574
PARTISAN REVIEW
On the island side we pull into a deserted cove. The weather is
clearing. We will make it in a few hours in the morning across the
Sound. A yawl that has been trailing behind us, following our
course, pulls along side of us. Hannah's Point, Daniel's town, is
painted beneath the boat's name:
The Happy Jumping Jack.
Daniel
winces. But he calls to them, and asks them up for a drink. I rapidly
move about the cabin. Fix myself up. I put some egg tomatoes and
celery sticks on a plate. "I have to call you Mrs. Braden," Daniel yells
from the deck. "You don't mind?"
A floppy couple. The woman looks at us, at the plate of celery,
the ice bucket and glasses, and she moans, "Oh, Martin, I
told
you
that she was going to turn out to be one of those super boat women.
For me, the last eight hours has been one steady upchuck." But, de–
spite their lack of style, they are a couple meshed to one another.
"My wife never gets seasick," Daniel tells them. Then he takes
them on a tour of the yawl. I see it now through their eyes. Our
cabin looks too antiseptic, too polished down. No alien objects in
view. Like many pathologically shy men who have been in a position
of some power, Daniel seems unaware that his manner is paralyzing
the other couple. Makes them feel they have been summoned here
like two drowned rats for a very quick drink, and they are soon
meant to leave.
Suddenly Daniel leans down and fishes out the clay roaster.
"This is Elena's special chicken. The bird has sailed on the Adel ...
on the yawl from Barbados to Canada."
"Very decorative, Mr. Braden. A nice homey touch," the
l
hus–
band mutters crossly. He must feel that his wife has been put down
for vomiting too easily.
"You provision at Mazzini's?" she asks me.
"I've never asked my wife to stock the yawl," Daniel interrupts,
"or make breakfast. Or lift an anchor. Rule of sea. Good skippers
take care of their first mates."
"It's been interesting meeting you, Mr. Braden." Abruptly the
man motions his wife to leave. "Can't say that the feminist movement
has made it to this craft, has it Mrs. Braden?"
We watch them board their dinghy and motor to their
Happy
Cracker Jack.
"Well," says Daniel, "they ain't no sailors, no way." But during
the evening he keeps looking over at their yawl. "Making seaweed
clambakes on deck. Hibachis! These days every moron in this piss–
poor world thinks he's got a right to clutter up the sea with their
