Stinger - Chapter 5

Gar visits Dwight in the hospital.

I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes, so live not in your yesterdays.

-Carl Sandburg

A low mist rose as the mid-March sun warmed the briny surface of the parking lot. Gar let the car warm up as his mind replayed the meeting with Gene.

He reached for his phone to text Mairin and saw he had missed a call from Murph. He called back.

“Hey. You called…?”

“Yeah, I was just checking on how things went with Dwight.”

“I’m just heading over now.”

“Oh, I thought you’d been there already…”

Gar watched a car drive by, looking for an open spot.

“How ’bout I call you when I’m home and let you know how it goes?”

“Sounds good.”

Murph hesitated, then added, “I just want you to know—it was great seeing you yesterday. I’m really happy you made this decision to get the boat. I know we’ve…”

“Look, I know this is on me…” Gar interrupted. “I’m never going to make this all go away, nor should I. Both of us were there—together.” He took a breath. “I’ll never fully resolve it all—what I should have done, what should have been done… none of it.”

Murph replied, “All right, you’re right—you’re right… But you deserve to be back in the land of the living. I just want you to know. I’m good—really, I am good with it, and I hope you will be too.”

“This drove a wedge between us—that’s on me. We’ve been friends a long time. I just want you to know—I’m still me,” Gar offered more than he wanted. The talk with Gene had loosened his usual reserve.

Murph exhaled. “Yeah… I know you’re still you. We have been friends a long time. I know how much you blame yourself for what happened. I overreacted. It was a fucking mess. But I really just… I want to have you around.”

Gar nodded to himself.

“Thanks, Murph—it was like old times yesterday…”

“Yeah, it was.”

After a slight pause, Murph ended with, “Talk soon, all right?”

“Yep. I’ll let you know how it goes—bye.”

Gar ended the call before he heard Murph’s response. He sat for a moment, then pulled out of the parking lot.

——————————

Gar opened the hospital door to Dwight’s room and stood still for a moment, his anticipation a mix of dread and hope.

“Hey, Dwight?” Gar said softly, then realized he needed to speak a bit more loudly. “Hey—Dwight…?”

Dwight opened his eyes and fixed his gaze over Gar’s left shoulder.

“It’s Garner—you wanted me to stop in and see you.”

Dwight cleared his throat with a cough and said, “Yep, yep, yep… Come in, come in. I want to catch up with you. You’re taking over my boat?”

“I am.” Gar smiled back as he walked over to Dwight’s bedside.

Dwight gave a soft smile, his voice thinner now but still edged with mischief.

“Well, you know what they say…”

He paused, eyes drifting around Gar’s face.

“The two happiest days in a sailor’s life…”

“Are the day he buys a boat…” Dwight began.

Gar gently joined in, “And the day he sells it.”

Dwight let out his lilting laugh that hadn’t changed.

“Okay, okay… there ya’ go—we’re both happy. So, let’s talk about a few things. Slide that chair over here. I don’t want you hoverin’ over me—you’re gonna hurt my neck like that.”

The teenager in Gar obediently slid the chair and sat, wondering what was to be shared.

“Okay… you know the boat. You spent some time out there with me—helmed a lot of those races. There’s no mystery there. I wanted to talk with you about your intentions.”

Dwight’s eyes focused slightly past Gar, as if looking at a figure behind him.

Dwight’s eyesight had been damaged during the war. That’s all Gar’s father said years ago when Gar had asked him why Dwight didn’t seem to be able to make eye contact. The answer was sufficient enough for Gar to never raise the question again.

“My intentions…?” Gar was caught off guard by the question. “Oh, I just want to settle into a nice, familiar boat.”

“Hot shot sailor like you?” Dwight smiled and wheezed a bit of a laugh. “That boat of yours—Fury—that was a hell of a lot faster than old Stinger. You’re gonna be slow-boatin’ now, for sure.”

“I haven’t been sailing in a while—I’m not excited about racing.” Gar tried to sound upbeat. “She’s the kind of boat that keeps you honest. That’s what I need right now.”

Dwight nodded slightly. “You’ve been through the wringer—I’ve been through the wringer myself. Take it from me, it’s hard to outrun water sometimes. I know a little bit about what you’re going through.”

Gar wasn’t fully prepared for the conversation to go in this direction, but he understood that Dwight was being charitable in his comparison.

“I know you must’ve seen a lot of stuff during the war. I have no idea what that’s like.”

Gar wasn’t sure where to divert his eyes.

“You go out to sea, and not everyone comes back. And that’s it. That’s the story sometimes,” Dwight added.

There was awkward silence as Gar tried to gather his thoughts on how to respond.

Dwight seemed lost in thought for a moment, then, shifting gears, said, “You’ve got a lot of life left to live. So Stinger—she’s an old boat. Still has a lot of life left in her too. Just a couple things I want to tell you—as her new owner.”

A knock at the door broke the interlock of conversation as both men glanced at the door swinging open. The male nurse smiled and said, “Good afternoon, Captain—how ya’ feeling today?”

“Ho, ho!” Dwight wheezed. “I’m just jawin’ with my old sailing-hand Garner here. Feeling better than last night. Something you people are puttin’ in me is giving me the willies. I don’t even want to close my eyes at night.”

“Let me put that in a note to the doctor—might be the melatonin. I’m John, by the way—I’m on shift now through the evening. I’ll be looking after Captain Dwight here…” he said, glancing at Gar.

“He’ll be sticking needles in me—look at his arms. Needles don’t bother this guy one bit.” Dwight coughed out a laugh.

“Well, that USMM on your forearm isn’t small—that must’ve taken a bit of time.”

John looked at Gar with a smile. “I asked him if it stood for United States Muscle Man—that got a reaction out of him. He gave me a little history lesson on the Merchant Marine that I shall not soon forget.”

Gar laughed genuinely.

“This fella here’s got a tattoo of a cup of coffee—show him.” Dwight waved in John’s direction.

John happily pulled up his sleeve to reveal an array of liberally colored tattoos, along with a nearly life-sized cup of steaming coffee as a centerpiece. He nodded grinning.

“Coffee is my life—what can I say…”

Dwight shook his head and said, “Got mine in a place called Maracaibo—either one of you two know where that is?”

“No,” both John and Gar shook their heads at the same time.

“Venezuela!” Dwight spouted. “The oil outta that place fed the machines that beat the Nazis!”

Dwight’s lilting laugh led to a productive cough.

“Okay, Captain Dwight, I can’t do any more history today—I’ve got other patients to stick needles into. I’ll leave you both to it,” John said, a little concerned that he was working Dwight up and derailing Gar’s visit.

He walked behind Gar’s chair to check a monitor and leaned down near Gar, quietly saying, “The prednisone might have him a little fired up today—if he seems a bit more animated than usual.”

“I have trouble seeing, but my hearing is still good…” Dwight acknowledged John’s comment.

“Okay, Captain Dwight, just don’t wear yourself out. I’ll be back on my next round—ring the nurse’s station if you need anything.”

“Okay, you get back to work and I’ll get back to old Garner here,” Dwight smiled.

As John walked out, Dwight said, “Where were we…? All right, back to Stinger. Did you get all the sails and lines from my place out at Point Breeze?”

“Yes, I met with Jeff, and he got me all squared away.”

“You got my sea chest?”

“Everything is stored at my house,” Gar replied.

“Have you gone through the chests?”

“I haven't had a chance. It’s the end of the marking period and I had a bunch of report cards due.” Gar hoped his voice was pained enough so Dwight would realize it was lack of time not interest.

“Right, right—how’re those high school kiddies treating you? Still giving you a hard time?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot better than a few years back when that class of lunatics was in tenth grade—I’m sure they’ve all gone on to be productive adults. Or at least I haven’t seen them on the news.”

“How ’bout that Jacob? He changed all the teachers’ passwords to ‘Nipples’?” Dwight recalled easily.

“Yeah—Nipples4U. He went on to Cal Tech. He probably makes five times as much as I do—that group was something else.”

“Okay, okay—let’s get back to my sea chest and ammo box. I want you to have those. As you look through, you’ll find a bundle of letters that I kept through part of the war.” Dwight tried to shift up higher onto his pillow without much luck.

“Okay, okay… I kept track of important things I saw—stuff I did in a kind of journal of sorts. Here’s the thing—after ‘42 the Navy told us they were going to censor everything—loose lips sink ships,” Dwight said as he waved his index finger towards Gar.

“We couldn’t let on to anybody back home where we were or what we were doing, but I couldn't hold it all in my head.”

“I kept all my letters from back home and used the inside of the envelope to write down stuff. So, you need to open the envelopes if you want an idea of life at sea.”

“I had a notebook I wrote in before ‘42, but I lost that one after we took a torpedo in the North Atlantic. That was a bad one. Bad times, bad times… I don’t like to think about it. You see if you can make heads or tails out of my scribbles ’cause I know you’re a history guy, and nobody in my family has any interest in that.”

“I don’t know what to say, Dwight. I’m honored.”

Gar felt close to tears with the weight of the gift.

“That first journal is at the bottom of the Atlantic somewhere between Scotland and Iceland, along with too many friends. If you read the others, you’ll see my memories of that. These meds they have me on at night brought back some bad thoughts about that one,” Dwight’s voice trailed off.

Gar couldn’t tell if the conversation needed to take another direction or if Dwight wanted to share more. He erred on the side of his own curiosity.

Gar shook his head slowly then asked,“Your ship sank?” Then cautiously added, “If it’s too much, I completely understand—but I would like to know what you went through.”

“I don’t like going back there…” Dwight paused, his eyes darted around the room as he seemed to be considering the request.

Just as Gar was feeling he had overstepped Dwight took a deep breath, “Well, here’s the long and short of it. I worked the engine—I was an oiler. The engine we had at that time was built by Baldwin Locomotive—oil-fired, triple-expansion steam engine. I worked in a T-shirt—always warm down there whenever we were underway. The North Atlantic was better. The Gulf of Mexico… it could get as hot as 130 degrees. My job was to feel for vibration or heat coming off the big prop bearings. We’d shim them or change them out—hard job.”

Dwight took another breath.

“How long were shifts?” Gar asked, transfixed by Dwight’s willingness to share his war experience.

“Four hours on, eight hours off. You never really get good sleep. I learned to sleep in my boots—when I could. We were all just kind of tuckered out. I got used to it.”

“So, this ship was torpedoed?” Gar prodded tentatively.

Again Dwight drew in a breath, “We were under naval escort—carrying supplies to Glasgow. We’d been told there were U-boats trailing us by some of the Navy guys onboard. I was nearing the end of my four-hour shift—I felt the ship breathe in—you could feel it in your ears. The bridge telegraphed to take the engine to full stop. The engineers—all of us—we started opening the drains on the cylinders. We stared to go down in the bow. The prop was still spinning—if that thing came out of the water, that would be another story. Anyway, we were working to get her stopped—that’s when the lights went out.”

Dwight pointed to a plastic pitcher of water and a cup on the small rolling table.

“I need a bit of water, Garner.”

Gar poured the water into the cup and put it into Dwight’s tremoring hand. Gar sat back down reverently in the chair and waited. Dwight handed him the cup. Gar held it absentmindedly, waiting for the story to continue.

Dwight went on, “We were thirty-eight feet below deck. My first week down there, I asked the 3rd engineer—older guy, probably twenty-two years old, how we’d get out if we took a torpedo—He told me, ‘Kid, we don’t get out…” Dwight paused a moment.

So, the lights burn out—I make for the nearest companionway along with the others. I’m only sixteen years old and quick like a jackrabbit—I grabbed my peacoat and scrambled for my life. Things are tipped sideways. I was going up handrails like climbing rope, and deep rumbling noises coming from all around me. By the time I’m on deck, she’s really goin’ down in the bow. Lifeboats all been deployed—except one. This one’s hanging from its bow—the line running through the davit’s jammed. I tied my boots around my neck, climbed onto the boat with my jackknife, and hacked away at the line. The boat and I drop to the water below. I had to swim and climb in. That sapped the energy out of me. There were some older guys… I saw them in the water. They were just too weak to even swim. I was young—that’s why I made it.”

Gar kept looking at Dwight, caught in the intensity of the scene he had described. All he could muster was:

“My God, Dwight. I had no idea…”

“Bad times, bad times. That damn dream brought it all back…”

Dwight tapped lightly on his chest with his fingers.

“So, you know, Garner, I know what it’s like—what you went through. It wasn’t a U-boat…”

He paused.

“What was that weatherman’s name that crewed with you?”

Gar paused a moment. “Josh. Josh Nichols.”

“Right, right, right… You had that ace in the hole onboard a few times. He was down there the week after. The Machine was tied up at Shelp’s. He was there looking her over—said it was a freak of nature. A microburst. Said the winds could’ve been 100 miles per hour.”

“It came up so fast,” Gar said, shaking his head and looking down.

“Garner, I always liked you. You’ve beat yourself up long enough over this thing. I saw your buddy Murph a while back—he let me know it wasn’t good.”

Dwight’s voice was strained.

“I watched good men…”

He stopped a moment, then continued.

“I honored those men by living a life—a life that was stolen.”

He raised his hand and pointed at Gar to emphasize the point.

Gar sat motionless, finally answering, “I know you’re right.”

“Right as rain…” Dwight let out a cough.

“Enough of that, enough of that… Let’s get back to the deal before I run outta steam—I’ve talked more than I wanted.”

He paused for a moment, then added:

“If you want to know more, the logbook is there in the sea chest. History buff like you’ll keep it safe. Now, for that boat of mine—before you go—I want first right of refusal if you ever sell her.”

Gar looked up at Dwight with a bit of wonder.

“Absolutely, I will,” he said, processing the request.

“Now then, in the sea chest is a sextant from a lifeboat. Inside that are some pictures and personal items. You can get those back to Jeffrey—he might want them.”

“I’ll make sure,” Gar said with a nod.

“If you have any questions about the race pendants and whatnot—it would be good they stay with the boat.”

“I’ll keep it all safe.”

Gar took a breath, feeling his throat tighten.

“I’m honored that you entrusted me with these… memories.”

Both men were quiet for a moment.

“I’m bushed. I gotta take a break now,” Dwight said, pushing himself back into the pillow.

“Is there anything you need before I go?” Gar asked.

“If you see John hanging around out in the hall, tell him I need him back here—I gotta get to the head.”

“I’ll get him. I’ll let the nurse’s station know on my way by.”

Gar made certain the call button was within Dwight’s reach. He stood stiffly and reached out his hand to shake Dwight’s.

“Stop back if you have any questions—you know where I’ll be.”

Dwight chuckled at his own joke.

“Yeah. I’ll find you,” Gar replied, trying to sound upbeat as he slid the chair back where it was.

“Okay,” Dwight said.

“Okay,” Gar replied, then turned and walked out the open door, feeling the pang of guilt at being able to escape.

On the way out of the hospital, he stopped midway to the parking garage. On the walkway, he let the late winter sun warm his face as he closed his eyes.