Free Three Ways to Capsize a Boat: An Optimist Afloat by Chris Stewart

suggested, the whole damn island was down there too, whooping it up on the dock. There were rockets and a band and buckets of booze and Bouboulina herself was there, magnificent in effigy, a great papier-mâché lady admiral, glowering censoriously out across the water.
    “We’d better make this look good,” I said. “Or we’re going to look prize arse’oles. There’s enough of a breeze now to sail in. Let’s do it.”
    I cut the engine and brought the Crabber around. Tim trimmed the sails and she heeled gently and started her final run into the harbor. The wind direction wasn’t quite right, but it would just about do. We were going to end up just a little farther away from the dock than I would have liked, but no matter.
    As soon as we came into view we heard loud cheers from Jane’s contingent—we must have cut a fine dashwith all the red sails up and pulling—followed by a frenzied toasting and waving of scarves and kerchiefs. We smiled and waved to the happy crowd.
    At the last moment I rounded up and started the engine, just letting it tick over for when we needed it. We dropped the sails and bundled them up neatly in a tight harbor stow.
    “Better make this a bit snappy,” observed Tim. “She’s starting to smoke.”
    “Jee-zus, you’re right.” She wasn’t just starting to smoke; we’d been too busy with the sails to notice, but there were clouds of smoke belching from the engine hold now. There was the faintest sense of consternation coming off the land, murmurs of concern, questions asked…. Was this perhaps some part of the Bouboulina festivities?
    We drifted farther away from the mooring, not waving and smiling now, but panicking just a bit as we tried to retrieve something of the dignity of the occasion. Tim was on the foredeck, ready to do his stuff with the anchor. I jammed the engine into reverse and hit the throttle by mistake. The engine howled and promptly burst into flames. The boat rocketed backward toward the dock, belching smoke and flame. A Greek fire ship in reverse. The Bouboulina revelers on the dock scattered like ninepins—all except newly hipped Jane, enthroned among the greenery and flowers of the makeshift litter.
    “Anchor aweigh.”
    “What?”
    “DROPANCHORFORCHRISSAKES!! NOW!”
    Tim dropped the anchor as we hurtled back. I hit thegear lever. Damn thing jammed. Engulfed now in the fire and smoke, I jabbed and tugged for all I was worth at the lever.
    “SNAGOFFTHEANCHORLINENOW!” I yelled above the foul din … just as a moment later with a satisfying crunch the Crabber crashed at speed into the stone dock.
    Jane rose a little unsteadily from her litter, leaning on her stick, and cried,
“Sto kaló
, all to the good, dear Chris. Welcome. I am overjoyed to see you and the Crabber safe and sound.”

    IF JANE WAS A little disappointed by the spectacular mode of our arrival, she was kind enough not to show it. Loyalty was one of her finer qualities, and I think she had decided that after all my tribulations in Kalamaki, I deserved a break.
    Florica, who was also there on the dock, gave us a touching account of Jane’s spirited defense of her new skipper, to the less-than-impressed party of guests. Florica herself, though, had some searching questions of her own to ask us, such as why, when we knew the engine was faulty, hadn’t we stayed on at Aegina and arranged for it to be repaired? It was a suggestion that left us both, and especially the more responsible Tim, feeling somewhat sheepish. He redeemed himself by introducing me to the island’s best mechanic, who had the engine fixed by the end of the week.
    Sadly, neither Tim and Florica could stay much longer than that. They had work to return to in Athens and Londonand were soon boarding the hydrofoil themselves. The trip to the mountains we would have to leave for another time. We parted with plans to meet up in London and, unusually for a holiday friendship, we each of us knew that we would. And so my summer