River Man (2016 revision)

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I felt numb inside as I looked at the paper. There was one really big piece missing from this puzzle, and it filled my heart with dread to even consider the possibility.

"Hank, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Marty. Fire away."

"You said, when she came to pick up her car, you said 'they came.' Uh, Hank, who's 'they', do you think?"

"Betty, and her husband."

Ah. Yes, that had to be the missing piece, right?

Fred was laughing so hard he almost spit out his coffee.

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Hank told me about him. How it was apparent he knew what had happened, he told me about the bruises on her face, about her black eye. How her husband had wanted to wait, to wait for me to get there, no doubt to give me more of the same. I was devastated. The betrayal sat in my heart and filled my soul with grief, and I didn't feel witty at all. Fred even backed off, too. No pithy comebacks were needed now, and I could see it all in his eyes.

This just couldn't be, I told myself, but all the pieces I had now fit comfortably together with solid precision. Fred just looked at me now, flexing his fingers, cracking his knuckles. Fucking philosophers.

How could she have done this? And why? But, what would he do to her now? How much more could he do to her?

"Swallow your poison, for you need it badly," Fred whispered in my ear.

Why would you say such a thing, Fred, to someone so confused. Didn't you love someone, once upon a time? And did Betty really deserve this, did she warrant this husband of hers...what had she done to deserve such abuse? And what of that man? Was he simply a monster?

"Is it really any of your business?" a suddenly serious Fred said as he looked at me with black, pinprick eyes.

"No. No, a million times no. But here we are...this is one of those big life moments. Isn't it?"

Which is precisely why I walked back to Liebestod and filled her water and fuel tanks, coiled her lines as I backed out of the slip, and set my course for Elizabeth City.

I never looked back. Not even once.

Fred did, though. He looked back almost the whole trip, yet he remained quiet. I'd even go so far as to say he was ignoring me, which was, I think, most helpful of him.

If I'd asked him what he saw back there maybe he would have told me about Hank talking frantically to a woman who'd just run out the dock, or he might have related that he watched them as they ran to Hank's boat and backed out into the channel. I might then have noticed that they were following in my wake, and that Hank was pushing his little boat as hard as he could to keep up with me.

Really, you never can tell about these things.

But Fred? No, for once in his goddamned miserable life he kept to himself, and never said a word.

Oh, how they come and go...

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Down through Carolina's sounds -- and up again, without sleep -- all in the course of a couple of days was an insane undertaking, and my insanity was, by this point, an exhausted thing. I powered up Adams Creek Canal once again; I think I turned my head once to check for other traffic but didn't notice Hank and the woman back there among all the other traffic.

And I think Fred was napping in the sun, bless his heart. I guess even the dead grow weary watching over the living.

I navigated through buoys into the Neuse River, and turned northeast into the Pamlico, then northwest through the Pungo; as the afternoon sun burned my shoulders I turned into the Pungo River, then the Pungo River Canal. By that time, as far as I knew, no one trailed me; there was no way, anyway, that Hank's little 29 footer could have kept up with my 43. Out into the Alligator River, finally, and one last mad dash to Belhaven, where I tied up in the marina and collapsed in my berth.

I left Fred to take the night watch, which is why, perhaps, I found all my rum was gone the next morning. You'd think the dead were beyond such nonsense, wouldn't you?

Sometime in the middle of the night I felt someone jump on deck, and I reached for the little Walther P5 I kept handy for such things, and I went into the passageway between the aft cabin and the companionway and listened as footsteps came to the companionway.

"Marty? You awake?"

"Fuck, Hank, you trying to get yourself killed? What are you doing here?" I opened the bolt securing the companionway hatch and slid it back, then trudged up into the cockpit, and that's when I saw...

...Betty, standing between Fred and Hank in the glaring light of an angry full moon. I couldn't tell in the gray shadowed moonlight, but it looked like her face had been beaten black and blue, and she wore a weary face over her tattered clothing. I stumbled when I recognized her, and all three reached out for me, kept me from falling down into the cabin.

"What the..." I managed to say, just.

"Hey, dick-head!" Hank bellowed. "Anyone ever tell you to keep your goddamned radio on?"

"What?"

"We've been calling your sorry ass for about the last twelve or so hours, hotshot! God damn, but this mother fucking boat of yours is one fast-ass mother fucker!"

I had been sailing all day without my radio on? Shit, I'd been more tired than I realized, and I watched as Fred turned away and looked at the moon.

"Say, Marty," Hank said as he looked at the pistol in my right hand, "you gonna shoot me with that thing, or maybe put it away somewhere?" I think Fred coughed a little when he heard that, as he pointed at the silent VHF radio by his side.

"Fuck, sorry!" I put the pistol in the binocular rack by the wheel as I turned to look at Betty. I held her face, examined it as best I could in the pale light. "You alright, or do we need to get you to a doctor?"

"Martin, I'm so sorry..." and in an instant she was crying, clearly now a lost soul. Or a soul, lost in my moonlight.

"Hey, Marty, I don't know about her old man. He was chasing her back toward Beaufort when she got to the marina. I think I saw him running out on the docks as we cleared the turn for the bridge. He's probably checking ports for her, looking for her."

"Have you called anyone?" I asked. "I mean, what happened, Betty?"

"We got the car," she said between alternating fits of tears and stuttering shock-filled words, "he followed me, said he'd kill me if I tried to do anything but drive home. We stopped for gas and while he was in the rest-room I took off. He's like gone completely crazy, Martin, over the past couple of years. I didn't know what to do, where else to run..."

"Yeah, well, we can figure that out later. What about the police; have you called them yet?"

"No, Marty," Hank said, "she'd just got there, just as you were pulling into the channel. Two minutes earlier and she'd have made it to you."

I was shaking my head in a blind rage, as now - finally - all the pieces of this newly revised puzzle were sliding into place one by one, and I didn't like the emerging picture one bit. Fucking Fred, why hadn't he said anything? Goddamned deontologist! Where was his sense of duty?

"We'd better call the police," I said. "Betty, does he have a gun? Did he threaten you with a gun?"

"He said he'd kill me, and yes, he's got at least one with him."

"What kind of car is he in; do you know the tag numbers?"

I went below for my phone and dialed 911. A State Police dispatcher answered, and I filled her in as quickly as I could. She told me to stay where we were, that a Trooper could get to our location within about a half hour.

"Hank? Stay up here, keep an eye out while I put on some coffee."

"Yeah? Lot's of cream and sugar for me, huh?"

"Betty," I said aloud, trying to sound annoyed at Hank despite the laugh I felt brewing, "come on down. Get out of this damp air." Fred walked up behind her, clearly interested now.

She walked down the steps, Fred right behind her, down into the warm honied glow of my nether world, and she sighed as she sat on the settee. Fred went and sat beside her, and I caught him looking at her legs.

"Oh my God, Martin, you have no idea how good it feels to be back down here. With you."

"Listen, Betty, I don't know if I can filter through all this just yet, okay? Let's take it one step at a time." I moved to get the coffee going.

"I know, Martin. I really messed things up again, I know I have. I'm sorry, but there's an inertia here I can't understand, and things have gotten..."

"Out of control?" Fred asked.

"Yes, exactly," he said, ignoring him.

Why did she keep apologizing? And Fred? He was looking at me with his narrowest, most serious eyes, and I could see he was trying his hardest to hold his tongue.

The water heated and soon the smell of coffee filled the boat, and I poured her a cup and she held it, let the warmth flow through her hands as she smelled the brew, and I handed cups up to Fred and the turtle-man.

"Car coming." Fred said a few moments later, but he was looking right at me now, wondering what I was made of.

I tensed, remembered the pistol in the cockpit, and went up to get it.

"Think it's a cop," Hank said, and I could see outlines of overhead lights on the patrol car in the marina parking lot and relaxed a little. "Marty!" Hank said as he watched me, with pistol in hand, "put that thing up, would you, or you'll get us all killed!"

I ducked down below and returned the Walther to it's resting place, and walked up in time to hear the trooper walking down the wood planked pier towards my boat.

"Y'all call about a disturbance?" the trooper asked.

"This is the place," Hank replied. Then: "Martin? The cavalry has arrived!"

I stood in the cockpit, flipped on the cockpit and spreader lights and indicated the way up for the trooper. Bless his heart, he saw my teak decks and almost took his shoes off! He climbed up, handing me his clipboard as he negotiated the lifelines, before he came into the cockpit.

"What's the problem?"

"Let's go below?" I said as I dropped down the companionway hatch. "You want some coffee?"

He followed me down, and turned to see Betty. He whistled when he saw the bruises, then looked at Nietzsche with bunched up lips and a question hanging in the air -- apparent.

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The Trooper took the information for his report, asked if she wanted paramedics to come look at her injuries, and finished up by taking pictures of her face and arms. He radioed in Betty's husband's information, and we heard an all points bulletin go out over the radio a few minutes later. He thanked me for the coffee, told us to be careful, and walked back out into the night.

We were alone again. Naturally.

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"Alright, gang," I said - suddenly sounding a lot more on top of things than I felt. "I guess we take off at first light. Head back to Elizabeth City."

"You want company?" Hank asked.

"Hell yes, Hank. You're a part of this now. Couldn't do it without you, buddy."

He puffed up a little at that, gave an 'aw, shucks' look while he examined his bare feet, and he nodded in the affirmative when I asked him if he needed some shut-eye. I told him to go forward and get some sleep, then sent Betty back to my cabin for a nap. I took the Walther with me to the cockpit and looked at the moon for a while, before it hid behind the western horizon, and I felt sleep chasing me again, felt my head nodding, my eyes closing...

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And then, of course, I heard tires crunching on gravel, jerked up to see the first rays of the sun shooting between a looming wall of amber morning clouds, some lightning too. Then I saw Betty's husband's car inching into the marina parking lot - with it's headlights off - and I watched him move slowly to a parking space. He got out of the car, walked down toward the line of boats berthed at the tiny marina, and walked over to Hank's boat. He looked down into the little boat, then jumped on-board and poked his head down below. Satisfied no one was aboard, he looked around until his eyes fell on mine.

"Hey there," he said as he walked over, "I'm looking for some friends of mine. They were on that boat yesterday. You seen 'em?"

"There was some kind of a ruckus over there last night," I said, "and the police came. They went with them, one of 'em in handcuffs." I could see the man's eyes turn to steel; he was turning something over in his coat pocket."

"Which way you headed," the man said.

"Oh, south. Down Florida way."

He looked me over, and his eyes walked along the lines of the boat.

"If you want to leave a message, I think the marina office opens soon."

"No, no thanks. I guess I'll be going along. When you headed out?"

"Oh, me? I was just about to, soon as I finish my coffee. Wanna help me with my lines?" But he didn't answer me; he had already turned and was walking back to his car.

I started the engine, and let it warm up for a minute while I disconnected the shore power cord, then let slip my lines and began to back out of the marina. The man stood by his car all the while, and I waved to him as I put the transmission into forward and motored back into the main channel. I looked down below for the first time and saw both Hank and Betty huddled at the base of the companionway ladder, and I held my hand out slowly and mouthed 'stay' to them. Betty nodded.

I looked back and saw the man was looking at me through binoculars, and suddenly he threw them in his car and jumped in; he backed out in a hail of gravel then tore out down the road.

Had he seen my hand signal to Hank and Betty? Fred was up in the cockpit beside me, watching the man as he tore out of the parking lot, and clearly he didn't like what was running through his mind very much.

I watched as the car sped down the road toward a waterside park, and saw there was no other way out of the channel than to motor right past this park. His car left a cloud of white dust as it careened down the road, and he turned into the park. He was about a quarter mile ahead of us now, off to our left.

"Hank, better get on to the Coast Guard and give 'em a sit-rep. Ask 'em to call the State Police for confirmation if they have any questions."

"Roger-that, boss."

"Hank?"

"Yes?"

"Don't talk like that. We're not on television." He looked sheepishly at his feet as he slipped behind the chart table and flipped the VHF to 16. I heard him talking on the radio for a minute or so as I watched the man up in the park. He was out again, now standing by the open door of his car with the binoculars at his eyes, looking right at me.

The channel widened a bit by the park, to maybe three hundred yards, so I cheated over to the far right side of the channel, and I think that clinched it for him. He slammed the car's door shut and walked toward the water, and I could see a black pistol in his right hand.

"Stay below!" I said to Hank. "He's got a gun out, and walking for the bank."

"Should I tell that to the Coast Guard," Hank asked as I slowed the boat down and threw her into a slow turn.

"Ah, yes Hank," I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "Do that, would you?" The man knew I was stalling, and started to run along the riverbank towards us. I wasn't sure how long I could keep out of range, but I kept moving back toward the marina in slow, weaving semi-circles. Soon I heard the thump-thump of a helicopter in the distance -- the man heard it, too -- and he brought the pistol up and shot at the boat. Once, twice, three shots...

"Hank! Tell the Coasties that the bastard is shooting at us!"

I felt the rotor blast of a huge helicopter as it thundered by overhead, and by the time I looked up and saw the huge orange striped beast slowing near the far side of the channel, I also saw the man running for his car, then driving back down the road for the main highway. The helicopter hovered overhead for a moment, and I heard Hank telling them that we were alright, and they took off after the car.

"Alright, y'all can come up now," I said as I steered for the marina, and docked where we had been not a half hour ago. Hank helped me with the lines, and I could tell he was rattled by the way he was chattering away.

"I think I'm going to go change my underwear," he said after a brief pause in his diatribe.

"Not a bad idea," I said, then looked up as two State Police patrol cars came tearing into the parking lot. The officers jumped out of their cars and jogged down to us on the pier."

"Y'all alright?" one of them asked.

"So, the guy shot at you?" the other asked. This one had taken the report earlier that morning.

"He did at that," I said.

"Did he hit the boat?" the first one asked.

"You know? I haven't looked?" I looked over the left side of the boat. Didn't see anything, though.

"Here it is," the second officer said, digging with a pencil at the teak coaming surrounding the cockpit. I looked at the impact point, guessed the angle the man was standing relative to us when he fired. If the bullet had been a few inches higher he would have hit me, and I felt dizzy as I sat down.

"Well, well," the officer said as he dug the radio out of the holster on his hip, "we got us an attempted homicide!"

"I think I need a fucking drink," I said to no one in particular. Fred was laughing quietly at me now, but he turned to look at the sunrise, and the lightning.

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Betty never left the inside of the boat that day. I think she was terrified her husband would show up at any moment, though I don't know what staying below would have done to help that. I began to put the pieces together again, and began to understand that Liebestod and I must have come to represent something more than safe harbor for Betty.

I didn't know a lot about battered women back then, but that would change over the next few days, and when Fred listened to Betty as she talked, I could see his eyes clearly. The old man sure knew how to cry.

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A Trooper came 'round later that day and told us that Betty's husband was still at large. He didn't know what had happened, only that police had lost him in a crowd of people out on the Cape somewhere, and that they had recovered his car. It was assumed he was still armed and at large, and I heard Betty gasp down below, and walk to the aft cabin.

I looked at a map. He could hitch a ride or steal a car, be here inside of two hours if he was resourceful enough. There was no doubt in anyone's mind now that the man was crazy enough to do anything, and I wondered just how the hell Betty had gotten involved with such a character. She seemed pretty intuitive and insightful about people, so I assumed something had changed. But what had gone wrong? Me? Or had all this been building for a while -- and I'd arrived as the eye in the middle of a hurricane...?

Whatever, we couldn't stay here, couldn't stay linked to land whatever we did. I looked at charts of the surrounding area and saw a million places to hide, literally an infinity of anchorages where we could hole up and wait for this thing to blow over, but I thought about Betty and her face, how I really should get her to a medical facility and get her jaw x-rayed, and to check her left eye. The white was streaked with blood, and a hard black ring circled it now. Maybe the orbit was fractured?

We could go back to Elizabeth City, but that might be the first place he'd look. We could head to New Bern, where we had ridden-out the hurricane. Or we could return to Beaufort, which had a nice hospital nearby. Those were the immediate choices, and I went below to ask her what she wanted to do.

She was huddled up in the aft cabin, sitting in a corner with her knees pulled up tightly to her chest, and she was staring blankly into nothingness, rocking back and forth to a forgotten lullaby.

"Betty?" I said. Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition.

I sat by her on the bunk and put my hand on her shoulder; she flinched, drew more deeply inward and began to shiver.