exerpts from the novel
The Electronic Windmill
By Pete McKinley
Chapter III
After Kang left him at the ship, Cole went aboard. A seaman met him at the head of the gangplank and took him to the first officer who checked a passenger list and found C. Rain with the assigned stateroom. The stateroom was larger than he expected. On the dresser there was a bowl of fruit surrounded by three bottles of booze - scotch, bourbon and gin. At the moment Cole wanted a beer but decided to unpack his clothes first. Opening a door in the dresser, he discovered a refrigerator with soda, soft drinks and beer. He pushed the gear into a corner and opened a bottle. After a couple of cool swallows, there was a light tap on the cabin door, which sounded sort of sinister. “Yeah, who is it?” he asked, his voice taking on new character.
“This is Mike Crowder. Is everything 0.K?”
“It couldn’t be better, Mike. Come on in,” he said.
Mike had been looking after the other passengers and had just learned that Cole was aboard. “Everybody dresses pretty casual,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable and come into the main salon when you’re ready.”
After Crowder left, Cole dressed in dark blue slacks, a blue knit tee shirt, dark suede crepe-soled shoes and a blue car coat. Stepping on deck, he decided to take a walk around before going to the salon. He didn’t want to be conspicuous or make any noise. Quietly turning port, he walked towards the bow of the ship. He didn’t really expect to find anything, his purpose was merely to get the feel of the ship. The ship had passed through the Gate and was beginning to hit ground swells. The wind and spray was so cold that Cole wondered if he should keep a sharp lookout for icebergs. The moon shone through wisps of fog, and you could make out that the deck was very orderly and clean. The life-boats were in their davits and Cole figured they could be checked later if they became suspect.
He circled the deck once from bow to stern and was ready to turn into the cabin to use the head before going on to the salon - beer and cold weather are dynamite on kidney function - when, about thirty feet beyond the cabin door, he saw a peculiarly shaped object. The object itself wasn’t peculiarly shaped because it was just square and sort of box-like, but it didn’t fit into the surrounding contours of the deck and super-structure. He approached to examine it, but found it covered by a tarp and lashed in place by lines tied to ringbolts set in the bulkhead. He expected the tarp to be securely fastened so that there would be no way to expose whatever was inside to view. However, it was merely tied down on each corner with a simple bowknot. This was a fairly smart maneuver, using a bowknot so that it wouldn’t draw undue attention. Untying the binding he lifted the tarp and saw the front side of a black box that was open; it contained the damnedest piece of machinery that one can imagine, and Cole was sure it had no connection with the proper operation of a ship. It was black machinery with springs and wheels, a circular plate and even an electric motor, then there was a long lethal-looking arm. How could a ship use this kind of stuff? There didn’t seem to be any plausible reason for it; then it came to him what its function must be. It was a launcher; it could launch missiles, grenades or small depth charges at pursuers.
But even if someone on the Crescent Moon were engaged in smuggling heroin, they obviously couldn’t use this from the deck of the ship. Then he remembered the motor launch braced on the after-deck. That had to be it. Whoever used the motor launch took this deadly-looking piece of machinery along for protection. It was sitting on casters, the kind that were used to roll guns in and out of the firing embrasures of old wooden fighting ships. He wondered what reasons the captain would give to explain its presence on board.
He pulled the tarp down around the lethal box, retied the fasteners and turned to go to the cabin. There was a scream as he collided with someone in the dark. Dancing back and crouching, he heard a body fall, and then someone wailed, “What did I run into? I can’t see a damn thing.” A man’s voice said, “It’s one of the crew, dear.” Then moving out of the shadows, he said, “Coming from the bright lights onto this dark deck, I couldn’t see anything either.”
Cole straightened up and approached the two dark forms. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” he asked, and then introduced himself.
They turned out to be Mr. and Mrs. Ederle, the only couple on board. The Ederles decided that another drink was needed more than a walk, so they all headed back to the salon.
When they entered there were two tables of bridge in progress. One table was finishing a hand, and Cole was introduced. The story of their accident was told, embellished somewhat by Mrs. Ederle. Letha Ederle went on and on with the story and then lifted her skirt and pulled down her pants to show a dark bruise on a well-rounded and otherwise unblemished hip. Waldo Ederle made no comment, but with a look of bemused tolerance, tossed off the first drink the steward handed him and signalled for another. Cole excused himself and went to the head.
When he returned there was both a bartender and a steward in attendance and, since Cole was interested in every member of the crew, he watched their movements closely. Lew, the steward, just under six feet, slender and wiry, glided quickly with no jerkiness in his action. He hoisted a tray, moved among the furniture and guests, and swooped the tray down. Even with the slight roll of the ship, no drop was spilled. It appeared the steward was born to do exactly what he was doing. Cole couldn’t think of any other occupation where his talents would show up to better advantage. But it was hard to reconcile all this talent being wasted on the Crescent Moon. If he wanted to be a waiter, he could have chosen and got a hundred better-paying jobs; maybe he liked the sea.
The Ederles left to continue their walk. Cole went over to the bar and sat on a stool. The bartender moved a bowl of peanuts closer and continued polishing a glass. He commented on the weather and then said that the long-range forecast predicted good weather for the entire trip. He enjoyed talking and told Cole he’d been born in San Francisco, had gone to sea at seventeen, and had sailed on the Crescent Moon for two years. His name was Chet, his wife’s name was Marge, and they wanted to buy a place, a ‘little spot of land’, near Guerneville, and raise chickens. Lew, the steward, was new, had been on board a little over three months, was a bachelor, and even though he was a strange one, he was the best man he, the bartender, had ever worked with. Then he got into a soliloquy on sports and pretty soon, Cole was ready to bet that if there was any smuggling going on, Chet the bartender didn’t know anything about it.
The Ederles returned from their walk and Mike Crowder requested one of them to sit in for him while he went to see the first mate. Letha begged off and came to the bar, sitting next to Cole. She ordered coffee and kahlua topped with whipped cream and then taking Cole’s hand, she placed it on her hip and asked, “Do you feel anything?”
“No, I don’t feel a thing.” Cole assumed she was talking about lumps. She let go his hand and Cole glanced at the table where Waldo sat; but he was absorbed in the bridge game.
Letha rambled about the blandness of life; she didn’t like to hunt or fish but had come along on the trip merely because Waldo had wanted her to and she hoped there might be some excitement. Finally the bridge game started breaking up and people began wandering off to bed. Cole turned down another nightcap, but at Letha’s insistence, felt her thigh again. He still couldn’t find the lump and, under the circumstances, decided to go to bed himself.
From the deck a three-quarter moon was rolling in the eastern sky lighting the grey-green waves as the ship sailed south. Away off to sea, just on the horizon, there was a light that probably came from another ship or maybe an island. There was the feel of a great night for sleeping, since there wasn’t a hell of a lot else to do. A little after one o’clock, Cole switched off the lights in the cabin and must have fallen asleep almost at once.
Cole’s slumbers were disturbed by a light tapping sound. He came up on one elbow and listened. Ten or fifteen seconds, and then another light tap-tap. Going to the door, Cole hesitated and then asked, “Yes, what is it?”
A girl’s voice. “May I come in? It’s cold out here.”
Cracking the door, Cole peeked out. “Where’s Waldo, your husband?”
“He’s asleep. I’ve been trying to wake him.”
“If he’s asleep, why do you want to wake him?” Cole asked logically. “Maybe we’d better check to see if he’s 0.K.” He opened the door to let her in, then closed it softly.
“No, no, he’s all right. He’s just sleeping,” she explained, and when Cole was silent, “He gets like this sometimes. He’ll be out for hours, but he’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“In the morning he’ll have forgotten all about it. I just wanted to talk to someone.” She moved to the center of the cabin. “I hope you don’t mind. Does my see-through nightgown embarrass you?”
“Not particularly but it’s cold in here too. Put my robe on.”
“I know a better way to get warm,” she said directly. “What are you going to do, freeze?” she inquired, looking at his bare chest and pajama bottoms.
“I’ve got a jacket here someplace, if I can find it.” When he found it he put it on and stayed standing in the middle of the floor.
“Umm, you look like a hunter. What are you hunting?”
“I was hunting a match,” and he started searching his pockets even though he didn’t smoke. “Do you want a cigarette?”
“Thanks, no.”
“Do you want a drink?”
“I could use a cup of coffee.”
“I doubt if anybody is in the galley.”
“We have an electric water heater and instant coffee-in our room.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ll heat some water.” He plugged in the appliance. “What’s wrong? You two have a fight?” he asked.
“No. No fight. I just couldn’t go to sleep. I thought maybe you felt the same way and might want to talk.”
“O.K. Fine. What would you like to talk about?”
“Well, what can a man and a woman alone in a stateroom on a ship in the Pacific Ocean talk about?”
“Letha, it beats the hell out of me, but it was your idea. I thought you had something specific in mind. All I can think about is your husband finding you in my cabin.”
“Please don’t worry about it. He’s sound asleep. I need a man who’s wide awake.”
“That’s my problem. I’m too wide awake,” Cole said sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t disappoint me, Mr. Rain. I need a man and you’re the one I want.”
“I’m the man you want? Hell, I’m the only one available at the moment.”
“Maybe your need isn’t as strong as mine.”
“It’s pretty strong, but our fun hour could turn into another hole in the head for me; with a shotgun, maybe no head.” Cole got up and moved around the cabin then said, “I’m not positive that the ecstacy would compensate for a huge hole in my belly.”
Letha giggled. “I’m not laughing at the horrible picture you describe but you seem to me to be overly worried.”
“Me, worried! With only one woman aboard and her husband sleeping not fifty feet from here in a stateroom loaded with shotguns and shells. Who’s worried? I’m either a great big coward or terribly undersexed. And I’m happy you can laugh about it. To me, it’s a tragedy.”
Letha just sat expectantly in the chair. Cole waited for her to get up and flounce out. He didn’t know what he hoped she’d do next, but when she did nothing, he felt compelled to explain.
“I control my urges because I don’t want them to control me. I satisfy, but don’t sate them. I do it my way. When I’m hungry I eat, but not too much. Who wants to be fat? If I need to escape I read a book, take a hike in the hills, or go to the beach. Maybe even pot; but it’s no good if you’re down, it merely enhances the depression. Booze has its drawbacks too. One Sunday morning on a weekend from college, I hit my all-time high in hangovers. You know how it is. When you first wake up you think you’re going to die and then a little later you’re afraid you won’t. Anyway, about eleven o’clock Sunday morning, my feeble stirring around brought Aunt Hester to my room with a concoction of tomato juice, lime, tabasco, worcestershire and whatever else she had in the kitchen, plus black coffee. She handed it to me and said, “Well, just as long as you had a good time last night nothing else matters.”
“I said, ‘Yeah, that’s the way it was - eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you die’.”
“Your dear late uncle lived and died by that marvelous bit of philosophy so I took it up and tried it once,’ she said. ‘After that I modified it. Don’t eat and drink too much because you might not.’
“I can’t imagine Aunt Hester ever really getting loaded but since then I’ve tried to go along with her modification in mind; but I haven’t always succeeded.”
After this long speech Cole felt a little silly, but he also began to believe some of what he’d said and decided he really did have better control of the situation.
“She sounds wonderful,” Letha said. It took Cole a moment to understand she was referring to Aunt Hester. “You know, for the first time in my life I’m really enjoying talking to a man. I’ve never been able to talk about what I really feel deep down inside. I’ll tell you something, since you’ve been honest with me. My name isn’t Letha Ederle; I’m not Mrs. Waldo Ederle. At twenty-seven years of age I’m still the small Indiana college assistant librarian and I’m going back there. But I’m going to be me, slightly changed. I met Waldo in Chicago about a year ago. I thought I liked him but it was like all my other relationships - pure sex. He told me about this trip, invited me to San Francisco, and I came along as his wife. At one time I thought about marrying him, but decided against it because I don’t love him. Mike Crowder knows but not my real name or background. Now that we know so much about each other, or rather you know so much about me, do you think it will spoil the rest of the trip for us?”
“No, it won’t for me and I hope it won’t for you. Let’s relax and enjoy the trip.” Letha smiled in agreement. “One other thing,” Cole considered whether he should ask the next question. Letha seemed interested so he continued, “What does Waldo do?” He hadn’t meant to be so blunt.
Letha’s interest seemed to fade. “I don’t know,” she said shortly. “He never talks about what he does. Maybe he sells whatever the people who own the ship make.”
“Maybe he does, Letha.” She wondered what he was thinking about now. “I guess I still call you Letha. You all right now?”
“Yes, I’m fine, but I can’t wear your robe back. Here take it, and kiss me. Good night,” she whispered.
“Good night,” he whispered back and thought of all the time he had wasted talking.
