Chapter 5

So she wants to learn and I relish the thought of a buddy to go sailing with. I can single-hand my way in and out of the marina, but sometimes, especially if there's a good wind like today, I have to sprint between the engine controls in the cockpit and the mooring lines along the starboard side.

So I showed her. "Lita, this line holds us to the dock. If we let go too early, the wind will shove us to the other side, against that other boat. I am going to set it up for you." I uncleated the line, then took a turn around a winch. "Hold onto this line. It will tug, but you can hold it. When I tell you to let it go, just unwind it from around this winch and throw it on the dock."

"This is a line. That is a winch. There is the dock. I am learning." She smiled. "I can do this."

She did exactly as told. As I motored out of the slip, dead slow, I called her back into the cockpit.

"This is the cockpit. This is the wheel. This handle makes the engine go faster or slower. This one makes us go forward or back."

No wake in the marina, not that the rule is of much effect to me anyway. This is a sailboat. The difference between stopped and all fifty of her horsepower pushing her eight and a half tons through the water was a matter of eight knots and barely a ripple. Still, we were at walking speed as I eased her out into the empty deepwater channel.

"Where are we going?" Lita asked.

"One of these days we will go out into the Gulf of Mexico and hop down the coast. Today we're just going a few miles down the channel and a few miles back." I shoved the throttle forward. The little diesel took up a busier note.

"And this is as fast as she goes."

"She?"

"Boats are 'she'."

"And bras are 'he'," she giggled. "It all makes sense now. Can I look around? Down there?"

"Of course. Make yourself at home." I hadn't given her the tour, choosing instead to get out of the marina before we became the subject of too many questions. Not that I was doing anything wrong, but Lita was an illegal and a minor and questions could be inconvenient. She was with me. Safe. I wanted to keep her that way.

I heard thumping and other sounds, then her head appeared in the companionway. "This is a good little house. We could live here."

"That would be worse than living at the house. There is little room. We would have to be VERY close to one another."

"Many families in Guatemala live in homes not this big. Or this nice. You have places to sleep. A place to cook. Do you have water?"

"A hundred and fifty gallons. Almost six hundred liters."

"The bath is very small. How can you bathe?"

"I stop. Jump over the side, swim for a while, get out, rinse off with fresh water."

"With clothes?"

"Sometimes not. Depends on where I am. If others can see me. I know places where I am not bothered."

"You do this alone?"

"Quite often."

"I am a bother."

"Lita, you are not a bother. No way."

"You are happy I am here?"

"Yes. You being here makes me happy. If YOU are happy."

"It is my first time on a boat. I am happy. Excited. And learning things."

Lined out in the deep water channel, I checked the wind. It was just right. Time to teach Lita some things.

"Lita, take the wheel."

"I have never done that," she squeaked.

"I know that. Now turn it a little."

She turned it slightly left. The nose of the boat eased to port.

"Now go the other way. She did. The boat responded. She smiled at me. "I see."

"Okay. Your job is to keep the boat pointed down the middle of the channel while I hoist the sail."

"Hoist," she said.

"Put it up to use it. You hoist a sail."

"And you want me to drive?"

"Steer."

"Steer. The middle of the channel." Since her last move had pointed us to starboard, she turned the wheel and let the boat line back up.

"Do you think you can do it?"

"I can do this, Dave," she said.

I moved forward, attending to the sail handling, letting it luff noisily until I could get back into the cockpit, where I could give it a proper set.

"Now hang on, Lita. When I set the sail the boat is going to want to change course. You're the helmsman. You steer. Make the boat go where you want it to go."

"Helmsman."

"Person who steers."

"I am not a man. I am helmsLita!" she smirked.

"You're making bad jokes."

"It's a good joke. You smiled."

I find myself smiling about Lita more and more. "I enjoy bad jokes."

"Then I will do more of them." A gust heeled the boat over a bit. She squealed.

"It's okay. We're not going to see enough wind to cause us problems."

"It is okay that we are ... sideways."

"Heeled," I said. "And yes, under sail, it is normal. Now I'm going to shut off the engine. We don't need it."

She paid attention as I went through the simple procedure. Even though that little diesel is pretty quiet, shutting it down brought relief from that noise. Now it was wind and water. And powerboats. Always powerboats buzzing back and forth on a Saturday.

"It would be peaceful without those other boats."

"Powerboats," I said. "Fun. But a different kind of fun."

"I like this fun, Dave. I do not desire noise. This is not noise." Her small hands gripped the wheel. "Am I doing good? A good helmsLita?"

"The most perfect helmsLita."

"I do not think you have many choices. I am the one you have."

"You're doing great, but if you want me to take over ... You made it easy for me to get the sail up."

"Hoist the sail." Her dark eyes laughed.

"You learn fast."

"I watch. You teach. I learn."

"Would the helmsLita like a cold drink?"

"Yes, she would."

I opened us each one. I sat back, put my foot on the wheel, gaging gauging its tendency so I could steer with my foot. "You can sit down now."

I thought she'd sit across the cockpit. I was wrong. She sat right next to me.

"On the high side," she noted. "It will balance the boat."

"What do you know about balancing the boat? And sometimes it's called trimming."

"It makes sense."

"It does, especially in a smaller boat, but here, a hundred pounds of Lita isn't much compared to three tons of lead under us."

"You must explain that."

I tried. She listened. I said, "When you get inside the cabin there's a shelf with books on it. Get the black plastic binder."

"Okay." She was back in a flash.

"Open it. It's the book on this boat. I have pictures."

She paged through.

"There," I said. "That's this boat out of water for a bottom job."

"What is a bottom job?"

"We washed the bottom and painted it with a coating that discourages more growth. That fin, the big thing, is the keel."

"Keel," she repeated.

"It's lead. Plomo. Heavy. It wants to point straight down when the wind wants to push us over."

"I understand now. Forces."

"Forces?" My turn to question.

"Yes. Wind pushes. One force. Gravity pulls. Another force. They ... balance. Yes?"

"Si, mi Carlita," I said.

"Oh, I am YOUR Carlita now?"

"Yes, you are my friend, Carlita."

She looked at me. "I think that 'my friend Carlita' is different than 'my Carlita'."

"It is. You are your own person. You are my friend. You do not belong to me."

"I understand. So you cannot be my Dave?"

"I..."

"It is okay. I understand. I will be back." She took the binder back down below and returned. Sat in the same spot. "You take care of me. I can be your Lita."

"Thank you. I can be your Dave," I replied, then the thought hit me, what I'd just said to her. I was afraid to look at her.

"How do you stop this boat, Dave," she asked.

"You don't. You can douse the sail..."

"Douse?"

"Take it down. But the wind will still blow it. We just won't have much control."

"But if we wanted to stop. You have bread. And cheese. And meat. La torta? Uh ... sand ... wich."

"That's the plan."

"How do we do that?"

"About a mile further, there's a cut – a waterway out of the channel. It's deep enough for us, and we can drop anchor."

"Anchor."

I explained what an anchor was, how it worked, and how we'd set it.

"Now all you have to do is point the nose of the boat into the wind while I drop the anchor. But don't get upset. When the boat stops, the wind will blow it backward and you won't have much control."

We executed the maneuver. I dropped the anchor overboard and then doused the sail.

"Now it is very quiet, Dave," she said. "Let us make sandwich ... Sandwiches?"

"Yes. I hope you like them."

She smiled at me. "I hope you like them. It is me, cooking you a meal." She handed me two slices of bread with bologna and cheese, a favorite of mine. Made herself one, then sat by me. Together we ate.

Afterward, more learning ensued as we pulled up the anchor and headed back up the channel. Once in the channel under power I took the helm. She went below for several minutes. I heard the inevitable call. "Dave, how does this toilet work?"

"I should've showed you before we left. Come up here and take the wheel and I'll take care of it."

She came up. "Sorry. It is not the same..."

"I know. And that one's difficult, too, more than others." I headed below, flushed the head, came back up.

"Men can go anywhere. I am a girl. It is more difficult."

"How did you ... on your trip?"

"I always went like I was doing the other thing. Away from the others. Nobody watched. But I saw others. Just run around. Stand there. Do it. The first thing." Those brown eyes looked at me. "Men."

"Sorry. I was made this way."

She giggled. "I am not angry. I am just talking. If you ... on this boat, you stand on the side and..."

I laughed. "Guilty."

"I would have to turn my head and look away."

"With you, I would go below."

"Why?"

"So you would not have to look away."

"What is there to see? I have seen it. Not much to see, especially if you are not watching. Looking."

"Can we change the subject? I don't want to talk about peeing over the side with a fourteen year old girl."

"It is something people do, Dave. It is ... natural."

"Natural is fine," I said. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay. We will not talk about it. Your boat. Will we do this again?"

"If you wish. Some people do not like sailboats."

"I like sailboats. THIS sailboat. It is the only one. When do you do this again?"

"Next weekend. Usually Saturdays in the summer."

"Do you ever stay overnight?"

"Not in the summer. Too hot and too many insects."

"You will bring me again?"

"Any time you want."

"I want to do this again."

In the car on the way home, she popped the question. "Your sister? She asked if I would stay at her house?"

"She did."

"Do you not want me at your house?"

"It is not that simple, Lita. I am a single man..."

"And I am a fourteen year old girl. You have told me this."

"I can't help that..."

"But if I wanted ... Dave."

"Please try, Lita. If you lived with Pat, it would be better. You could see me every day that I'm in town..."

"I would rather see her when you are out of town."

"Lita..."

"I will try, Dave."

"Do you want to have dinner with her?"

"That is okay," she said.

I noted the tone, the loss of brightness. I handed her my iPhone. "Call her."

"I do not know how to use this."

More instruction. Then, "Hello, Pat? This is Lita." Pause. "No, he is driving. We want to ask if you will have dinner with us." Pause. Lita asked me, "How long?"

"Tell her an hour and a half. We need to unload and I want a shower."

Lita put the phone back to her ear. "He says an hour and a half. He wants to shower. I do also." Pause. "Yes. We will see you soon. Goodbye."

"Now touch the red button."