woman for six months, whatever the case I was horned up like a 20 year old sailor on his first cruise out of Maine Maritime.

Fortunately, or not, the bridge radioed me for an issue that needed my immediate attention and I excused myself almost feeling her lustful gaze upon the nape of my neck or so I imagined. Later that evening I let my own licentious imagination take me to a few pleasurable moments in the confines of my private quarters. Yeah, I jerked off all the while thinking how delightful her womanly treasures would be, naked and aroused beneath me in the bunk.

Mealtimes for my staff are taken in the wardroom with seating for six. Since two stations are always occupied we usually dine with four. With our fare passenger, Kirsten was afforded the sideboard next to the captain's place. This put her at my elbow with every meal and almost always allowed her the center of attention. I don't think any of us minded it. I know my 2nd was enamored of her the moment he set eyes on her so much so my 1st officer started jesting with him when he thought I was out of earshot by referring to him as 2nd Puppy. It was all in shipmate's fun so I said nothing.

A couple nights later with the same brilliant canopy of stars and moon, Ms. Kirsten and I were on the observation bridge again enjoying each other's company and chatting about social lives in general.

"Max, you and your estranged wife never had children?" she asked while staring off into the black sea ahead of us.

"No, we both settled for life of adventurers I suppose, mine out here and hers in the world of academia. Besides, she wasn't able and we didn't think adoption would be fair to the child given my continued absences and her career aspirations... How about yourself, any young Kirsten out there?"

She paused for a bit and took my arm.

"Oh yes, I have a daughter. She's all grown now or at least she thinks she is. She is twenty years old and away at University in Wurzburg; a very independent spirit, she is... studying physics and a whole host of things that go right over my head. Marlene is her name, after her great-grandma, Papa's momma."

We had a quiet moment as she stood there smiling at the mention of her child.

"Max, do you mind?" She asked as she pulled a small flask from her jacket.

"Of course not." I replied.

Fare passengers were allowed as long as they kept it to their person and not in excess. I kept a small bottle of cognac in my stateroom for special occasions although it officially didn't exist. She took a small sip and offered it to me to which I declined. 'Duty and all' I conferred.

We concluded our evening get together and I returned to the bridge for wrap up reports before retiring.

I had returned to my stateroom around 11PM and after catching up on a bit of reading fell asleep with the alarm set for 5AM. Folks tell me that the older you get the less able you are to sleep through the night. That has never been a problem for me. Once I hit the pillow I don't stir for five to six hours unless the alarm goes off.

It went off at 2:34AM with the shrill screech of what sounded like a mortal wound. It wasn't my alarm clock. It was the voice of a man in sheer agony. By the time I leapt to my feet and grabbed my overcoat the officer on watch had raced past my stateroom and on down the narrow passageway.

Outside was a commotion and the doorway to Ms. Kirsten's stateroom had been opened. When I arrived a man was laying prone on the floor, his trousers at his ankles with the officer on duty seizing him by the shoulder.

"Jesus H. Christ, what in hell is going on here?" I bellowed amidst the confusion.

The crewman on the floor was bleeding profusely from the groin as Kirsten stood nearby with what appeared to be a large knitting needle in her hand, her nightgown torn and barely covering with any sense of modesty. I grabbed her robe which was hanging from a hook on the door and handed it to her.

"I woke up with him climbing into my bed and panicked. My needlework bag was on the table next to me and I, I just grabbed what I could." She was crying now with the initial shock passing.

I put an arm around her and helped her to my stateroom.

"Kirsten, please make yourself comfortable here while I get to the bottom of everything."

I handed her a box of tissues and pointed to the small fridge if she wanted something to drink. My staff and both Portuguese chiefs were on hand when I returned. There was a large blood stain on the bed and the offender was being tended to by our 1st Mate who was also our dispensary medic. By the time we concluded it was pretty clear what happened.

The Portuguese crewman worked topside on deck securing rigging during the voyage and had jerry-rigged a tool to enter Kirsten's stateroom. The rooms are locked with a sliding rectangular bolt that could be moved out of position with the improvised slimjim the crewman had fashioned. The crew is never allowed above the 3rd rail on D Deck of the bridge castle unless summoned on official business. The offender had slipped up the railings to the staterooms and entered the room.

I'm pretty sure he wished he never made that journey. Aside from now being treated and later to be moved to lockup in the hold, Kirsten's knitting needle was a vicious instrument when employed. It had apparently pierced the man's penis and scrotum pinning them to the bed with the needle deep in the mattress. His initial panic caused the ripping that inflicted the bloody injury. I'm sure such injuries might be repaired but until we reached port bandages and pain killers were going to be his only relief. In the meantime he was destined to pita bread, beans and water in the hold...

Doc checked out Kirsten for any injuries and cleared her and by the time breakfast was served up, none of us had gotten any further sleep. I had my engineer issue padlocks to use on the staterooms until we addressed the locking mechanisms...

"What will happen to that scoundrel from the other night?" She asked me while we conversed on the observation bridge a few nights later.

It was a good question. The Molly Seine falls under Panamanian maritime law while in international waters and the offender was subject to extradition once we docked however I knew from past experience that was more complicated than one would think. Ms. Kirsten would have to give a deposition along with my staff and myself once we docked and that would then be forwarded to the Panamanian consulate in Tampa. Odds are Panama would tell the U.S. to deport him to Portugal.

"What I would like to do is toss him overboard." I made light of the situation. "My guess is he will end up being deported back to his own country. He'll lose his credentials to port anywhere in the US and Europe. More importantly, how are you doing?"

She squeezed my arm and smiled.

"I'm fine now although the first couple nights were unsettling especially after the adrenaline rush came down. Papa taught me and my sister how to fend for ourselves when we were young and this wasn't the first time for me. I broke a boy's arm when I was at University although this one was a bit bigger. Seriously, I'm doing well. What about the miscreant's injuries?"

Well, there was that too. Doc tended to the man's wounds as best he could but the knitting needle had done significant damage. His penis was torn, ripped rather than cut and one testicle was certainly lost. With the bleeding stopped and bandaged he could get proper medical attention once we reached port but that was still 4 days out. Until then he got fresh bandages and 30 minutes fresh air a day. I don't think there was a soul on board who had any sympathy for him including his own Portuguese shipmates...

The next four days were uneventful although I did find most of my free time was spent in Kirsten's company. By the time we hit the shipping channel outside Charleston Harbor I think she knew just about everything about me except certain intimate preferences; some things you just don't talk about to a lady.

We pulled in past the battery and the harbor master met us with two tugs to take us to the Wando Welch, a terminal on the Mt. Pleasant side of the river. Two shorts and a long whistle blast as we passed East Bay let Satch know I was ready to give up my sea legs; I hadn't called Tammy so I had no idea if she was back and heard it or not.

After clearing customs and completing the depositions, DHS boarded the ship and took the crewman in the hold into custody and I turned over the helm to my engineer before departing.

"Captain, come on, me and the bride will drop you folks off downtown." My 1st Officer already had Kirsten's bags on a dolly and heading toward his wife's vehicle.

Kirsten was staying at the Spectator Hotel down on State Street just south of Market Square for a few days until heading to Washington, D.C. and on to NYC. Her intent was to fly home from there. When we dropped her off a bellhop tended to her bags and she gave me a lingering hug reminding me of the hard on up on deck that night several evenings ago.

"Max, when you have your personal business tended to, remember, you promised to give me the royal tour of the Holy City." She reminded me with a quick kiss.

With that I was off and had them drop me off at the house; no white roses this time. Everything still looked pretty much the same as it did ten weeks earlier.

I lifted the latch to the Iron Gate scolding myself for not having the weld repair finished and ambled down the courtyard to my backdoor. The house was quiet when I entered, much as I left it weeks earlier. There were a few signs of the borders that moved in right before I left port but otherwise nothing had changed.

When Tammy left for Vancouver I decided to let out another room to a 2nd student, a family friend of the girl who was already staying with us. Both of them were studiously quiet souls who kept to themselves and were fastidious about keeping things picked up and orderly so much so I often didn't know if they were around at all.

One of the girls had left a couple messages next to the phone stand and going through them and the stack of mostly junk mail next to it I saw that Tammy had forwarded a couple business letters and mingled in the stack was a note from Mrs. Sophie Pryor.

"Mr. Bunyon, please call me when you get back into town -- Ms. Pryor" Quick and to the point with her number attached.

I set it aside for the moment and dropped off a pile of laundry in the utility room before heading upstairs to the shower and a change of clothing in anticipation of a quick bite to eat at Henry's along with a pint or two...

"I heard your rusty bucket come in earlier, Max" Satch called out as he slid the cold IPA over in front of me. "Last time we talked you were contemplating moving to the old folks' home."

I had turned fifty two a few months earlier and Satch never let me forget it. It didn't matter that he was only a year younger than me. Not that any of it really mattered; it was just another year on the right side of green grass for me. I was as healthy as a horse, if horses are the standard for good health. I was still virile and only a slight tinge of grey in the temples and I still had all my teeth.

"I'm thinking of opening a hostel for young college coeds, three to a room." Given I already had two coeds living in the pastel house now Satch just shook his head and chuckled at the thought.

One of the college kids sitting at a nearby table overheard the conversation and she approached me asking me if I was serious as she was looking for a spot to start the summer session in a few months. I handed her my business card with the numbers of the two borders I already had and told her to give them a call; they handled all the new ones. Satch just looked at me and we both roared with laughter. Not bad for an old geezer about to retire...

A couple days had passed when I remembered the short note from Sophie Pryor and decided to give her a call.

"Max, thank you for returning my call, I know you're a busy man and with everything going on I wasn't altogether sure you would want to talk." Sophie answered on the second ring.

"Sophie, I always have time to talk with you, you know that. Can I assume this has something to do with your husband and my wife?" I asked right to the point.

"I suppose it does. Thomas has been catting around for years now. I just didn't expect Tammy to fall for him like that. I would have called you earlier but every time I was back on the Battery you were out to sea again. This time I left a note with that dear girl you have boarding one of your rooms. She was so kind."

"Yes, both of them are fine young ladies."

"Well, yes, they are. Now, as for Thomas I have cut him off and thrown him out of the house here in Charleston albeit with a black eye to match his black travel bag!" She chuckled.

"He was staying at the condo we have down on King Street although it seems he is spending as much time in Vancouver as he is here; academic conferences his secretary claims. Horse manure, I say. I thought you should know since Tammy has been in Vancouver for the past six months according to her staff. I really don't know what in hell she could possibly have seen in him.

"That said, Max, she called me about a month ago and asked if I had any sway over Thomas, after apologizing profusely for 10 minutes over a hurricane of tears. It seems that she has tired of his stalking pursuits and he wouldn't go away on his own. I got the impression he tried to stay with her on a few occasions and she would have nothing of it. I know that doesn't excuse her for setting up house with Jim Dahlberg for a few months out there but at least she's come to her senses about Thomas. I've taken care of him on my end"

As soon as the words left her mouth my heart sank and I kicked myself for not seeing it sooner. Jim Dahlberg is a visiting professor of humanities from Kingston University in Ontario with old ties to Vancouver. We've had dinner with him a few times over the past couple years even inviting him to the house on occasion. Dahlberg fucking Tammy would be a hell of a lot more likely, attraction wise, than that fucking toad Thomas.

Maybe it was the long pregnant pause that gave Sophie the concern.

"Max, you didn't know about Jim?"

"No, Sophie, this was news to me."

"Oh dear, I thought all of this was out in the open since Tammy went to Vancouver."

"Do you know how long it has been going on?"

"Max, I don't really know. You know, people talk and all. I've heard rumors going back to last year. All I know is that it was still going on when she called me or at least she was staying in the same apartment. I checked with the University for contact information for both her and Jim and it's the same."

"Sophie, thank you for telling me this. Seriously, this is very important for me to know with everything else that is going on."

I promised Sophie to stay in touch and ended the call. 'Sophie, you are a sly old bird throwing her under the bus like that.' I mumbled to myself.

In addition to the revelation about Tammy and Dahlberg I also discovered that Thomas Pryor was essentially a 'kept man' in that he didn't own any of the assets he and Sophie enjoyed and he had no claim on her wealth or properties as she had inherited most of it before they were married. The two of them lived on Battery Row, the most prestigious address in the city. She also owned the condo on King Street and told me she had decided to remove his things and change the locks in his absence... poor toad.

Six months of separation had just received a validating stamp of approval and while I should have been seething at the revelation I was surprisingly calm about it. Sure, I was mad as hell at the deceit but it no longer seemed bizarre; it made sense from an adulterer's point of view since Jim Dahlberg was easy beefcake to any serious female admirer.

Thomas was just a fucking toad, there is no other name for it and I still couldn't understand it. There had to be more to the story. That didn't mean I didn't want to see Dahlberg's dick in a pickle jar. In any event I looked at the ring on my finger and with just a moment's hesitation I took it off and placed it in the candy dish on the mantle...

"Well, hello, my sea faring captain." She said when I answered.

I hadn't given Kirsten much thought since my mate and I dropped her off at the Spectator when we arrived in port. All it took was just the sound of her voice and my mind was filled with visions of her full breasts right there on display behind that soft wool sweater she wore to dinner a couple evenings.

"Good day to you too, Ms. Kirsten."

"Max, how is your domestic situation since you've returned?"

"Pretty much the same I have to say. I'm roughing it alone again." I replied without sharing any further. She paused for a moment and then hit me up.

"I need a dinner companion tonight, Max. I'm hoping you will be a dear and spend the evening with me. I've made reservations for two at the Oak. It came highly recommended and then maybe we could do a walking tour along the street since it's such a wonderful evening. It's so much nicer than back in snowy Bremerhaven!"

She set the hook firmly and reeled me in.

"You can pick me up in the lobby downstairs at 7PM."

I don't know if I even agreed but when we ended our call I found myself in the closet upstairs looking for the tweed dinner jacket I was fond of and hitting the shower. If Tammy was a thought it was clouded by the distance and visions of Jim Dahlberg fucking her senseless every night in faraway Vancouver.

I know I wasn't thinking entirely as I probably should have been but the elixir, if not actually indulged, was certainly intoxicating enough for dinner and a stroll. I readied myself and headed down Anson Street with half a skip to my gait.