The Sunny Side Of Death

And they all dead did lie;

And a thousand thousand slimy things

lived on; and so did I.

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge,

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The Sunny Side Of Death

WHEN HENRY FALK looked to the east and felt the wind on his face, he knew she’d be sailing in on a run. He scanned the horizon and tried to avoid looking directly at the rolling blue-green waves. He hadn’t taken his meds yet, and if he gazed at that water for more than a few seconds he’d get seasick.

A gust of wind pushed him back a step, but then it calmed. Just above the horizon line the billowing white sails of her sloop appeared, the jib puffed out to starboard, the mainsail to port. She stayed on that point of sail to within 100 yards of the docks, and when she cranked in her sails Falk saw Julie Morris standing at the helm smiling big, her eyes hidden by wrap-around shades, a white baseball cap on her head, her long black ponytail whipping in the wind.

Falk’s stomach told him he’d been looking at the water too long. He bent down and ruffled through one of his bags, to reassure himself that he had all the medications he’d need to survive for weeks at sea. He counted the shrink-wrapped packages, wondering if five of each would be enough, and, if they worked as he’d been assured they would, would he be able to crew for Julie with all those drugs in him? A recurrent scenario plagued his imagination, of himself spending the entire crossing in his bunk below, while his beloved Julie Morris single-handed the 40-ft. sloop, battling the grey swells of the Atlantic, alone. What would she think of him then?

He zipped shut his bag and stood up, a bit queasy from the mere thought of being on the water. All the previous summer he’d crewed on Julie’s 24 ft. Highlander, racing in regattas on Jordan Lake, and his over-the-counter meds had kept him barely able to work the foredeck, throwing out the spinnaker and cranking up the centerboard and banging his knees and shins on the centerboard trunk, frantically trying to obey Julie’s orders when they changed points of sail. But that was on a muddy sump of a reservoir, with no waves and barely any swell. How could he delude himself into believing he could sail 3500 miles across the Atlantic to the Canary Islands without vomiting his guts out every hour?

And what would Julie think of him when she found out that the man who professed to love her suffered from seasickness so badly he felt queasy in a bathtub? And that he’d felt so ashamed of it he’d never told her?

And how could he, Henry Falk, a reasonably intelligent and mostly-honest man, how could he be so stupid? He knew what the Atlantic was like even at this time of year. He was risking not only humiliation, but if he was incapacitated he could also be risking Julie’s life. The girl was only 5’4" and weighed maybe 120 pounds, but amazingly she’d made this crossing herself twice, both times single-handed. Despite the fact that she could manage alone, Falk stamped his foot on the dock and whispered a string of cusswords at himself, finishing with a resounding flourish of self-condemnation as Julie edged the boat to the dock. She smiled that big toothy grin she always had when she was sailing, and when Henry Falk saw that smile he knew why he had taken this risk: he loved Julie Morris so much that if she asked him to sail with her down the River Styx, straight into the mouth of Hell, the only question he’d ask would be what time to show up at the dock.

~~~~~

JULIE MORRIS SAID, What do you think of her? Isn’t she lovely? She was talking about her boat, but Falk wasn’t looking at the boat: he was looking at Julie’s firm curvy body.

He said, She’s the sweetest, sexiest thing I ever laid eyes on.

Julie was still gazing at her boat. Sexy? She’s a bit wide in the beam, I think, but when you think of her history and what all she’s been through, you gotta admit, she’s got balls.

Falk couldn’t think of a better description of Julie herself, other than the beamy part, but he thought he’d risk looking at the boat, which was rising and falling gently with the incoming tide. Yeah, she’s a beauty.

She was built in the fifties, when they didn’t know how durable fiberglass hulls would be, so they made the hull over an inch thick. She’s a 40-footer so I can’t imagine how much she weighs. But she’s rigged for smooth single-handed sailing and she goes so easy. She squeezed Falk’s butt cheek and said, Still, I’m glad I’ve got a big stud like you for crew. Falk was grateful to be reminded that she could sail it single-handed, but that recurring image of Julie trying to steer in a storm while he upchucked his innards made his already queasy stomach roil.

Julie tugged at his arm. We gotta stock up on groceries and beer and wine. And get some good champagne for our first onboard dinner. She kissed his cheek. But we gotta get up early if want to get out with the tide. We’re two days behind already.

That two-day delay had been caused by Falk’s emergency appointment with a motion-sickness specialist, and that afternoon he’d left the doctor and the pharmacy with barely enough time to get to the docks.

But that wasn’t the only way he feared he was holding Julie Morris back. She was the widow of an F-15 pilot killed in the second Iraq war, and Falk had the nagging sense that he was engaged in a relentless competition with a dead man, a man whose resume read like a comic book Superhero. Falk lived in constant fear that one day Julie would look at him and suddenly realize that he was… just a normal guy.

~~~~~

AT 6 A M the next morning, both of them suffering from a sex-and-champagne hangover, they went over the basics of the ship. It’s not really much different from my Highlander, Julie said, Just a lot bigger and in some ways easier to manage because she’s got such a heavy keel. She started the lecture in the stern, showing him the winches that controlled the lines to the sails, briefly explained the auto-pilot settings and how to state headings, and gave a brief explanation of the satellite navigation system. Then they went forward to go over the rigging. Having poured over every sailing website and seamanship book he could locate, Falk knew what-was-what already, but he listened patiently. After Julie finished she said. You won’t have to do all that much, so I don’t feel too bad about leaving without some trial runs. And the weather should be calm for the next few days.

Another stab of guilt jabbed into Falk’s chest. He knew this bit about trial runs not being important was bullshit. She’d planned on taking him out for at least two trial runs before setting off on this crossing, and his medical delay had spoiled her plan. But Julie looked so calm, so self-assured, so at ease on that boat, radiating the confidence she’d earned from sailing since early childhood. Falk constantly comforted himself with the facts that Julie was a highly accomplished blue-water sailor, far more capable, she’d often said, than her Great American Hero husband had ever been.

They ate a quick breakfast, and at 8 A M, Falk untied the dock lines, gave the boat a shove with one foot and hopped on. He’d already taken his morning dose of seasickness meds and it seemed they were working.

He secured the bow and stern lines and went back to the cockpit. As they motored away from the harbor with Julie steering, she flashed that great toothy grin and said, Wow, I can’t believe we’re finally going. When they’d motored a mile from the dock, Julie shut off the diesel engine, released the winches for the jib and the mainsail, turned the wheel slightly off the wind, and the big white sales snapped tight with the steady breeze. The boat heeled to starboard and Falk steadied himself, waiting for his stomach to order him to resign immediately and beg to go back to shore. He gripped the rail and kept his gaze on the horizon, then slowly let his grip loosen. He felt, sort of… okay.

Julie maintained her ear-to-ear sailing grin. She said, If the winds don’t work against us we could average 100 knots a day and be in Tenerife in about two weeks. Wanna take the helm?

The big stainless-steel wheel, gleaming in the early morning sun, felt cold in Falk’s hands. He glanced at the compass rose. It was a glass hemisphere with a floating round plate inside that was stamped with the four directions and degree lines. He was relieved to see its wobbling didn’t bother his stomach. Aye aye, skipper, he said. What heading?

Ninety degrees till we clear the harbor by another mile. If the wind shifts I’ll tell you when to change.

Falk kept his eyes on the horizon and glanced only occasionally at the compass. The sea was calm, the breeze steady and mild, and he felt, for the first time since Julie had asked him to sail with her, that he might actually get this done.

A half hour later, the docks of Port City Marina had faded from sight and the great blue Atlantic loomed ahead. Falk watched as Julie trimmed the main and jib, using the power winches that were controlled from the cockpit. As the sails snapped taut she smiled, disappeared below deck, then came back with two bottles of beer. Wind is with us and the sea’s calm, let’s get this voyage off to a proper start.

Julie chugged her beer, fussed with some switches, mumbling that they had something to do with the autopilot. Falk tried to pay attention but was preoccupied with wondering if he should drink after taking those meds. Then Julie tugged his arm. Let’s go below for a minute.

In the main cabin, which gave Falk claustrophobia, she whipped off her shirt and jeans. Let’s get one off, babycakes. Never know when the wind’ll kick up and we’ll be too busy.

Falk thought this was a great idea, until five minutes later when his manhood was gangling soft and he was feeling a strong urge to sleep. Julie gazed up at him and smirked. Not in the mood? Must be the excitement, right?

Falk’s eyelids drooped. He rolled onto his back and fought the urge to doze off.

Julie sighed. That beer must’ve really got to you.

Falk eyelids popped open. Had he made a mistake on the pill dosage? With all the effort he could muster he jumped from the bed. "Sorry girl. Maybe it is the excitement."

Julie smiled. Okay. But, you sure were gung-ho last night.

The boat pitched slightly to port. Falk gripped the edge of the bunk and watched in a fit of frustration as Julie put her clothes back on. Well, mate, she said, guess I can wait till tonight.

For five days they sailed placidly, the winds favorable and the sea flat. Falk had to eat light and still felt droopy from his meds, but he was never nauseous and was always able to do his minor duties. He avoided Julie’s offer of beers, but her frequent beckoning hints for sex and his inability to rise to the challenge were eating at him.

Other than that, Falk loved the experience of sailing. The feeling of boundless space was exhilarating. They skimmed over a wide world of shimmering dark-blue water and high-domed sky, riding the wind over that gently rolling sea. His droopy-dick issue was the only flaw in this stirring adventure.

On the seventh night, under a near-full moon and with a light breeze pushing them southward, Julie set the course on the auto-pilot and then slid her hand down the back of Falk’s shorts. Hey, baby, you’re making me feel bad, like I don’t turn you on anymore.

They went below and Julie went to work on him with her soft full lips and her gentle hands, cooing and nuzzling and licking, till Falk jumped from the bed, shaking and wild-eyed, his hands fisted and his face purple. Then he saw the terrified look on Julie’s face. Oh, baby I’m so sorry. You’re so sweet and so sexy but I just can’t get it going. Julie I’m crazy about you but…

Her face drooped into a look of resigned calm. She raised her hand and said, Okay. I understand, I guess. Let’s get some sleep.

That evening was the last embarrassment Falk could endure. As he drifted off to sleep, with Julie huddled against the wall of the berth and himself at the edge of the bed, he made a decision.

~~~~~

FALK’S DOCTOR HAD told him to take two of the red pills in the morning and one of the yellow ones at night, as if he were a kid unable to understand the names of the drugs. The doctor had referred to them as preparations, and said that were new to the market. Falk had been so desperate for a remedy and was under such time pressure that he hadn’t bothered to read the list of their side effects.

By the time he and Julie had crossed mid-Atlantic, Falk could have written a book on those side effects. The upside was no seasickness. But drowsiness, dry mouth, sensitivity to alcohol and a complete stifling of the sexual response were the downside. Falk had endured too many nights of frustrated smirks on his lover’s face, looks of such disdain he could no longer bear up. Julie was a healthy 40-year-old chick, with more than the average healthy girl’s appetite for sex, and Falk could no longer bear his failure