Sander's Courage Page 17

  ship could ever offer. And there's nothing like seaborne

  camaraderie. The crew took to me like I'd been sailing with

  them for years, and I felt the same.

  We swapped stories. I heard tales of girlfriends and

  families, kids and four-legged friends. Moms, dads,

  brothers and sisters. Everyone talked at once, and phones

  loaded with photos were passed around the mess tables.

  I wound up bunking with Petty Officer Thom

  Bleaker. He was so stern and wary when we met earlier on

  the pier, but you'd never know it now. It was like we'd

  been mates from school.

  After we'd stuffed our gobs with navy chow, we

  rolled ourselves back to our quarters. He had a bunk that

  was carved into the side of the hull, all cozy and neat, like

  a kid's fort; and I had a pull-down cot that resembled an

  old Murphy bed, but I couldn't believe how comfortable it

  was.

  When the bed was lowered into place, it completely

  blocked the door. So basically we were now in for the

  night until Thom's next watch began.

  But it worked

  out fine because we had our own little bathroom with

  shower, and he had a little fridge full of goodies, and a

  microwave with plenty of Top Ramen and Hot Pockets

  standing by. We were like two kids on a campout, ready

  for a night of bullshitting each other and gossiping about

  who did what in third period social studies.

  "So now you've heard about me folks and all the

  football stats in Chelmsford, it's your turn. I wanna hear all

  about what brung ya from America to this here U-boat of

  ours," Thom said.

  "Well, I work for the U.S. Government out of

  Denmark, and it's a really great job because, as you can

  see, I get to hitch a ride on the occasional Vanguard class

  submarine, and it's never boring," I began. "And I'm

  getting married in December, so I'm taking as many

  assignments as I can wrangle right now, so I can get a

  month off after the wedding."

  "Oh... Nice!" he said. "Who's the lucky lady? Is she

  Danish?"

  "Well... He's Danish. His name's Sander and he's

  the most incredible person I've ever met in my life," I told

  him, in the most matter-of-fact way I could muster.

  "So... you're..."

  "Come on, Thom! You can say it! It's a hard 'G'...

  Guh... Guh... Say it boy!" I smiled.

  "Gay."

  "Yes! I knew you could do it!" I chuckled. "Don't be

  afraid of the Gay! You've gotta know by now that the

  Royal Navy was built on rum and sodomy! You don't

  think all of those lashes in Mutiny on the Bounty were just

  because all of the sailors were bad, do you?"

  He fell silent, his eyes cast to the deck. Shit, I'd

  blown it now. I'd mistakenly confused instant friendship

  with someone's ability to overlook a basic difference—like

  sexuality. Best I diffuse the situation before it spreads like

  a shipboard wildfire.

  "Look, Thom. Sorry. I totally get it. I can just go to

  the lounge and catch a few winks there, mate. No harm, no

  foul. I shouldn't have assumed you'd be okay with..."

  "I'm gay." he said, his eyes still cast down-ward.

  "Uh..."

  "I'm gay, Johnnie. I lost me breath when I first saw

  ya on the pier. Haven't been able to stop thinking about ya,

  or keep me eyes off ya since," he told me, finally making

  eye contact.

  "Wow. Well, didn't see that one coming," I said.

  "You could blow me... uh, knock me over with a feather. I'd

  have never guessed."

  Thom let out a little laugh and said it was difficult

  for him to be on the boat for such a long time and keep his

  secret close. I asked him if he had any special friends, and

  he told me that he didn't.

  "I don't wanna risk it for one thing, or have a

  buncha tongues waggin' all over the boat. I'll have the odd

  hookup when I get leave and fly home, but other than that,

  I have me choice of two hands," he said. "But I'm not

  gonna lie; I'd give anything I have to be with you right

  now. Do ya think maybe? Agh! Man, this is so hard to say.

  But... I dunno, I prolly sound like a spotty, hormonal

  teenager to ya. I apologize, Johnnie."

  "None needed. It's just that, well, I'm engaged to

  the one person in the world that I would never betray, and

  as tempting an offer, and as cute as you are, I'm out of the

  running I'm afraid." I said.

  "Nah! You're a fine bloke. Your boy's a lucky fella. I

  had no right ta even suggest anything. Can we keep it

  between us, Johnnie?" he asked.

  "Keep what? I'm sure I have no idea what you're

  talking about, Petty Officer Bleaker."

  "Cheers, mate. Thanks," he said. "You were worth

  taking the risk for, believe me."

  "Sweetest thing anybody's said to me in a long

  time. No worries, Thom. Some other time and this would

  have been an entirely different evening, I can promise

  you," I told him. And I meant it. He really was a great guy,

  and I appreciated his sincerity and his willingness to be so

  upfront.

  We wound down with some innocuous chit chat,

  lowered the lights, and caught some sleep, because zero

  hour for Assignment Smith-Jones would arrive soon

  enough.

  "G'night, Johnnie."

  "Night, Thom. Dream well."

  "Wet dream, maybe," he chuckled.

  "Not too wet, I hope. We are on a submarine."

  "BROTHER, ARE YOU STILL angry with me? Do you

  forgive me?" asked the soft, plaintive voice.

  "Brother?"

  "I heard you, Jannik. I'm working on it. Don't push

  right now, okay?" Sander said, as he fried up a batch of

  potatoes to go with the frikadeller balls he'd made from

  scratch. Jannik sat down at the table and watched his

  brother expertly work the kitchen.

  "Can I help you?" Jannik asked. Sander just shook

  his head no, but he did manage to make eye contact with

  the young kid and shoot him a little smile.

  "It's okay. Just sit there and hang out with me,"

  Sander said.

  "Brother?"

  "Yes, Jannik."

  "Never mind."

  "If you're wondering if I plan to tell Johnnie what

  happened, you already know the answer," Sander said, not

  unkindly. "We don't keep secrets in this house."

  "Will he hate me?"

  "You seriously ask that? Stop being a child for just a

  minute, and I want you to tell me the answer. Go on!"

  Sander prodded. "Tell me if you really believe Johnnie will

  hate you?"

  "He won't, I know it. But he should. Just like you

  should."

  "How would you feel if we had spied on you doing

  private things? Tell me what you would do?" Sander

  pressed. Jannik just shrugged his shoulders. "Oh I see, the

  kid with the brain the size of a bus suddenly gets dumb

  and shrugs his shoulders when the questions get real? I

  don't think so! Answer me."

  "I will be angry. And sad."

  "But would you hat
e us?" Sander asked.

  "No! Never can I hate you or Johnnie! How can you

  say this?" he said, once more on the verge of tears.

  "Then do you think we hate you?"

  "No! You can't hate me, Pokey! I'm so sorry for

  what I did. It was so bad!"

  "Well, you're right; Johnnie and me could never,

  ever hate you. But what you did wasn't right. That could

  never be right. You know that, don't you?" Sander said.

  Jannik nodded, fighting back those tears for all he was

  worth. "And I know it won't happen again, ever."

  "Do you have to tell Johnnie?" he pleaded.

  "Don't you think he has a right to know?" Sander

  answered. "Look, for what it's worth he'll probably be

  easier on you than me. That's because he

  still falls for your cute kid act," Sander smiled.

  "Dumb American," Jannik laughed.

  "I love that dumb American."

  "Me too," Jannik added. "Can I be the one who tells

  him then?"

  "As long as I'm there, too. I think it's a good idea."

  Sander scooped the potatoes onto plates, topped

  them with frikadeller patties, and carried the steaming

  platters to the table. He took note that Jannik's demeanor

  instantly changed with his resolve to deal with the

  unpleasant matter with Johnnie directly. Had his kid

  brother just made strides in his leap to growing up?

  Perhaps something remotely positive had come out of the

  whole sordid event after all.

  Sander sat down beside his young sibling and

  poured him a glass of milk. He saw the good in him; the

  kid wasn't perfect, no one was. So he chose to forgive him

  and move forward, as the two best friends by birth shared

  the evening meal in quiet company.

  Family.

  SANDER AWOKE THE FOLLOWING morning to the

  sound of a light rapping on the bedroom door. It could

  only be Torben, because sometime during the night Jannik

  had decided to become his bunkmate. The sprawled form

  of his little brother took up over half the bed.

  "Hey! Come in!" Sander called. The door opened

  tentatively with Torben behind it as expected. "What's up?

  You okay?"

  "Yeah. I wondered if you were doing anything

  today," he said. "If I give you money for gas and lunch

  could you drive me somewhere?"

  "Yeah. Sure. Where?"

  "My mom's? I thought it's time, you know?"

  "Yeah. When do you wanna go?" Sander asked.

  "Whenever you say. I mean, it's a drive, you know.

  They're in Roskilde," Torben explained. Sander knew, and

  within minutes he'd gotten himself ready and woke up

  Jannik.

  "Get up, Spiderman. I'm parking you at the Hansen

  house for a while. I have to drive Torben somewhere," he

  said.

  "I wanna go with you."

  "Nope. But I'll pick you up on the way back, okay?"

  "Promise you will?" Jannik said. "I wanna be over

  here."

  "Sure! It may be a little late, I don't know. But

  if it is, I'll still come get you." Sander promised. Jannik was

  relieved, and was soon ready and in the car.

  THE JOURNEY TO ROSKILDE and Torben's family home

  took a little under two hours with the side trip to drop off

  Jannik. They didn't say much to one another, except every

  so often Torben would point out a memory from the days

  when they were friends.

  Remember when we had a picnic there with the

  klasse 8 gang?

  Remember when your dad's car broke down on the

  Storebælts Bridge and then the tow truck broke down?

  Look, there's the place that rented us the sailboats

  on your birthday. Remember?

  Sander remembered.

  He remembered everything, unlike the glowing

  selective memory that Torben was drawing upon. But he

  couldn't blame his former friend and lover for that,

  especially with the limited time he knew he had. All of the

  past takes on a comfortable haze when it's needed to

  balance a hopeless future. Sander hoped that Torben didn't

  realize that part.

  "When did your family move to Roskilde?" Sander

  asked. "I never even knew they left Odense."

  "When I moved away Brian got a job on Sjælland,

  and when it became permanent they packed up and left. I

  was living in Kongens Lyngby then, doing all sorts of bad

  things. That part you know," Torben admitted. "I didn't

  even know they'd moved until I came back to Odense for

  treatment. I thought maybe I'd move back in with them

  but they were gone. Anyway, it wouldn't have worked

  out."

  "So what are we doing today?" Sander asked.

  "I don't even know. I guess just to see them maybe.

  One last time, and all that," Torben replied.

  The address led them to a duplex in a worn out

  part of town just north of the railway station. Torben

  knocked for the longest time, but no answer came. As he

  was walking back to the car across the overgrown lawn, a

  girl on a bicycle told him where he could most likely find

  his mother.

  "Can we drive up the road and make the first

  right?" Torben asked Sander. Of course, Sander told him,

  and once they'd left the main road and turned onto the

  small lane known as Astridvej, Torben saw immediately

  the place where the girl meant. It was nothing more than a

  shitty local bar masquerading as a burger and sandwich

  joint.

  "Stop there, I'll just be a minute."

  Torben could hear his mother's cackling laughter,

  obviously fueled by drink, before he ever left the car. He

  walked in, his eyes adjusting to the lowered lights, his

  senses assaulted by a mix of body odor and beer, cigarette

  smoke, and god-awful music coming out of one crackly

  speaker.

  His mother was holding court, as drunk as a

  skunk, with three overweight men—one nearly toothless,

  the other in a well-worn tradesman's jumper, and the third

  so foul and disgusting that it was all he could do to look at

  the man—all hanging on her every utterance.

  "Mother?" Torben began.

  "Torben! Where have you come from?! Look, boys,

  it's my son!" she hooted. "I don't have any money!" she

  quickly added.

  "Don't look at me! He's not mine, Lena!" shouted

  the particularly disgusting one.

  "Mother, can I talk with you?" Torben did his best

  to get her to focus on him. But with the raucousness of the

  room, and the free flow of alcohol numbing and dumbing

  them, he was fighting a losing battle.

  "Sure! What's on your mind, son? Tell mother! Do

  you want a beer? Henning, get Torben a beer!" she barked.

  "No thank you. My friend's waiting in the car. He

  drove me here, so I shouldn't stay too long. I just wanted

  to see you. To see how you're doing. How's Stefan?"

  Torben asked, referring to his stepfather.

  "Aaaa... He's long gone," his mother said,

  dismissing the very thought of the husband that had

  played the role of father to Torben for the longest time.

  There was
his true father, who left when he was five; then

  a series of boyfriends, and even a girlfriend for about a

  year when Lena was attempting just about everything in

  her quest for self-realization. Stefan was the most stable of

  the lot, and he had obviously gotten his fill of Lena and her

  bottomless bottles of beer and stupidity.

  "Do you even know where he is?" Torben asked.

  "He's on Fanø. Something about the harbor, or fish.

  I don't know. Nor do I give a shit," she said, before

  descending into another round of pointless laughter.

  "What are you doing now? You got a girl, or got one

  pregnant yet?" she laughed.

  "No. I'm staying with some friends on Fyn. Looking

  into some stuff. Not much, really."

  "Do I know them?" she asked. He just deflected the

  question and planned his exit. This wasn't going like he

  wanted. It was going like he expected; just not how he

  wanted.

  "Nah. You don't know them. It's a guy from

  America and his friend," Torben explained.

  "Ooooooh... His friend," Lena laughed. "We all

  know what that means, don't we boys?!" and she took off

  on another wave of ridiculous, over-the-top laughter.

  "You'd better sleep with one eye open, and

  your asshole closed!" Again, with the laughter.

  "It was nice to see you, Mother. I better get going."

  "Don't I get a kiss?" she asked, with a fake pouting

  face. He gave her a peck on the cheek, catching an

  overwhelming blast of stale beer breath. "Be safe, son. And

  come and visit me for longer. We'll make some food and

  have a good time. Maybe get your sister to come, too!"

  He'd heard promises like that all his life. They

  never amounted to anything because before it got to

  whatever the fun was supposed to be, the beer would have

  beaten it to the punch.

  "Bye. Tell everybody I said hello," he said.

  The last thing he knew that he would ever hear

  from his mother was some more drunken laughter as the

  thin, wooden screen door slammed behind him. And

  waiting in the car, as loyal as could be, was Sander. God,

  how he had fucked everything up. God, how he knew it.

  Chapter 26

  he HMS Vigilant drifted slowly upwards to

  periscope depth. Captain Madge was true to his

  T word and let me have a look through the scope.

  This was not your average submarine adventure movie

  periscope, either. This instrument was about as high-tech