A Sea of Troubles

Bonsuan opened the door, popped his head outside, and seeing that it was Brunetti, pulled him in. There, sheltered from the rain, Brunetti realized that the noise of it crashing into the pavement and on to the water had deafened him to all other sounds. It took him a moment to adjust to the relative silence of the cabin.

'Can you move in this?' he called to Bonsuan, his voice raised unnecessarily against the sound of the rain.

'What do you mean, 'move'?' the pilot asked, unwilling to believe the obvious.

'Down towards Ca' Roman.'

'That's crazy. We can't go out in this.' As if to prove him right, a sheet of rain pounded against the starboard windows of the cabin, drowning out voices and thought. 'We have to wait until it's over to go back.' The wind had risen, so Bonsuan had to shout.

'I'm not talking about going back.'

Bonsuan, afraid he'd misunderstood, asked, 'What?'

'Elettra's with them. On Spadini's boat. Someone said they were going out fishing.'

Bonsuan's face grew stiff with surprise, or fear. ‘I saw them. At least I saw a boat, a fishing boat. It went past about twenty minutes ago. Two men, and someone leaning over the other side, pulling a rope up from the water. You think it's her?'

Brunetti nodded: it was easier than speech.

'They're crazy to go out in this,' Bonsuan said.

'Someone said they'd head towards Ca' Roman and try to run ashore there.'

'That's crazy, too,' Bonsuan shouted. Then, 'Who told you this?'

'One of the fishermen.'

'From here?'

'Yes.'

Bonsuan closed his eyes as if to study the map of the land and the channels running beside it. Farther down, the land was bisected by the Porto di Chioggia, a kilometre wide, but still narrow enough to allow fierce rip tides to run through, especially when there were heavy winds to drive them. On a day like this, it would be suicide to try to cross it in a boat as light as the police launch. Even a fishing boat the size of the one he'd seen would have trouble. Before the Porto, however, there was the last point of land, home to nesting birds and the crumbling ruins of a fort. Yet even if someone were to run aground there, waves might still pull the boat off, swirling it into the water to be swept around the tip of the island and out to sea.

Bonsuan opened his eyes and looked at Brunetti. 'Are you sure?'

'What? That she's on board?'

This was Bonsuan, gruff, often irascible Bonsuan, asking the question.

'I'm not sure. A man in the bar said she was on the pier with them.'

'It couldn't be anyone else,' Bonsuan said, more to himself than to Brunetti. He pushed past Brunetti and opened the door to the cabin. He stepped outside for a moment, closed his eyes and held his palms up in front of him, like an Indian listening for the voice of one of his gods. Eyes still closed, he turned his head to one side, then the other, searching for something Brunetti couldn't hear.

He stepped back into the cabin and commanded, 'Go out and get two life jackets.' Brunetti sprang to obey. He was back with the jackets in an instant, no wetter than before. He watched Bonsuan to see how he tied it around his body and then did the same.

'All right,' Bonsuan said. 'There's going to be a pause in the wind, and then it will get worse.' Brunetti had no idea how Bonsuan knew this, but it never occurred to him that it was less than pure truth. His voice raised, Bonsuan went on,

'I'm going to take us down there. If we run aground in the channel, I should be able to back us off, at least until the wind gets worse. When we get down to Ca' Roman, you'll have to use the spotlight to look for them or for the boat. If they've run aground, I'll try to take us in next to them.'

'And if they're not there?' Brunetti asked. 'Then I'll try to bring us round and get us back here.'

For a moment, remembering the story of Elio Magrini, Brunetti was tempted to ask the pilot if they should risk this, but he stopped himself and, instead, ran his cupped hands over his face and head to stop the water from dripping into his eyes.

Bonsuan switched the motor into life, turned on the lights and the windscreen wipers, neither of which seemed to make much difference against the growing darkness and cascading rain. Remembering in time, Brunetti ran out into the storm to uncoil the mooring rope and loop it loosely around a stanchion on the railing of the boat. He went back into the cabin and stood behind Bonsuan. Idly, he wiped with the sodden sleeve of his jacket at the humidity condensed on the windows of the cabin, but as soon as he wiped them clear, they immediately turned opaque, and he was forced to keep wiping them.

Bonsuan flipped another switch, and a current of air flowed across the inside of the windscreen, removing the film of humidity.

Slowly, he moved the boat away from the pier. The boat lurched to the left as though slapped by an enormous hand, slamming Brunetti against the side of the cabin. Bonsuan tightened his grip on the tiller and leaned his weight to the right, fighting against the force of the wind.

Dirty grey froth banged against the windscreen; the door to the cabin slammed open and then shut. Again and again, the wind forced them to the left. Bonsuan hit another switch, and a powerful spotlight on the prow made a feeble attempt to penetrate the chaotic darkness in front of them. As soon as it punched a hole and they could see a few metres ahead, another wave or spray of foam roared in to wipe out the space.

One side of the cabin door crashed open against Brunetti's back, but the blow was buffeted by his life jacket, and he hardly registered it. Nor was he much aware of the temperature, which continued to drop as the bora roared over them. The boat jumped to the left again, and again Bonsuan pulled it back into what might have been the centre of the channel. From behind them, out on the back deck, they heard an enormous crash, and a piece of wood smashed through the starboard window of the cabin, grazing Brunetti's hand before landing at their feet.

He had to put his mouth close to Bonsuan's ear to shout, 'What was it?'

'I don't know. Something from the water.' Brunetti glanced down at it but it was nothing more than a bottle- sized piece of rotten wood. He flipped it out of the way with an impatient foot, but no sooner had he done so than a sudden gust of wind rolled it back towards him. Rain flooded through the broken window, soaking Bonsuan and lowering the temperature of the cabin even more.

'Oh Dio, oh Dio,' he heard Bonsuan begin to mutter. The pilot suddenly swung the wheel to the left and then as quickly to the right, but not before both of them felt a heavy thud against the port side of the boat.

Brunetti froze, waiting to see if the boat began to founder or sink lower in the water. Realizing that Bonsuan could have no clearer idea than he of what had happened, he didn't bother him with a question. There were two smaller thumps, but the boat continued to move forward, though the wind seemed to grow more intense, always pounding at them from the right.

Out of nowhere, a shape loomed up on the left, and Bonsuan almost fell on to the wheel, trying to put his whole weight into pulling it to the right. The shape moved out of sight, but then, from behind them, there was an enormous, pounding crash, as powerful as the thunder had been, and the boat spun off, but heavily, as though it were suddenly as sodden as Brunetti's clothing.

Bonsuan swung the tiller to the left, and even Brunetti could sense how slow the boat was to respond. 'What happened?'

'We hit something. I think it was a boat’ Bonsuan answered, still pulling at the wheel. He pushed the throttle forward, and Brunetti heard the engine respond, though the boat seemed to move no faster.

'What are you doing?'

'I've got to run us in’ Bonsuan said, leaning forward, straining to see what was in front of them.

'Where?'

'Ca' Roman, I hope’ Bonsuan said. 'I don't think we've passed it.'

'If we have?' Brunetti asked.

By way of answer, all Bonsuan did was shake his head, but Brunetti didn't know if this was to deny the possibility or the consequences.