The Tempest
by Jennifer Christine

Part 1 - and intro
This is just the intro - to give some background - let me know if you like it - there's a low point that may make some feel uncomfortable hence the caution.

I was clipped onto the safety line trying to keep the yacht’s head up to wind, Jen was trying to reef in the mainsail. The wind was veering 30 or 40 degrees and the wheel was juddering in my hand from the wild water under the hull.
As we rose to meet the next huge wave the boat was flung sideways as the wind tore at the top of the rig rolling the boat almost enough to put the mast in the water. Jen clung on as I hauled the boat back up to the wind, breasting the wave and careening down the other side.
Jen took the opportunity in the trough to slacken the main halyard and started to tie down the reefs. Then it happened - the wind veered right round the boat and jibed the sail, Jen was only a couple of feet from my arms as the boom swung and hit her on the temple with a sickening crack. She fell to the deck at my feet unconscious.

The shock was almost enough to make me crumple but I held the boat for a few seconds more until the head came up and I could grab her from the floor of the cockpit, out of the swirling water trying to escape down the scuppers.
I needed to get her below quickly and tend to her, she was bleeding badly and very pale.
As is all those cases when you’re in the eye of the storm the wind dulled for a minute and I took the opportunity to grab her and unclip the hatch and drag her below out of the vicious weather where I could tend to her, my lovely Jenny.

The mast was stepped to the keel and made a handy stanchion; I sat Jen on the deck and leaned her against the mast where she could fall no further. Reaching for a clean towel I mopped some of the blood from her temple which was carrying an egg sized lump though the bleeding had subsided somewhat — much to my relief. She was still unconscious and that worried me, a lot. But I had to look after the boat. When I had secured her from falling by jamming some cushions round her, I started to make a move to the hatch, knowing that the boat would be at the mercy of the waves and weather in a moment with no one at the helm.

I didn’t want to leave Jen like that, it wasn’t a big storm but it was quite dangerous, “I won’t be long darling.” I leaned down to kiss her and as our lips touched the world lit up like a box of fireworks went off, all at once.

I awoke a while later, face down on the deck next to Jenny, my lovely Jenny.

I quickly looked up at her and screamed, she had gone. Not physically, I just knew she was no longer. Her head lolled with the movement of the boat and her swollen tongue protruded between her perfect white teeth. There was a blackened patch on her forehead which reached over her head to a point where the line continued on the mast and disappeared through the deckhead. I threw up.

I screamed, I ranted, I held my Jenny and cried for her to come back I stroked her face and kissed her lips — knowing yet denying that she was gone.

I don’t know how long I sat there on the deck with her in my lap — possibly hours. Eventually I realised that the storm was gone and that I was still alive. My eyes were swollen almost shut, my shirt wet from the grief of my tears.

Stumbling onto the deck I checked out the rigging — surprisingly almost intact though the black line that had robbed me of my darling stretched to the very tip of the mast.
The sails were shredded but I had a spare set of sails so that wasn’t an issue.

I lowered the sails and unclipped them from the halyards and was about to let them go over the side when I realised I might need them.

I rolled them into a ball and pushed them into the sail locker forrard. I went back below. Jenny lay there, still, the sight of her making me dizzy.
I knew what I had to do, I took the camera from the chart locker and took a series of photos of her. The action of doing it steeling my resolve and at the same time destroying my will to live. I felt like sitting down next to her and joining her wherever she was. I had the means. I had a .357 S&W in the cabinet alongside the camera. Hidden, but easily garnered in case of piracy. I didn’t want anything bigger — a rifle on a small boat is too hard to maneuver. The 7 inch barrel would give me sufficient accuracy should I need to use it — and in this case accuracy wasn’t a problem — was it?

I sat there pondering, but in the end I knew that I must go on, Jen would never forgive me if I ended it all right now just to be with her.
We were very much at sea, several days from any authorities or harbour so I knew I must let Jen go. I couldn’t keep her on board or I would surely go insane. I made preparations and cut the mostly shredded mainsail into a useable piece in which to wrap my lovely wife.

Lifting her gently onto her shroud I kissed her once again before I wrapped her tightly and tied a weight round the shroud. I have no idea how long I took to accomplish the task, my mind limped in and out of reality and my mouth became dry and crusty as I whispered to her how much I loved her and how we would meet again some day.
I felt somehow warmed when I thought of being with her again — like she was here with me once again.
Preparations finished, I let her slip into the now smooth blue water to drop quickly below the surface with only a bubble or two to mark her passage.
“Goodbye my darling, I love you.”
The sun dipped below the horizon and I fell into a sleep filled with dreams of wind waves, lightning and horror.

When the sun rose I felt a little better and I went about the routine that I had established except without the one I cherished to join me.
After feeding myself and checking the boat, I turned on the GPS and plotted my position on the chart and connected the line from the last point and put the time next to the point on the map — I checked the date — two days had passed since the storm had visited and stripped my reason for living away. Two days and I had only witnessed one of them — where the other went I can only surmise — I wasn’t here for it.

The last two marks on the map were only 20 miles apart — I hadn’t gone far.

It took me a while until I realised I could use the sat phone to tell the authorities what had happened and head in their direction. The phone was hanging on the mast in its case. The black trail from the lightning passing not an inch from it. It was as dead as… I didn’t want to finish the thought.

I pulled the new bags of sails onto the deck and connected them to the halyards and drew them up the mast. They filled instantly and the yacht hardened up and began to push through the water with some purpose.
I changed course towards Honiara in the Solomons. The closest port with any authorities.

Sitting in the shade of the sail as I churned a little East of North I began to remember all the things that I had shared with my girl. Our time at Uni and our instant love for each other; our careers that made us a team and a focal point for our many friends. Jenny working at a large law firm about to get a partnership and my civil engineering degree giving me the opportunity to design beautiful structures for our lovely Australian homeland.

We had been told we were a blessed couple with a fantastic future — now all in shreds because we wanted to take a really nice holiday before we built our lives and family. A sabbatical to cement our reliance on each other.

We were both keen sailors and our 45 foot deep sea yacht was the obvious choice of transport to enjoy our time away. I t was a lovely boat, strip planked and solid, built over a period of years with my father as a diversion from student mayhem during my University years. Now it had conspired with the storm to be the only woman in my life.

The wind as it was meant that it would take me about 4 days to reach Honiara.and with no communication except a low power marine radio it would be three days before I could contact what passed for the coast guard in the Solomon Islands.

I sailed on.
On the second day the wind dropped out altogether and I sat with sails flapping gently in the zephyr that was all that stopped me from frying. That and the reverse osmosis plant that I pumped from time time — extending my water supply for as long as it was needed.
There was enough food on board for weeks now that there was no need to share it. I collapsed again into that state that makes you forget all.
Once again I awoke to the sun dipping gently into the water — the flash of light coming under the sail to catch me hiding from reality.

I felt unaccountably better when I awoke, like Jenny was with me and smiling down from wherever she was.
I was lethargic still but I had lost that demeanour that makes everything too hard — I wanted to get home and as the evening breeze sprung up I decided to turn back for Brisbane.
As I came about in the light air I realised that a sail was heading my way — still hull down but non the less absolutely in my direction.
The fact it was heading directly for me under the cover of my sail sat me up with a jerk. I was now heading away from them and hauled in tight to take advantage of the stiffening breeze.
I went below and checked my S&W — I knew that the sails were not a thing that boded well for me — I wished I had an engine to give me some more impetus, but I guessed the yacht heading for me was in the same boat (so to speak) They weren’t racing over the horizon they were just coming to get me — to intercept me on the way to Honiara. I had turned early so I had a degree of lead on them, my hull was clean and quite quick — would they leave me alone after chasing me or would they persist?

As the tropical light fell suddenly with that green flash you sometimes get, I watched to see if they showed navigation lights. Doing so might indicate they were not intent on plunder — but on the other hand could be a brazen bluff.
Whichever the case, I wasn’t going to put any light on my mast and under cover of darkness hauled down my radar reflector in case they had a Furuno or something to pinpoint me.

I altered course slightly away from the wind giving me slightly more speed without giving them an advantage of cutting the corner. If the wind stiffened a little more, I might come up to see if I had the edge pointing and get away that way.
Oh Jenny, thank goodness you didn’t have to witness this — I said under my breath — pirates are not known for their aversion to sexual attacks.

I kept my eyes peeled all through the dog watches and in the tropical night I saw no sign of them. Until the moon rose a little after 8pm and, using my binoculars managed to catch a reflection from some part of their boat. They were heading further off and losing ground — not having changed course as I had.
Clouds soon obscured the moon and it went darker than before and I lost sight of them, they were still on the old course. Hopefully they would be as blind as me.

I set the rudder and went to make some food — it was going to be a long night.

Sitting on deck eating beans and tinned sausages as the tight hauled sails thrummed with power was bracing to my soul and allowed me to clear my head. I was not going to succumb to depression and pessimism.

It was 5am when I awoke from a shallow nap leaning into the cockpit coaming.
The first chill of morning as the sun peeped over the horizon was as lovely as it was worrying — where were the bad guys?

I panned the binoculars round the horizon, not seeing anything astern or to the beams, I stood atop the cabin and scanned from the slightly elevated position ahead then once again astern. Port, then starboard. Peering round the mast, no not a sign.

Profound relief and a need for breakfast meant I was soon attacking some more easy to cook food.
A need to pee and I hopped up and groped in my pants for my toggle. Strange — it felt less manly than usual — maybe a bit of fear? Or grief? Whatever.
The feeling soon passed and I resolved to hose down the salt (with sea water) and give the brass a polish.
I felt more relaxed than I should and my head felt clearer and less tied in anguished knots.
I felt an internal smile as if Jenny were there giving me some support.
During the morning I scanned continually for the mystery sail and decided that I had outrun it.
Damn that internal smile again. Thanks Jenny. I smiled back.

The breeze turned into a decent trade wind and my little ship rose to the occasion and got a bone in its teeth to show its eagerness to bear me home.
Needing very little tending the boat balanced itself and settled into its course and I decided to sleep for a few hours. I turned on the Marine band radio and hoped that any ship crossing my path would hail me before running me down.
I slept fitfully, dreams of Jenny and storms still heavy on my mind — latterly the dreams had me being hit by the boom and Chris (me) carrying me below.
I awoke to fairly solid pitching as I headed into a squall. I ran on deck and checked all was well — my course was still within a few degrees of ideal and the wind was full and steady — just the sea was up a bit — the sky was cloudy but not storm driven. I settled back to watch and enjoyed the pattern of sea and wind as I thrust my little boat onward.
Mind you, 45 foot isn’t that small — and I wasn’t worried that the boat slamming into the heading sea was going to cause any damage.
I wanted to get back and grieve and not feel so threatened.

I hailed the coastguard the next day and let them know that I had lost my Jenny.
It was only a few hours later they came on board and took over the boat — making me transfer to the Coastguard ship.
I made a statement and gave them the chip with the photos I had taken after I had made a copy. They were noncommittal but very polite.

“So let me get this straight,” the seargent in the Brisbane watchouse went over the details again.
“When the lightning struck you were kissing your dead wife?” I looked at him like he was a monster.
“No, I was kissing my injured wife, telling her that I had to get on deck or the boat may be sunk by the next wave.”
“So then you woke up and your wife was dead.”
“Are you being rude officer? Or are you leaving out the fact that I was rendered unconscious by whatever it was that struck the mast — I’m presuming lightning, but I don’t know — all I saw was a flash and then sometime later I woke up — the storm was over and Jenny had …….” I burst into tears again.
“Very well sir, and you say you took the photos before you threw her body overboard?”
I leapt at him over the table, he managed to avoid my grasp.
“The suspect has just tried to attack me.” The seargent said to the tape recorder — I looked round at the camera — “I hope you are videoing this buster, because I’m going to sue you for anything I can get my wife’s lawyers to dig up about your conduct, insinuations and innuendo. AM I UNDERSTOOD?”
“We’ll see sir, I’m just checking the details so that there’s no misunderstanding.”
“Yes there is a misunderstanding, you are misunderstanding that I’m going to let this drop. The fact you’re gloating is getting you into an ever deeper hole, is that understood?” I gritted my teeth and sat back down.

The coroner’s court was less traumatic.
My and Jenny’s friends had rallied round and made sure that the facts were properly reported, though the sergeant seemed to want to hold onto his idea that I’d attacked her and dumped her body.

“The evidence of the photos and the blood found on the ropes securing the boom and the singed trail from the head of the mast to the point at which the head of the deceased would have been in her unconscious state are consistent with an unfortunate accident.
The fortitude of the witness in the circumstances and his obvious love for his partner lead me to a verdict of accidental death.”
I felt no relief; I just looked at the sergeant and shook my head slightly to show him I was not giving up this misuse of power just because the coroner threw it out.

The days after the coroner’s inquest were a bit of a blur. We held a remembrance service for Jenny and our parents were all there along with a host of friends and family. No one had anything to say but nice things and I was able to say goodbye properly - life is too short to beat myself to death — I hurt enough.

I felt a little strange when I went back to work as I had intended to say away much longer wile we were on sabbatical so I felt a bit spare.
At our home it was the same, I felt a little awkward about all Jenny’s things and even slept on her side of the bed to comfort myself.
One of Jenny’s friends asked if I wanted her to take Jenny’s clothes to the charity shops but I baulked at that. I also baulked at selling the boat, though dad didn’t want it either.
Somehow I felt that they would be used again.

I found I couldn’t work for long — after a week or two it felt like I was caged and I wanted to get out so I went to trauma counseling and eventually I decided to quit and take to a less urban existence.
(To be continued)