Chapter 68

They've gotten to the point. They have no choice ... wind, they sail, no wind, they are going to motor in.

The holding tank is full.

That's bad.

Guys don't seem to have any problem peeing over the side ... and they do. Girls don't want guys to know they fart ... let alone pee ... and they really don't want their brothers to know it. Boys are ... well ... they poke fun ... and embarrass ... not that girls don't do it too.

True story: In Israel, the kibbutzniks, residents of a kibbutz, chose to keep their children in what were more than day care centers. The children had their own dorms, houses ... parents visited 4 or so hours a day and retired to their own houses. The children grew up together ... together means together ... same dorm ... same floor ... same room ... same shower ... same toilet. Boys and girls ... together. Children eventually grow to be teenagers ... and teens are served with huge quantities of hormones. We are, after all, here to preserve the species ... our primary goal is to reproduce.

A friend of my first wife, for her highschool graduation present, went to Israel and worked on a Kibbutz ... she was a little strange ... not a lot ... just a little. Very free thinking. Nice girl, I liked her. She went to Israel because they had, at the time, a very secular society. She thought she might like it. Hippie that she was, the idea of kids her age living together struck a note in her. When she came back, this is what she related:

The teenagers who grew up together ... looked elsewhere for mates.

"I grew up with her/him ... Why on earth would I want to marry/mate/fuck him/her ... her shit stinks!"

"His shit stinks."

"He picks his nose."

"She farts when she pees."

"She uses all the hot water."

"He farts in his sleep."

"He/she never makes his/her bed."

"I know everything about him/her/them ... I want some mystery in a mate."

She was highly disappointed. End of story.

The cats are mostly out of litter sand.

That's worse.

There is nothing quite like the smell of fishy shit coming from thirteen cats. If they were 'regular' it might be different ... but they were catholic in their shitting ... when ever the spirit moved. Very bad ... especially when there is no wind. The stink permeated the boat ... Pretty Penny wasn't pretty any more.

David came staggering out on deck and swore then and there they were using the turbines ... the sooner the better and the faster, too. Then he rushed to the side and puked. Shortly, the rest of the crew were creating attractive nuisances for the sharks ... the ones that had been waiting for the container to rust through ... or the door to fall off. What ever was inside had drawn more sharks than underwater explosions or blood chumming. Pure disappointment. They tore into the piles of bile and lunch ... feeding frenzy.

After that, the cats came out on deck ... it was a parade of swaying tail flags ... a victory over the two legs. The hatches were opened ... every one that did ... the ventilator housings were opened and David bravely dashed inside to change helms to the outside post.

Penny did air out fast but they kept a nice plane all the way to Cancun ... straight to the harbor and pump out. The boys unloaded the cat leavings in the nearest dumpster...

What? Of course they saved the used sand ... doesn't everybody?

"You might not care about the oceans but we do!" exclaimed David to the Harbor Master. "Where can we get fresh sand?"

"Dig it wherever ... sand we have," he paused a second and sniffed the dumpster, "Cats?" he questioned.

"Thirteen Cats," said David.

"Sounds like a good story for children." He sniffed the dumpster again, "Maybe not." A grimace, and then, "What on earth have you been feeding them?"

"What ever fish took the bait," confessed David.

"How long?"

"How long has it been calm"

"Madre de Deos!" He crossed himself. Then he looked the question.

"You got it ... I didn't want to waste the fuel."

"Six Days? Señor! Six Days ... and you came powering in ... Señor, look at the sea. One more day, Señor. One more day and you could have sailed in at 13 knots," he picked up the telephone, "Forgive me Señor, I must tell mi amour." He started laughing and kept it up until someone answered.