Capítulo 3: 3. The Story Begins
March, 2010
Katherine Houghton Beckett.
Kate Beckett, in all the newspaper articles.
Afaitu knew the name, though not much beyond that. She had been on the ship as well. Very little had been written about her, other than she'd been an American passenger. Her identity and fate completely overshadowed by the heroic tale of the survivors and the grief over the death of a famous author.
"Kate Beckett? She is alive as well?"
"Yes. We were both left behind. I was knocked unconscious when we wrecked, and can't speak directly to what happened. I cannot point a finger of blame toward anyone, although I do know what actually transpired, thanks to Kate. However, they could conveniently claim I was simply hard to find; that a search turned up nothing. Overlooking me is a matter that can be easily overcome. However, they cannot say the same about Kate. Thus, she is a threat to them."
"Where is she?" Afaitu knew that all the accounts had told of Rodgers being found drifting alone. He'd been found by a Chinese crew with no motive to lie about who, or how many, they'd found.
"Safe, I hope." Rodgers' voice cracked, emotion transparent. Clearly terrified that Kate Beckett was in danger. "She was fine the last I saw her," he added, hoping that by saying the words out loud that they would be true. Remained true, even now, after such time apart.
"How long has it been since you last saw her?"
"About four months," Rick croaked, anguished at how long it had been.
"You had been with her all that time? The last ten years?" Afaitu asked gently.
Rick simply nodded, too overcome with emotion to reply.
"Where were you two?"
"That—that is a story. A story for the ages. I have written it in my head so many times." He paused, remembering the years with her, before continuing. "We've talked about it so much; I could tell it to you from her standpoint alone if I had to."
"Well, Mr. Rodgers—Rick, if we're going to get you both out of this safely I need to know everything. And I have to be able to share it with others." He leaned down and reached in his briefcase, pulling out a laptop.
"What are you doing?"
"You're an author. Well, I want you to write your story. For me and for all that will need to see it soon."
"Is this safe?"
"As safe as we can be. No one is allowed to search the private briefcase of a lawyer, here in Nuutania. Apart from an x-ray to ensure there is no weaponry inside. The drive in this laptop is encrypted and I have a secure safety deposit box that I'll use to store this flash drive. They will not know the truth until we're ready to reveal it."
"I don't know what a flash thingy is, let alone an encrypted drive. Laptops from my time, before I disappeared, were much bigger and clunkier than this, though I did see some similar to yours during my trial."
"I'm sure a lot has changed since you were given up for dead."
"More than I could ever have imagined. It feels like I was gone fifty years, not ten. It seems like a different world. One that I'd like to learn more about, someday. After she's safe. Finding her is my only focus right now. I'll do anything to help Kate, and if you say this is necessary then I'll do my best."
"Then I suggest you start typing."
November, 1999
Rick woke early; never an early riser in his previous life, he'd become one by necessity. Didn't mean that he liked it.
The rocking of the waves was greatly dampened while in port. And the smell, ye gods. Nothing like a busy ship port with rotten fish and sewage. He vastly preferred the open water.
But the port is where they restocked; gained cargo. Passengers, perhaps. Crew if they were lucky. They'd lost their last cook to a woman on Bora Bora and they'd certainly not found a replacement in that port. Almost everyone there was involved in the tourist industry, and a job in a battered, rusty boat plying the islands with cargo runs was not high on the list for career moves.
"Hopo? You up, you lazy so and so?" Anapa's voice called, easily drowning out the screams of the sea gulls and the distant shouts from other ships.
Anapa always beat him up. He'd started wondering if the old man ever slept.
"I'm up, I'm up." Rolling out of his bunk, he grabbed a t-shirt and jeans out of his drawer and clambered into them. The bunk was tiny; barely room for his six foot plus frame, but it had been home for months now. There were five total beds in the crew's quarters, all occupied when they were at sea. Sharing meant space was precious and personal storage paramount to prevent angry words over someone's mess. Sometimes he wondered what in the hell he had ever needed all the space in his old apartment for. It was just the basics here. Of course, not needing seasonal clothing helped. Some shorts, t-shirts, a pair of pants. The simple life.
When he got out on deck, the sun was just peeking over the horizon. The beauty of the South Pacific always made his heart lurch a little in his chest. It was a privilege to live and work amongst these islands. They were like emeralds on the surface of the ocean. Such natural wonders to be found; it had been a much needed salve for his soul.
Anapa was standing near the gangway. Dressed up, for him, which meant he was wearing a t-shirt and pants instead of his usual bare chest and shorts that sufficed when out in the open water.
"I'm meeting with a rep for the next run. You keep your eyes peeled for a new cook. I don't want to suffer through more of that inedible crap you call ma'a."
Rick nodded. He knew the drill. He'd been crewing with the old man for almost 10 months now. He was no cook, and Anapa was correct; the food he'd thrown together when he'd taken his turn in the galley had been horrible.
"Wouldn't say aita to no passengers neither."
Rick nodded again. Saying no to a passenger wasn't the issue; finding one was. They both knew the likelihood of a paying passenger was slim to none. The Iriata was a good ship, but she was ugly. She was, first and foremost, a cargo ship. She handled very well, needing only a crew of four, besides Anapa. Five if they found their cook. She was light and nimble, but solid against the sea when the waves rose up and pounded against her. Like her captain, she was at her best out on the open water, but the years of making deliveries amongst the French Polynesian islands had taken their toll.
"We need more fuel too. Don't let them cheat you on the price," Anapa warned.
"I know, I know. That was like eight months ago. Am I ever going to live that down?"
Anapa chuckled and swiped at Rick's head affectionately. "Aita, Hopo, probably not. I'll be back; this next run sounds interesting. Oh, and Hina left almost an hour ago. She might need help when she comes back. Nana." Without further discussion his bandy legs carried him down the gangway onto the dock, where he rolled as much as walked his way to the mainland.
Rick watched him go, affection for the kind, old man shining from his eyes. He had met Anapa and Hina shortly after arriving in Papeete. At loose ends at the time, not sure what to do with himself after escaping the hell of New York. He hadn't needed a job, but Anapa had seen that Rick needed something meaningful in his life. He needed a guide, someone to help him grow into the man he could be. Anapa had taken on the challenge without batting an eye.
Down a crewman to a stomach illness that ended up being more serious than anyone had anticipated, Anapa had been wandering around one of the docks trying to find a replacement. He'd seen the young American hanging about, and knew sooner or later someone would take advantage of him. So, he'd approached him, struck up a conversation, and quickly found he liked the earnest young man. He'd offered him a job on the spot.
Rick declined initially; he'd come to the South Pacific looking to flesh out the details of a new character he wanted to base a whole series on. A man who could survive nearly anything: sort of a cross between James Bond and MacGyver. He wasn't looking to be a crewman on a cargo boat. Plus he didn't know much about boats, or the ocean in general.
He'd hoped he'd figure out what was missing from his life on the other side of the world. Yet, nearly two months after arriving he'd found little to write about, had no insight into why he was so unhappy in general, and was on the verge of going home. His desire to write was non-existent. Progression on character research at a standstill. Nothing in his life was working the way it should.
Then, he met Anapa. Something about the venerable captain intrigued him. Thus, despite saying no to the wily seaman, he discovered he was fascinated by the man and soon he found himself reconsidering the job offer. When Anapa had asked him to just do a trial run—see how he liked it (or not)—he'd heard himself accepting the offer, much to his surprise. It turned out to be the most important decision in his life, until that point.
Once on board he met Hina, the captain's wife and a native healer. She was nearly as old as Anapa; travelled from island to island with him. It wasn't long before Rick discovered just how valuable these new friends were. They were like living treasure troves. Between them, they knew everything about survival on remote islands: knowledge handed down through their culture for generations. They became his teachers in the ways of the ocean, and in the ways of their people who lived with so very little—yet still achieved a rich, happy life. It was a lesson plan that he never could have paid for with all his wealth; a lesson that impacted the trajectory of his life forever.
That first voyage had been a grand adventure, in his eyes, and he'd stayed on as a crewman. He'd recognized how much Anapa and Hina could teach him. The old man had quickly become a father figure to him, something he'd never really had in his life. He'd finally found a family, and a place to belong.
When Anapa started calling him 'Hopo,' Rick had been swelled with pride; he'd earned a true Polynesian name with his hard work. That pride was diminished, a bit, a month later when he found out that Hopo meant 'great white albatross,' but by then he'd learned the nuances of Anapa's humor and realized it was truly a term of affection between them. Plus he had to admit he had caused some problems for his employer in the beginning.
He hadn't had much of a grasp of the language, reo Tahiti, at the time. Apparently just smiling and nodding when you didn't understand something was not the best strategy-either on land with unscrupulous vendors looking for an advantage, or on a boat with a crew that had no qualms about making the new guy uncomfortable. He'd ended up doing more than his fair share of the worst chores until he'd learned what they were saying.
The months he'd spent on the Iriata since, sailing cargo to and fro and helping Hina provide traditional medical care and advice on the islands, had been some of the best days of his life. He'd learned so much at the feet of Anapa and Hina, as well as the rest of the crew, who were also all native Polynesians. He'd become much fitter, having to haul things up and down ladders into the ships hold, as well as hauling Hina's supplies onshore as she went from house to house helping all those who needed it.
He'd learned simple things, like how to read the ocean, the clouds. And more complex things, like basic navigation. How to start a fire without a lighter. What plants were useful, which were dangerous. Which ones Hina valued for medicines. He'd attended island funerals. Had assisted with nearly a dozen births. Helped set bones. Tended to those who were dying.
In short, he'd learned the things that he thought his character would and should know. If he himself knew how to do something, he felt it would be that much easier to write about it. And actually sound like he knew what he was doing. But more importantly, he'd learned what it meant to be a man of honor, integrity. Anapa was revered throughout French Polynesia, and his example helped Rick mold himself into the man he'd always wanted to be but couldn't figure out how to achieve on his own. He'd truly discovered what he'd always been looking for.
He was busy, but he also had time to write. If he wasn't on duty, he generally spent most of his time up on deck. There was a spot in the bow where he liked to sit. The other men typically spent their down time playing cards or sleeping, but Rick loved the feeling of the open air as the Iriata raced across the sea. He felt very inspired by his new life, and had found it quite easy to start in on his unique character. The adventures Rick found himself living were easily incorporated into fictional life. He had written most of a complete novel now, in longhand, which drove Gina absolutely mad. One of the reasons he liked doing it.
The weather was, of course, wonderful; even in the "winter" he was tanned and buff. He probably looked the best he ever had in his life. Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that coming to the South Pacific had been the greatest decision he'd ever made. And one that likely saved his life.
It was a busy, meaningful existence. He had purpose. The opposite of what he'd left behind. Here, he helped Hina care for people. In New York his only care was having a good time. Here, he had a family with Hina and Anapa and his crewmates. In New York, there was only his mother, and she was usually too busy with her own complicated life to pay much attention to him. He had been lonely all his life; it hadn't changed once he was an adult. Here he was a happy bachelor. He'd sworn off women in New York. He had no current desire to chase any of that. Women were partly the reason he was hiding in the South Pacific to begin with. No, here he was content for the time in his life. Laboring by hand for a man he loved as a father, happy to have a simple, unencumbered life with no room in it for any of the drama that women brought with them. Here, he'd finally found the meaning of paradise.
Rick jumped off the ship about thirty minutes later. He was the last one off; the other crewman had left last night just after they'd docked. They were eager to visit family in the few days they would have in Papeete, and Rick had no one to visit. Thus, he stayed with the boat. He didn't mind.
They were berthed in a slip that Anapa normally chose; everyone around them knew the old man and respected him. They wouldn't let anyone mess with the boat while Rick was gone. Just to be sure, he gave a whistle he'd learned months earlier at Gaston, the captain of the boat next to theirs. Gaston nodded at him and Rick walked down the dock towards the fuel depot to buy their needed diesel.
"Bonjour. Comment puis-je vous aider?" The majority of the people on Papeete spoke French, a language Rick was a little familiar with. He'd picked up a lot of reo tahiti in his months living in French Polynesia, and his French was improving too.
"J'ai besoin d'acheter du diesel pour le navire Iriata." Brief negotiations got them the promise of a full tank by the end of the day.
Rick left the fuel depot and headed for the post office next. Papeete was considered their home port; Anapa and Hina both had their mail shipped here. They didn't own a house, choosing to stay on their boat, but they did maintain a mail box, which any of the crew was authorized to open. Rick normally took mail duty when they were in Papeete, as he kept a box as well. He grabbed Anapa and Hina's assortment first; neither usually received much.
Many times communication to Anapa or Hina was done on a personal level. It seemed almost like magic to Rick that they always seemed to manage to pick up a load going to the very island where someone needed Hina. An imminent birth or a sick child. He didn't understand the system, but it worked.
His own box was stuffed full. Letters from Black Pawn, Gina and Paula he pitched, just glancing at them to make sure there was nothing important. They had most of the manuscript, he wasn't coming back to New York anytime soon, and he had tons of ideas for the next book. Nothing they said would change those facts.
That left a few letters from his mother. He hoped she'd given up begging for him to come home. She worried about him; she was his mother after all. He knew his little escape from the greater world had hurt her, as she couldn't understand his desire to remain. Let alone why he was working on a cargo boat. However, she was on her second marriage, and most of her attention was given to her husband. An adult son didn't play much of a role in her life.
He hated reminders of his life in New York. Who he'd been, what he'd done. What had been done to him. His previous life had been full of debauchery and people who only wanted to be around him for what he could do for them, not for him, the person behind the persona. The press had declared him an irreverent playboy, and he'd done his best to live down to the reputation. He'd been a lost soul, desperately unhappy and completely clueless as to what his life was missing.
Women had been the worst part of it all. Sure, he'd been devastated by Kyra, and had spiraled into a party atmosphere to prove he didn't need her. But then, just as he'd become sober, he'd gotten involved with Meredith. That whole experience nearly killed him. But, it was his desire to flee the suffocation of the city that had led him, ultimately, to where he was now. A journey of self-discovery that had ended up saving him.
He'd embarked on this trip alone. Not certain where he was going, he'd told Black Pawn he needed to do extensive research for his new character, Derrick Storm. They'd not been thrilled, but once he'd finally started writing something, they'd let up on their threats and collective gnashing of teeth. As for the public, he had simply disappeared. He knew they would soon move on to some other lost soul. He doubted anyone would lament the disappearance of Richard Castle, playboy extraordinaire.
The solitude of the ocean had helped Rick regain some much needed equilibrium. He felt reborn, to a degree. He knew at some point, probably sooner than he wanted, he'd need to go back to the States and face his demons. However, for now he was happy. And that was all that mattered for the time being. Nothing his publisher said would change his mind. Not even his mother had that power over him anymore. It had been over a year since he'd left New York, but he wasn't ready to return to the city that had nurtured only his baser instincts. Not now, when he'd finally learned what it meant to be a man in the true sense of the word.
"Ia ora na, Hopo. You're back in port! E aha te huru?" The now familiar Tahitian words startled him out of his reverie. A familiar voice saying hello to him and asking how he was doing.
He looked up to see Rahiti, one of Anapa's friends greeting him. He wasn't as old as Anapa and didn't spend as much time on the water, so he wasn't quite as wrinkled. Still, his hair was completely grey and, like many of the islanders' elderly, he was much shorter than Rick's six feet two.
"Ia ora na, Rahiti. Maita'i. Here just for a day or two. Anapa is negotiating for a run and Hina is off tending to someone," Rick returned the greeting and told Rahiti he was doing well.
"Which way you headed?"
"No idea. Anapa was fairly mysterious this morning, though he said it would be a good run."
"They say there's a cyclone brewing out in the south east. Below the Australs right now. I'm sure Anapa won't care to run into that."
"I don't know. Sometimes I think he likes the challenge of bad weather. Or just watching me puke my guts out over the side."
Rahiti gave a guttural laugh and slapped him on the back. Hard. Wincing, Rick bid him nana, or farewell, after exchanging a few more pleasantries with the older man and headed into the market to pick up supplies and some of the herbs he knew Hina needed restocked.
An hour later he was back on the docks, arms full. Gaston waved at him as he passed his boat, indicating nothing untoward had happened while he was away. He climbed up the gangway with a practiced ease and slipped into the galley to stock the groceries. Hina had a small workshop in what had been a cabin on the deck above the crew's quarters; he put the herb packets on her counter knowing she'd square them away before they left.
Once all his tasks were done he retrieved his notebook and pen and went up to the top deck to do some writing before starting in on the ever-waiting chores. The breeze in the open was much pleasanter than the sweltering cabins. He liked writing longhand; it made him feel like one of the authors from two centuries ago, who might have sat on a boat just as he did, writing out a story. Sea air and sea spray were murder on electronics, so his laptop was in storage in Papeete. Gina had railed against the need to have his chapters typed up once they reached her, but with his favorite writing area being the bow of the ship, there was no realistic way he could use a laptop.
He'd been writing for about half an hour, just getting into his groove, when he heard someone hailing the ship from the dock. It was a female voice and much younger than Hina, who did sometimes need help up and down the gangway. Puzzled, he put down the notebook and made his way over to the bulwark next to the dock to see who was calling out.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
It was a woman. She was turned away from him, looking intently at the other end of the ship, as if expecting someone to materialize from the superstucture on the stern. She had long, wavy brown hair, worn down despite the heat, and legs that would not quit. She was wearing modest shorts and a t-shirt. He wondered for a brief second if she might be looking for a passage, then ruthlessly squashed the idea before it took root. Lovely young women simply did not come to the Iriata looking to journey on a cargo ship.
"Can I help you?" His voice was tinged with amusement as she continued to hallo at the top of her lungs.
She turned towards the sound of his voice and his breath suddenly rushed out of his chest as if he'd been sucker punched. She was drop dead gorgeous, even given his distant vantage point. He actually felt a bit dizzy looking at her. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear anything but the swooshing of his blood in his ears. His heart was pounding and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara. He suddenly hoped she had wandered by the boat by accident. He didn't think he could survive being near her for a protracted time.
Pictures of the cargo ships I used as inspiration for the Iriata are up on my tumblr account. Also a map of Huahine, a map showing Tahiti and Mo'orea, which are very close to each other, and a map showing the grouping of the Society Islands in general. I'm not sure if most people are familiar with French Polynesia, so thought some maps would be useful.
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