I was about to smile back like a groveling dog, but he abruptly raised his arm which clutched a tangle of leather straps and stainless steel attachments. "See this here?" he roared at me. Even though our faces were two feet apart, most of his voice was whipped away by the wind.
I nodded my head doubtfully.
"Well, this is like a big fuckin' jock strap, see? Only I guess you never worn one before 'cause you got fuck-all to put into one, right? So we're gonna put it around your fuckin' chest, see? And when they drop the hook, you're s'posed to snap it into this grommet -- this one here, see? You know what a fuckin' grommet is dontcha? Yeah? Well Jeez, you surprise the shit outta me all over again. So you snap the hook into the grommet, like this, see? Then hang onto the cable and everybody runs like hell 'cause you're gonna shit your pants when they lift you up. The way we're bouncin' around, I figger you got about half a second to secure the hook to the grommet before the cable goes 'twang' and your stupid fuckin' head goes flyin' off. Understand?"
I nodded, goggle-eyed.
"Yeah, I bet you understand. You understand fuckin' shit! Here, put it on so I can do up the straps." He threw the harness over my head, pinning my arms to my body. Then he spun me around and wrenched the harness down, twisting and pulling. "Put yer arms through it proper, whatsa matter with ya?" he howled.
I shrugged myself into the harness, and he twisted something that locked with a snap like a rifle bolt.
"How's it feel?" he yelled.
"Okay. Fine."
Okayfine, eh? Well, not for fuckin' long it ain't gonna be okayfine! Yer gonna be goin' for a long, cold swim, and it's me whose gotta risk my life fishin' you outta the water!" He lifted me by the harness and jerked me around to face him. "You know how long you're gonna last in there? You know how fuckin' cold it is? You think we're gonna find you in those waves?" He stabbed his fist at the ocean: "Just look at the fuckin' things! You sure you still wanna do it? You still got time, they ain't here yet."
"I'm going, I'm going!" I screamed.
He stared at me speculatively. "Yeah? Well, they probably won't go through with it anyways. Too fuckin' rough. It's gotta be. They're a bunch of arseholes, but even they gotta see it's too fuckin' rough." He pointed at the deck, at the spot where I was standing. "Wait right there! Do! Not! Even! Fucking! Move!"
He strode over to a sound-powered telephone mounted on the bulkhead and furiously turned the crank. These marvels of nineteenth century technology were basically two cans connected by a wire; they didn't use electricity, so would function as long as the wire wasn't severed.
"Helicopter transfer party closed up sahr!" he roared into the phone. Then: "Sahr! Aye-aye sahr!" He slammed the receiver down and stalked back toward me, snarling. "Sonsabitches! All they do is waste my time!"
"What happens now?".
"What happens now? We hurry up and wait, that's what happens now. We gotta wait 'til they finish sniffin' each other's arseholes. So what else is new?"
We stood together in the shelter of the Bofors gun. I scanned the horizon for the helicopter and tried not to think of the things he had said would happen to me. There were periods of nearly half a minute when the air stank like oil and burning matches and we couldn't breathe because of the fumes and cinders.
I was hypnotized by the towering, volcano-shaped waves assaulting the ship, but it was the troughs between the waves which were the most frightening; the ship would start a slow sickening slide towards the sea bottom with the crest of the next wave as high as the top of the radar mast. For a time we would be almost submerged, with the ship wallowing painfully toward the surface, only to plunge again into the next trough. I loved it; I could have stood there forever.
"So, why'd you join the Navy?"
I turned in surprise to see Johnny staring at me. I shrugged. "To see the world, I guess. You know, the usual reasons."
"Yeah? Sure you wouldn't rather been a minister?"
"Minister?"
"Yeah. You know, a fuckin' bible-thumper. You sure you wouldn't rather been onea them? Huh?" He grabbed the harness near the small of my back and twisted it, nearly lifting me off the deck. "Huh?" he wheezed, "Huh? Huh?" each time twisting tighter until I thought a rib would crack.
"No . . . I . . . don't even believe in God," I gasped weakly.
"So? No preacher I ever met believed in fuckin' God, you can bet yer white ass on that." He released me suddenly and I staggered back against him. He roughly pushed me away, jerking me to a stop with the harness.
"Hey Candy-ass, anyone ever jump your bones?" He jerked the harness again.
I was silent, trying to understand what he meant. Was this some Navy terminology I hadn't learned yet?
"What about it, Candy-ass, anyone ever jump your white fuckin' bones?" He shoved a massive knee between my legs and lifted me up on it effortlessly; I had to slap my arm against the side of the Bofors gun to keep my balance.
"Huhh! Huhh!" I wheezed. I was sitting squarely on my balls. "Huhh!"
"No, I s'pose not. It's not the white boys who get jumped. They just grow up to be fuckin' preachers." He set me down suddenly and released me.
I had finally realized what he meant. I flailed around, slamming my back against the side of the Bofors gun, sealing my bum with cold steel. I was giddy with panic, certain he had read the filthy thoughts which had filled my mind all these months. In a voice cracking with rage, fear and emotions I had never had the courage to name, I howled: "If you think you're the only one whose bones were jumped, then you're a bigger asshole than I'll ever be!"
His eyes widened; they were deep, black and terrifying. I had nowhere to run. I feared for my life.
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