Free Hole in My Life by Jack Gantos Page A

extinguisher, rain slickers, and a book the size of a dictionary. It was clothbound in green linen, and embossed in gold on the cover was the name of the ship. I set it on the galley table and opened the cover. It was blank. Dozens of pages had been ripped out. The remaining pages were wrinkled and stained from water damage. It smelled salty, and a bit like diesel fuel. I loved it, and immediately thought it was up to me to record my boat’s history, like so many other sea writers had done. I turned the page, smoothed it out with my hand, and got started.

3 / ship’s log
    July 15: Today I took a photograph of Hamilton sitting at the wheel with the sun setting behind him. He frowned. “Now take a picture of me,” I said, and handed him the camera.
    He flipped the camera over, unsnapped the back, pulled out the film, and tossed it over his shoulder into the ocean. “If I find any more film on board it will join that roll,” he said.
    â€œIt’s just a photo,” I replied.
    â€œIt’s evidence,” he snapped back. This is the first evidence I have had that he even thinks we could be caught.
    â€œLet me see your wallet,” he said.
    I gave it to him.
    He threw away all my identification except for my fake Florida license. “Might come in handy,” he said.
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    July 16 : Dead calm today. Hot. The sails hanging limply from the gaffs like sleeping bats. At one point I dove overboard and swam around the boat as if it were at anchor. Hamilton threw
an empty bottle overboard and we bobbed along next to it for hours. By the end of the day we may have covered a mile. No more. Feel like a sitting duck. Said so to Hamilton. He drifted into a story about his biggest concern on the ocean being pirates, not police. Told me about friends in the business who were boarded by pirates who tied them to the masts, and then took their stash. Somehow I find this absurd and can’t stop thinking of Captain Hook and his crew of pirates in Peter Pan . Wish Hamilton would swallow a clock so I could hear him creeping around. He stalks me like a mumbling crocodile.
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    July 17 : Started reading Heart of Darkness . Already thinking that Kurtz is waiting for me in New York along with his gang of savages—and a deep mystery about the evil in the soul of man that I can’t solve until I get there.
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    July 18 : Woke up to gunshots. Carefully stuck my head above the deck hatch and saw Hamilton firing his pistol at cans he tossed into the air. He missed them all. I knew he had a pistol because I’d poked around the cabin and found it under his mattress. When he saw me he made me put a can on the end of a yardstick and stand up on the bow while he shot at it from the stern. He missed each time, which was not a relief. I heard the bullets whiz by. William Tell was a good shot and put an
arrow through an apple on his son’s head. William Burroughs was a terrible shot. He put a glass of water on his wife’s head and shot her just above the eye. The Mexican police called her death an accident. If Hamilton hit me I’d just drop into the water and sink like a stone. Nobody would know the difference—not even him.
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    July 19 : I’ve missed talking to another human. Last night, after Hamilton came to relieve me of my shift, instead of heading down to the main cabin to sleep, I stayed put. I remained as mute as Friday to Crusoe, hoping that he’d break the ice. But he didn’t. He held his hot tea to his lips, and patted delicately at his beard, his fingers slowly adjusting the symmetry after his nap.
    â€œHave you ever thought about what might happen to us if we get caught?”
    Hamilton’s laugh came out of him like a coiled spring jigging up and down. He had to set down his teacup.
    â€œYou are afraid,” he finally said. “Afraid of the punishment. You can’t be afraid of what we are doing, because we’re doing nothing wrong.”
    My fear