Anchored To You

We are sailing south. Dad steers confidently, watching the sails so they don’t “slam.” The wind is quite strong, but on a beam reach we reach almost thirty knots. He sets the autopilot and throws two baits on the fishing rod, hoping for dinner. After a moment the right reel starts clicking. The line is pulling out of it incredibly fast. – Ewa! To the helm! He hooked it and began the fight with the fish. He had no idea what was on the end, but he fought. Sometimes his feet slipped. He didn’t give up. After an hour he saw a swordfish. It jumped out of the water in an act of desperation. He brought it to the swim platform. He grabbed the hook with pliers and freed it. – Dad! What did you do? – I freed him. – Why? – Are we going to eat him? He probably weighs about two hundred kilograms. There’s no chance of stuffing him into the fridge or freezer. Maybe fifteen kilograms we could manage. The rest would go into the sea. It’s a shame for the animal, darling. – You’re right. – There will be steaks with potatoes and salad. We’ll figure something out. Will you help me? – Sure! He turned on the electric grill on the stern. He took out steaks. Chiara, Amy and Hania, lured by the smell, sat at the table. They looked at each other. They went to set the table. They walked up and down between the deck and the half-deck. They sat down, satisfied with the work done. – What now, Max? – Exactly! Dad went to the helm and chose a northerly course, adjusting the sails at the same time. – We’re sailing to Kuwait. – What for? – To rest and do some solid shopping. – We have Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Iran and India on the way. – We’re only interested in India, girls. – And those three countries not? – No. There will only be trouble. Chiara looked at Hania, Hania at Amy, Amy at Chiara. I waited until they looked at me and Dad would get angry. And they looked… – Please. Visas, gun permits, alcohol, tobacco… I understand you’ll sort it out by tomorrow? Chiara, that is my mom, knew they had overdone it. But they were playing tough. – Jeez, Max, don’t s**t yourself. – I won’t, but you will. Tomorrow at nine in the morning we enter the coastal waters of Saudi Arabia. You’ve got some work to do. He went down from the deck, poured himself a glass of whiskey, took cigarettes and went to the bow. He sat cross-legged and looked ahead, leaning against the mast. After a moment dolphins appeared, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that angry Dad was sitting on the bow, it would have been a great party. We loved their company. Someone had to approach him. Even Chiara was afraid. It fell to me. – Dad, loosen up. Whatever one might say about him, he was relaxed. A distance from himself that I hadn’t met in any other man. In total I hadn’t met many of them, but the very fact that he didn’t take offence showed that he had distance. He was angry that someone was questioning his decisions as captain. If he had been sailing with men, they would have been in life jackets and had a unique opportunity for the trip of a lifetime. About sixty nautical miles to the shore. Each of them could have made a decision. No one would have had anything against it, but since they hadn’t made it and had relied on Dad, it would have been nice to sit quietly and not comment. That was their downfall and it pissed Dad off. – You’re right. – Dad, I know you’re right. – It’s a pity that only you know it. – Everyone knows. Mom needed to talk. She’s before her period. She wound up Amy and Hania. Chill out. Dad went to the helm and changed course. The rest sat quietly. We managed to avert the source of the fire. In the evening we arrived at the port in Kuwait Bay. Dad didn’t talk to anyone. He was still angry. He handed over the passports without a word. The Kuwait Coast Guard silently nodded and returned the documents. Traditionally the yacht had to be brought to perfect order. Everyone had an assigned role, except Hania. Mom disappeared on the half-deck, vacuuming, washing and cleaning. Amy helped her. We worked on the upper deck, checking lines, rigging and the rest of the equipment, and scrubbing the deck. We went to eat something. I felt like pizza. Holding Hania by the arm, we reached the pizzeria. Those few hundred metres tired her out. We sat at a table outside. A waiter in a white shirt approached. A dark-haired man with dark eyes, not tall. Quite handsome. He handed us the menus. Mom and Hania went to the bathroom. – Dad, how old is Aunt Hania? He started counting. It took quite a while. – In a month she’ll be ninety-four. – We should make her a cake and a party. – In less than a month we’ll be in Bombay. We’ll do her birthday there. He was still angry. He answered like a soldier. Factually, concretely and dryly. I knew he wasn’t angry at me, but it was holding him. He was choking on his emotions. As always. He preferred not to speak rather than say two words too many. The pizzas arrived and they were excellent. Mom ordered two bottles of wine. Dad paid and we went for a walk. Hania stopped. – Everything okay, Auntie? – I have no strength left. Dad immediately pulled out his phone and found a taxi. After three minutes it arrived. – I’m going back to the yacht with Auntie. If you want, you can sightsee. You’ve got a tail. I turned around. Two Arabs in shirts were standing behind us a dozen metres away. They were supposedly looking around, but carefully watching in all directions. After a moment the taller one overtook our trio, bowing slightly. He walked about five metres in front of us, looking around nervously. The shorter man also closed the distance, but looked to the sides and behind. We wandered through the alleys observing people’s lives. We entered a market that, despite the late evening hours, was still bustling. There was everything: from vegetables and fruit to electronics and jewellery. Sellers pushed us to buy aggressively. We escaped from this “festival of debauchery” by diving into a side alley. It became dark. Arabs sat in front of houses smoking shisha and looking at us with hostility. Crossing the next intersection, the taller Arab stood blocking the way. – Mr Max, I advise against sightseeing in this district. Mostly Iraqis live here. We mutually can’t stand each other. They particularly dislike Europeans. I don’t know if we’ll be able to protect you. Mom looked at him with understanding. I smiled to myself, because after all Mom and Dad weren’t married. Amy even more so didn’t carry the Max surname. – Fine. Then we’re going back. Which way should we go? He pointed down a side alley and took the lead himself. We walked another good thirty minutes and finally saw the port. We thanked them for the protection and boarded the yacht. Dad was already asleep. Hania too. We went quietly below and each of us lay down in her cabin. I woke up before everyone. I was proud of myself. I was the biggest sleeper. If it weren’t for lessons I would have slept my fill. I went to the shower, put on a dress and a short top. I didn’t put on a bra out of laziness. I decided a bra didn’t make much difference and in these temperatures I would feel more comfortable. I was wrong. Dad was sitting on the deck, smoking a cigarette and waiting with breakfast, which was amazing. For me a sweet omelette. For Hania, Mom and Amy, savoury. Plus scrambled eggs, beautifully served tomatoes, pickles, lettuce, cold cuts and cheese. Except that the omelettes and scrambled eggs were already cold. The jugs of coffee and tea were still warm. – Hi. – Hi. Masterful breakfast. – Nice. As usual we’re waiting for the rest. – Are you still pissed? – No. Disappointed. – Why? – I don’t want to say it twice. Hania joined us first. After a moment sleepy Amy came. – Max, I love when you cook. Almost like your dad. He was a grill master. – Thank you, Auntie. He said it dryly. She looked at me and lowered her head over the plate. – Max, I’m sorry. Amy looked shyly from over the plate. – And me. It was senseless. Chiara, sitting down at the table, also apologised. – All right, dear ladies. Now I’ll explain my decision to you. It’s a pity you didn’t ask at the beginning, but now it doesn’t matter. Saudi Arabia, Iran and Pakistan are not countries favourable to Europeans and, above all, to women. I won’t be able to ensure your safety. Bioset has no representations there. I decided it’s better to bypass those countries and reach the western coast of India. Bioset is Dad’s company, which was de facto a military unit. It employed nearly twenty thousand people almost everywhere in the world. Trained, equipped and capable. Like those two Arabs yesterday. They protected government buildings, private investments or individuals. I knew that Arabs liked Bioset. They had cooperated with each other for decades. – Couldn’t you have said that right away? Mom put her hand on his apologetically. Dad smiled and I saw joy in his eyes. – Want to go for a swim? – Bring it on, smartass! Dad stood up from the table, took her in his arms and threw her into the water. He opened the swim platform and helped her out. She wasn’t angry. Rather amused. The crew members from neighbouring yachts also. They applauded. She boarded, dripping with water, and went to change. She returned after a moment. I noticed that the atmosphere had changed one hundred and eighty degrees thanks to a small “snap.” Dad let it go. The rest likewise. We finished breakfast, which, despite being cold, was still amazing. We made a list of basic shopping. We still had to prepare for over a thousand nautical miles of journey. Theoretically it was supposed to take us five days to Mundra Bay. Dad was pragmatic. He didn’t like risk. The shopping took terribly long. Looking at everything a hundred times — “Will it definitely not spoil? Will we eat it? Do we need it?” — finished me off psychologically. It was afternoon. With four cartons of food we returned to My Loves. We needed a moment to put everything away in the lockers, or rather in the fridge, which was getting fuller and fuller. – In the evening we’ll go eat something at the tavern and write the rest of the shopping list, okay? – Aye! We shouted together.