Soul of the Hurricane by Nelson Simon

Author:Nelson Simon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 2021-07-13T09:30:09+00:00

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As afternoon turned to evening on the twenty-sixth, we learned that the low-pressure system south of Bermuda was deepening. “What does this mean?” I asked. Joey said it was something we had to keep an eye on, but nothing to worry about. The system was five hundred miles away, tracking north and west, with winds around thirty-five miles per hour. We were still sailing full, all our sails unfurled, and Anne Kristine was handling beautifully. That said, something felt different, though I could not tell what it was. The atmosphere, both on the ship and beyond, had shifted. The air seemed heavier, more portentous. The wind blew harder and seemed to be shifting direction. Wavelets rose up higher than they had earlier, their crests breaking. Both the crests and the foam at the top of them looked like glass in the moonlight. Larger waves would occasionally appear. White horses, someone called them. On the ship, the mood had shifted as well. Though he was outwardly upbeat, Joey seemed preoccupied. He spoke quietly with Peter and Jen. Huddled at the table in the saloon, the three pored over the charts. From time to time, one of them would get up to monitor the radio.

I remained on deck, hunkered down near the helm, where Damion was steering. I hugged myself as the first funny feeling rose from my stomach. I felt dizzy, and saliva filled my mouth. “Damion,” I said, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Dude, you’re seasick.”

What? How could that be? We had been sailing for the better part of a day, and while I had fallen all over myself (and several others) at first, I had finally gotten my sea legs. I had learned to relax my knees and waist, to go with the motion rather than resist it. I had reveled in the sun and the wind, and had even begun to fancy that I might someday become, not a Joey or a Damion perhaps, but a decent sailor in my own right. It seemed unjust, but there was no denying my condition. Marty called us down to dinner, but the thought of food, or even of going below deck, brought a new wave of nausea. I decided not to leave my spot near the helm, where the ship’s movement was least pronounced. I pulled my knees in toward my chest and leaned back. Barbara brought me a blanket and some broth. I accepted the blanket, but the broth was more than I could handle. She left me a thermos of warm water that I sipped from time to time.

I have heard that seasickness has two stages: the first is when you fear you’ll die; the second is when you’re afraid you’ll live. I went through both those stages that night, and probably added a couple more. Besides the physical symptoms—headache, dizziness, nausea—my mind reeled with doubts and regrets. How could I have imagined that it would be so easy? The day had gone too well, and now I would pay.

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