made to wreck his car while he was going at high speed. Get the gun and trench knife, Edith. Immediately. And now let’s go see that sabertooth, and the dragons. I still can’t believe it.”
Chapter Seventeen
There seemed to be somewhat of a change in the quality of Julian West’s dreams since he had arrived in the twenty-first century, rather, the First Century, New Calendar, as they called it now. From time to time he had flashbacks to yesteryear that weren’t particularly nightmares, but simply a reliving of the past. But no, this particular one was a nightmare.
It had been on a trip from their Miami Beach home to Nassau, in the Bahamas, on his father’s yacht.
The dream began early in the morning.
Julian, who had a small stateroom of his own toward the stern, had awakened and dressed himself, and momentarily considered going to the master stateroom up foreward to see if his mother and father would invite him into their bed for a romp. But no, he decided, they had all been drinking very heavily the day before, and he had been able to hear them late into the night. It was nothing new; he would be hard put to remember an evening when his parents weren’t wobbly with drink. He then considered going to the galley and seeing if Edward was available to talk to. But no, Edward would probably be busy getting ready for breakfast. If past cruises were any criteria, breakfast would stretch over several hours as the hungover guests emerged one by one from their cabins.
Edward was a favorite of little Julian’s—one of the few West servants who, when they were alone, treated him as an individual rather than as “the young master.” He spent as much time as Edward could find free talking to the middle-aged, sad-faced servant. Edward had been around for as long as Julian could remember, which was exceptional in the West household. Servants were apt to come and go, particularly when one or the other or both of the Wild Wests got on a nasty binge.
Julian decided instead to go up to the bridge and see if the captain would let him play around the ship’s controls. Perhaps he could even steer. He loved to steer and usually Captain Fielding didn’t mind on a clear day when the sea wasn’t too choppy.
He made his way up to the deck and then climbed the aft ladderway to the sundeck. For a time he stood at the fantail rail. The overcast was starting to burn off and the sea was beginning to glint. The yacht was quartering into a northeast wind, the propellers churning up the impossibly blue Bahama waters. Three gulls followed gracefully. He knew that had it been night, there would be a faint green-white phosphorescence in the wake.
He turned and went foreward to the topside controls, forward of the sundeck. But the captain wasn’t there. The yacht was on autopilot and one of the seamen, the one called Jack, was on watch. Julian instinctively knew that Jack didn’t like small boys, even if he was in no position to do or say anything about it.
Julian took the co-pilot seat and sat there awhile, his hands in his lap. They were already in the Bahama archipelago, and passing through scores of small islands and islets, coral reefs and shoals. From time to time he could spot colorful birds and once they passed fifteen pelicans standing on a bar in a straight line in a couple of inches of water.
Julian stood on the co-pilot seat and lifted the two sight vanes of the pelorus atop the gyrocompass. He moved the pelorus around so that he could take a bearing on a small lighthouse on an islet about a mile off. Captain Fielding had shown him how to take a bearing. He wasn’t quite sure
Jack said grumpily, “Maybe you shouldn’t do that, boy.”
Julian looked at the other levelly for a moment. The man had seen Julian playing with the pelorus before, when the captain was present. However, Julian was in no mood to make an issue of it. Even at this early time in life he disliked controversy and avoided it when he could. It was probably a reaction against all the tiffs, the emotional crises, the verbal brawls that were almost the daily diet of the West family.
He got down from the seat without a word and left. He went down to the lounge and found that there was still no one up. He passed through it, and walked past the galley. He peered in but both his friend Edward and the cook were much too busy to bother with him. He went on down the corridor to the master bedroom. He’d peer in and see if Barry and Betty were still asleep.
The door was not locked. He opened it and peeked inside. The curtains were drawn at the portholes and the room very dim, but he could make out his father’s form in the bed, though not his mother’s. He could hear water running in the bathroom. Hesitantly, he crept in to check if Barry West was still asleep.
He approached the side of the bed quietly.
And then the door to the bath opened and a woman came out, a woman who was completely naked. At first he thought it was his mother but then he realized with a shock that this woman was a brunette; his mother was blonde.
He shrank back. A closet door, half open, was immediately behind him. She hadn’t seen him as yet. He backed into the closet and softly closed the door until it was only open a crack. Where was his mother?
Humming softly, the woman approached the bed. The air conditioning wasn’t on, since nights were cool on the ocean, but the sun had come up by now and Barry West, who habitually slept nude, had pushed aside the bedsheet.
Julian could recognize her now. It was Mrs. Simmons. She was younger than the other guests, and Julian had thought her very pretty. She had done a good deal of gushing over him when he had been presented to her, but he had liked her anyway. Most grown-ups gushed; you got used to it.
His eyes rounded and he held a hand over his mouth when she reached down to touch his father.
Although Julian couldn’t see his eyes open in the dimness, his father evidently awoke. He jerked into a half- sitting position and yelped, “Why, you little devil you! Didn’t you have enough last night?”
Mrs. Simmons giggled and said something in a low, husky voice that Julian couldn’t hear.
Where was his mother? Could she possibly be in some other cabin—doing things like this with one of the other guests?
He was about to dash out of the closet and away from the room. But just then a perfunctory knock came at the door and before Mrs. Simmons could jerk away, the door opened and Edward came in, carrying bedding.
He stood there a moment in confusion, then stammered, “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were topside, sir. I… I…”
Mrs. Simmons had turned her head away and put her hands over her face.
But Barry West, in a high rage, scrambled from the bed and stood up. He roared, “Get out of here, you goddamned ass! Get out! Get out!”
Edward whirled and stumbled out, hurriedly closing the door behind him.
Julian closed the closet door completely and backed as far into the closet as he could, trembling all over.
In the stateroom beyond, he could hear voices, his father’s shaking in anger, but with a tone of soothing reassurance. And he could hear clothing rustling. He hoped beyond all hope that there would be no need for Barry West to get something from this closet.
His prayer was answered, since after about ten minutes there were no more sounds from the cabin. Julian carefully edged the door open just a trifle. There was no one in the stateroom. He crept out and hurried for the door.
As he ran down the corridor, breathing heavily, his mother came out of one of the guest cabins. She was dressed in a night robe, and, as always, looked so pretty to the young boy.
