A Mile Down Read Free

Though I couldn’t think of what to do. It seemed so crass to give money. How does money replace a thumb? What I wanted was to make it not have happened.
    â€œI already give him something,” Seref said. “It is done. Don’t think about it. Come.” He gestured toward the other end of the mast. “We have to decide something.”
    I looked at the man again and nodded to him. “I’m sorry,” I said. I felt like a monster. He had a face that didn’t show anything to me, no remorse or pain or resentment or even recognition. If anything, he seemed impatient for me to leave so he could get back to work. I had no idea what to think or feel or do, so I turned and followed Seref.
    The top of the main mast had a stainless steel cap with a lot of wires and attachments.
    â€œWe have to decide this,” Seref said. “You said you want battery cable to here, and a post for the lightning?”
    â€œThat’s right,” I said. “And a bonding plate below on one of the keels, and the grounds run to the hull. That way the lightning has a quick path to the water.”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “You like your masts?”
    â€œWell, they’re not caulking the screws. And they’re using two pieces of track, not one continuous piece, so every time I pull the sail down, it will get caught where the track is being joined. And the lower spreaders are supposed to have twin notches for the wires, not just one notch, and the ends of all the spreaders need boots. And the masts themselves are very heavy.”
    Seref smiled at me, then grabbed both of my shoulders. “David. I will say this to you. This boat is not finished. When it is finished, I will hand you the keys and everything will be done. Everything. Okay?” He let go of one of my shoulders and held an imaginary set of keys in the air.
    I didn’t believe him, but what could I say? I knew now I should have been working with a shipyard to finish the boat, not with the owner of a tour company, because at least some and perhaps all of the mistakes Seref was making were from lack of experience, not by design. But the summer before, when I had first bought the hull, I had believed, and Seref had encouraged me to believe, that he possessed the necessary experience and expertise and could finish the boat for less without the shipyard. Now he was doing his best, but his best might not be good enough, and it was too late for me to go with anyone else. I had given all of my money to Seref.
    Seref led me up the ladder to see more. The deck was newly sanded, the space enormous, magnificent for sailing through the Mediterranean and Caribbean. The pilothouse was nearly finished. The dash under the forward windows, in mahogany strips caulked like decking, was varnished a deep, gleaming auburn.
    â€œThis looks great,” I said, and Seref smiled and beckoned me below, down the companionway.
    Below was a different story. I felt sick seeing it. The main salon and galley were bare steel. No deck, no walls, no ceiling, no galley partition or settee or desk. He hadn’t done anything in here.
    But Seref had already gone down the next set of stairs to the aft cabins, so I followed. Here, too, the floor was only steel, the ceilings bare with wires hanging. The walls for the hallway were tongue-and-groove mahogany, and the frames for the doors to the six aft staterooms had been fitted, but the wall going aft on the starboard side had a large bend to it. I was overwhelmed by disappointment and fear and could latch onto only this one detail. “This wall,” I told Seref. “It isn’t straight.”
    â€œIt will be straightened,” Seref said.
    â€œWhen? I run a charter in six weeks. The wall has already been set. They’re building the room onto it now.”
    â€œDavid. I said I would fix it. Now look at one of your staterooms.”
    I looked at one, and it was not what he had promised. It was solid