The good captain, p.1
The Good Captain, page 1
THE
GOOD
CAPTAIN
THE GOOD CAPTAIN
SEAN RABIN
MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
www.transitlounge.com.au
First Published 2022
Transit Lounge Publishing
Copyright © 2022 Sean Rabin
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Inquiries should be made to the publisher.
Cover and book design: Peter Lo
Cover image: © Nicola Bealing/Bridgeman Images
Author image: Better Read Than Dead
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia: http://catalogue.nla.gov.au
ISBN: 978-1-925760-96-5 (e-pub)
For Francesca and Jude
MAMA’S CREW
Rena – Captain, Skipper, Idu, Margit, Nina, Karen (Spring Roll)
Christopher – First Mate (Santa)
Mel – Carpenter (Gingernut)
Fanc – Surgeon (Matchstick)
Sook – Communications Officer (Giant Toadstool)
Turso – Steward (Mad Gypsy)
Gaiek – Gunner (Hitler Youth)
Sonja – Gunner (Hitler Youth)
Ken – Chief Engineer
Bill – Midshipman, Annabel (Fuckbunny)
Pali – Second Engineer
Buddy – Deckhand
Salka – Deckhand (Tango)
Euan – Deckhand (Tartan Chipmunk)
Aino – Deckhand (Tap Water)
Roope – Deckhand
PASSENGERS
Angus Wallace Thompson – Former Prime Minister, Gus, Gusso (The Cargo)
Papa – Angelo, Bill’s father (The Gnome)
ON LAND
Caesar – Chief of Staff (C)
Masaru – Shipbuilder
Felicity – Angus’ wife
1.
‘Where?’
‘Beside you,’ cried Aino.
Salka glanced away from the narrow country road fidgeting beneath the high beam of the headlights – but the interior of the car was too dark – she could see nothing. A tilt to the left allowed her hand to hunt the passenger seat, except the backpack wasn’t there. It must have fallen onto the floor. Pull over? Slow down? They could afford to do neither. A lunge forward below the windscreen? It would need to be quick, and if her fingers did not immediately touch the bag there would be no time to search. She told herself to keep the car steady, but the moment she moved the vehicle began to swerve. A yank on the steering wheel jerked it back into the road and hurled the trio sideways.
Roope screamed with pain and a reek of blood filled the car.
Salka passed the backpack through to the back seat. ‘How is he?’
‘He is shot, that is how he is.’ Aino whispered Swedish words of comfort and reassurance as she searched for a packet of sterilised dressings.
Salka tried to lower a window but it refused to move. After the cars were stolen all non-essential static had been disabled to prevent any risk of tracking, leaving them no autodriver, no mapping systems, no boundary protection or pedestrian avoidance, or even dashboard displays with a speedometer. The last of these was the least of her concerns – fast was the only velocity that she presently required.
Aino leaned down to Roope’s head resting on her lap. ‘Shhh, we’ll be there soon, then Fanc will fix you up in no time.’ She used her teeth to tear open the packaging and pressed the dressing to the wound in her sibling’s belly.
‘It hurts.’
With her other hand she rummaged inside the backpack. ‘Where are all the nerve dampeners?’
Salka accelerated out of a corner. ‘I think we finished them.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘Where else would they be?’ She refused to feel responsible. During the four weeks they had spent in an isolated cabin in the north-west corner of Tasmania they had all made raids on the supply of pharmaceuticals – Roope included.
He arched his back and clenched his teeth. ‘Something. Anything.’
Aino continued to search but felt nothing that resembled the shape of a nerve-dampener inhaler, 89T patches, or even a bag of unfallen jellies. She then realised they were probably in the other backpack in the other car.
The engine droned. The wind yowled. The trees around Cygnet bent and swayed and threatened to drop branches directly into their path. Beyond the reach of the headlights the road was buried in darkness – its bends and rises and bumps and plunges suddenly materialising just metres ahead of the car. Salka grimaced. Except for the few hours it had taken to drive to the compound she had not been behind a wheel for more than two years. Their speed was meant to be quick and steady, but this … this felt like suicide. ‘Do you need me to stop?’
‘No,’ hissed Aino. ‘I need you to go faster.’ Her fingers were sticky with blood – the dressing was already soaked through. She found a second packet and ripped it open, all the time suspecting that nothing she did would stem the bleeding. A hole that large – who knew what organs had been damaged.
Roope pressed his hand on top of his sister’s as waves of pain surged about his body. He tried to be brave and resolved to be quiet, but every time he felt the knives spin inside his stomach a scream would rise and overflow his throat. He panted through clenched teeth and stared up at Aino’s silhouette and tried to ignore the fear that his intestines were spilling out of his body.
A wallaby jumped into the road and was pitilessly struck out of existence. The marsupial’s impact with the front of the car – then its undercarriage – was loud and shocking and wretched and when Salka checked the rear-view mirror she found two eyes staring back. During their weeks of training no one had succeeded better than Aino at handfeeding pieces of carrot to the local macropods.
‘What was that noise?’ asked Roope.
‘Shshsh,’ his sister comforted. ‘Don’t worry. It’s nothing. Just rest and think of how happy you’ll be when we’re back aboard …’ She felt his body stiffen against another surge of pain.
‘I can’t. It’s too much. It’s too —’
‘What’s happening back there?’ Salka couldn’t speak Swedish. ‘Is he okay?’
Aino lowered her ear to Roope’s lips – detected a wheezing breath. ‘I think he has passed out – the pain was too much. I can’t stop the bleeding. How much further to Mama?’
At times Salka feared they were travelling in the wrong direction. There were no street signs or crossroads or buildings or houses; no visual guides other than shadowy tree trunks and the glisten of the water that sometimes appeared between them. She had been told that so long as the Huon River stayed on her left they was heading in the right direction – that a reunion with Mama would be inevitable. But exactly how long it was going to take she had no idea. ‘Ten minutes … maybe more. Can you see Christopher and Buddy?’
‘They won’t have caught up yet.’ Aino looked out the rear windscreen at the isolated countryside. ‘They needed to secure the cargo then tie up the rest of the guards.’
‘Were there more than what we thought? Is that how Roope got shot?’
She peered down at her brother’s face – hidden in the dark. ‘I don’t understand how it happened. All I know is that he wasn’t expecting a guard to come through that door.’
Salka stared at the road and tried to ignore her memories of the remote cabin where they had drilled for the past four weeks – at night – in rain – in wind – in the midday sun in case the lights around the compound were not successfully disabled. The fitness regimes – endless weapons training – relaxed personal hygiene – the sleepless nights she spent worrying if she could go through with it – arguing with herself about the validity of such an operation – examining what she believed – what she hoped to achieve – why she did not run away – all the time knowing that she could not back out now – people were depending on her to be capable of more than just sneaking into towns to buy supplies or raiding dockyards for equipment – this was her moment to show what she was made of. And therein lay her dilemma. The closer the date approached for putting their assignment into action the less Salka recognised who she had become. The more mystified she grew as to how a student who had enjoyed painting witty signs and attending rallies – who had hoped to qualify as a veterinarian one day – who had made her Argentinian mother and Belarusian father so proud – had ended up in such a place and proposing such an action. Had she found herself trapped in a cult? Is that why none of the others seemed to have any doubts about what the captain was proposing?
She remembered how the team had dispersed around the compound – Aino and Roope at the front gate – Christopher at the side deactivating the security systems – Buddy and her at the rear fence counting the minutes between each patrolling guard. As they crouched together in the scrub she watched an unusual pattern of mist billow from Buddy’s mouth and realised that he was privately reassuring himself. Did he also find their plan outlandish? Their training oversimplistic? The idea that they were cold-blooded operatives no longer plausible? She denied ever agreeing to perpetrate such a crime – it was the sea she wanted to defend. What did stealing cargo like this have to do with saving fish? Christopher gave the signal that the compound fence was safe to touch – two short blinks from a tiny flashlight. Buddy’s hands shook as he dissolved e ach wire. Salka pulled the fence apart just like they had rehearsed, then felt her stomach fill with dread and the strength drain from her arms. She released her grip and tugged the balaclava from her head. ‘I can’t do it,’ she insisted. ‘This is too crazy even for me.’ Buddy also raised his balaclava. ‘I feel the same. We need to call it off before it goes too far.’ They embraced and cried and kissed and agreed to retreat back into the scrub when all the lights around the compound abruptly disappeared. Salka saw the silhouette of a security guard hurrying past. The assignment was still underway and they had failed to reach their designated position – execute their part in the plan. Shame swept aside her fears as she yanked the fence back open and ushered Buddy through. Another guard was running towards them and Salka felt her training take over as she fired her pistol and watched him fall to the ground – convulsing against the restraining bolts. The wind stole away his gurgling voice, but not the nearby crack of unexpected gunfire. Another guard appeared – this time with weapon drawn. She fired again. Buddy fired again. They tied the guards together then hurried to meet Christopher at the front of the compound where he and Aino were already helping Roope to the nearest car.
The recollection was so upsetting – so shameful – that Salka momentarily lost concentration and mistimed a bend in the road. Tyres hit the surrounding dirt and their vehicle veered towards a stand of trees. She stamped on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust and grit swirling up into the headlights.
Aino crashed into the back of the passenger seat – taking her brother with her. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Perdón. Perdón.’ Salka steered back onto the road and mended their pace.
As he regained consciousness, Roope’s first thought was that his skin was wet – his clothes were wet – the back seat was wet. He opened his eyes to the dark car and remembered where he was – what had happened – and realised he was lying in a puddle of his own blood. All of a sudden he feared he was never going to see the ocean again. Or his mother and father. He wanted to eat pickled mangos one more time. Have a chance to give Bill’s lips another kiss. He told himself to stay strong. Stay awake. He could taste blood in his mouth. ‘Water.’
Aino found a bottle in the backpack and lifted her brother’s head to meet its spout. ‘Slowly. Not too much. Are you all right? Is the pain any better?’
The liquid caught in Roope’s throat and made him cough violently.
Salka was glad he was awake again. A part of her wished he was still screaming – at least that way she knew he was alive. What would happen if they reached the end of the road without finding Mama? Where could they go to get medical help?
Aino started singing her old school song in the hope of reminding her brother of their childhood friends – their small town on the Gulf of Bothnia – the long winter nights when nothing existed beyond the comfort of their family home.
Headlights appeared in the rear-view mirror. Salka waited, but saw no flashing colours; heard no wailing sirens. ‘I think I can see Christopher. Should I stop? Maybe they’ll have something for the pain.’
‘No,’ strained Roope. ‘Don’t stop.’
Aino caressed his head. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Keep going,’ he muttered. ‘Keep going.’
Salka eyed left. She could not recall the last time the river had glistened between the trees. But it must be there somewhere. They had not crossed a bridge or taken a different road. And if Christopher was following then they had to be travelling in the right direction. Unless he was trying to catch up to tell them they had missed Mama and were at risk of being left behind. She would know soon enough – his car appeared to be much faster than the one she was driving.
Roope recalled an old family joke that had always made his sister laugh. He could not see Aino’s face, but heard the smile in her voice as she delivered the familiar punch line. It made him chuckle, then cough against the blood in his throat.
Light from Christopher’s car drew close enough to flood the back seat. A peek over her shoulder and Salka saw Roope’s face – pale and shocked; Aino’s face – pale and shocked. There seemed to be blood everywhere.
Roope stared up at his sister’s neck and chin and tried to speak.
Aino leaned closer to hear what he was saying, and started to moan and cry and call her brother’s name over and over.
Salka blinked tears from her eyes as she followed the road through the darkened countryside.
2.
Idu was certain that Father had smiled at her before he pulled on his goggles and lowered himself over the side of their boat where he dived and kicked and disappeared below the water’s surface. She also remembered how he owned only one flipper – the other had been lost in a storm – but it didn’t matter because no one could swim faster and hold their breath longer than Father. Even when the fish were hiding and he needed to go deeper and wait for them to become curious and friendly he always came back with something on the end of his spear. She and Mother sang songs while Father was diving. To keep him safe and to bring him luck and today was the day he would find a big fish, maybe their biggest one yet. But no matter how much they sang, Father’s face refused to reappear at the side of their boat.
Idu was less sure about the kiss that Mother gave just before she went looking for Father – perhaps it was something she had imagined years later. Images from that day were hazy. The surface of the sea; strands of old fishing line woven into a necklace; Mother’s face as she told Idu to stay on her mat until she returned with Father and their fish. It would take only a minute she said. But when you are four years old and alone in a small boat floating in the turquoise expanse of the Celebes Sea, a minute is a long time. A minute can take hours. A minute can last all night.
When Idu woke she was still on the mat. Mother had not covered her with a blanket and there was no water boiling to make the spicy rice balls that she liked so much for breakfast. Father was not in the boat. Mother was not in the boat. Idu found the plastic bottle of fresh water and drank and drank until she remembered that some would need to be saved for when Mother and Father returned.
She had been hungry before, but never this hungry. There was no dried seaweed left – the jar of sea cucumber was empty – and the little fish that sheltered beside the boat were too quick for her fingers to catch. A rumbling stomach made it difficult to sleep so she tried to picture Mother’s smile; cheeks and forehead caked with a pale green paste that gave her skin a scent of spice. Father’s rough fingers pushing morsels of fish inside her mouth; his crooked teeth and wrinkled skin; an octopus curled around his dark brown arm. Whenever Idu felt like crying she hummed the songs that Mother liked to sing or repeated the words that Father had taught for all the different parts of the sea.
At the end of her fifth night drifting alone Idu woke to the sound of a Norwegian fishing trawler cruising nearby and waved to the crew on its deck before she walked off the edge of Father’s boat and tried to swim towards them. The trawler’s engine was cut – a life-preserver thrown. When Idu was pulled aboard she was almost too weak to stand. Captain Tjostel – closer to forty than thirty with a noticeable paunch – was fishing illegally and could not return a castaway to shore. She would have to stay on board until they were back home. A story about finding her drifting in international waters was close enough to the truth to satisfy the authorities. He didn’t know what had happened. How could he? He couldn’t speak Idu’s language – leaving him no other choice but to name her Margit and lock her cabin door every night.
Six months later she squatted in a dark corner of the engine room where diesel and oil fumes circulated thick enough to overpower the revolting odour of land that had infiltrated the rest of the ship. Margit had been taught to hide whenever they stopped at a port to take on more fuel or unload a haul, and to stay out of sight until the trawler was moving again. But this time – no matter how many hours passed – its engine remained still and silent. Never before had she felt so cold. It made the water on the far side of the hull sound thick and syrupy and when she heard the tide change she realised it was time for Captain Tjostel to lock her inside her cabin. The mess, however, was empty. The fish room and the wheelhouse too. No one else was aboard. She had been left alone again.
