Maine
The drive to Maine was a bear. The trio spent eighteen hours a day on the road, barely stopping for food or to answer the call of nature before checking into a motor lodge for a few hours of sleep before hitting the highway again.
Despite Bowie’s plea to “learn as I go,” Devova insisted on doing all the driving since she was the only licensed driver. Because of the urgency, there were no side trips to take in America’s natural wonders or even novelties like the biggest ball of twine.
Instead, they played all kinds of car games to pass the time like twenty questions and Jack’s favorite, biography. The latter is played when one drives by a vehicle and then in one or two sentences, makes up the biography of the person or people in that car. After everyone’s turn, the other participants vote on whose biography they liked best. They drove by a middle-aged man wearing a bright orange baseball cap. Jack gave his bio—“After failing his audition as a pylon for an upcoming TV miniseries, Mr. Brightly took a full time job at the airport to help planes land in the fog.”
Jack usually won but Bowie got pretty creative as the trip went on, like the time they drove by a rather corpulent woman in a convertible, blasting the radio and singing along out loud. Bowie gave her bio—“She used to be an opera singer but got hit in the head by a strobe light on opening night of Don Giovanni, causing partial amnesia. When she awoke, she could only remember songs she’d heard on the radio.”
“Hit in the head with a strobe light?” questioned Jack.
“Oh sure, strobe lights kill more people than coconuts each year!” said Bowie matter-of-factly.
Devova and Jack both lost it. Devova was laughing so hard she almost ran their vehicle off the side of the road.
“How do you know about Don Giovanni?” asked Devova.
“My mom wrote a folk version of one of the songs in the opera,” explained Bowie. “She used to sing it to me when I was a bairn.”
“Sing it to us!” suggested Jack.
“Ach! No! I wouldn’t do it justice!” insisted Bowie.
“Please, Bowie,” said Devova. “We could use a song.”
“It’s kind of a ‘chick’ song,” emphasized Bowie.
“And what am I?” asked Devova with a derisive undertone.
Bowie couldn’t refute that. “Fair enough, but if the windows start to crack, don’t blame me.”
“I’ll get the duct tape ready just in case,” offered Jack.
Bowie took a swig of bottled water and cleared his throat:
Hush now, sad heart, from grievin’
The days of joy are through
The traitor with wiles deceivin’
Hath broke mine heart in two
His words strangely affect me
Sweet love, thou do direct me!
But never can I believe again
Believe in thou again
For this my heart has panted,
Shall I refuse or give it gain?
By some enchantment spell-bound,
Quite fled is my disdain
The song brought tears to Devova’s eyes. “That was beautiful, Bowie. Sad and beautiful.”
Close to midnight on the fourth day of marathon driving, Devova pulled into the driveway of a two-story Cape Code waterfront cottage. Bowie was sound asleep in the back seat. Jack got out and closed the door gently so as not to wake him. He deeply inhaled the salt air and was mesmerized by the moonlight shimmering across the surface of the canal. The cool breeze gave him a slight chill.
Devova got out on the other side. “This is it. Why don’t you and Bowie bring in the luggage? I’ll go in and get the heater going.”
Jack opened up the car. “Bowie, wake up, we’re here!”
With his eyes still closed, Bowie grumbled, “I was dreaming I was the judge in a beauty contest.”
“Who were you going to pick?” asked Jack.
Bowie opened his eyes. “Miss Scotland, of course!”
“Ach!” mocked Jack.
Bowie helped Jack unload the luggage and bring it into the house.
“Reminds me of home a bit,” remarked Bowie. “We lived close to the water as well.”
The home was decorated with a heavy nautical theme comprised of authentic maritime objects—a brass deep diver’s helmet, fishing net on one wall, signal lanterns, buoys and various nautical regalia.
An antiquated map hanging on the wall caught Jack’s eye. Devova walked up behind him. Jack felt her presence but remained transfixed on the map. “This is Athanasius Kircher’s map of Atlantis.”
“That’s correct,” confirmed Devova.
The map was oriented upside down. Part of the map showed the eastern portion of the North American continent and the western portions of Africa and Hypania respectively, separated by the Atlantic Ocean. In the middle was Atlantis, depicted as an island roughly the size of Spain.
“You’d better get some sleep,” suggested Devova. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
After four days of marathon driving, Jack was in full agreement though something gnawed at his subconscious. He decided to postpone his normal neurosing for the time being and figured he’d have plenty of time to really worry about everything in the morning.
***
The boys slept in the guest bedroom which had two twin beds. Jack woke to the smell of breakfast steaks cooking on the stove and Devova singing. It was actually more of a chant than a song.
Ging-de-lot-dot-de-dig
Fung-hey-dey-lot-de-dot-dora
Shung-gonna-fot-te-zing
Fong-bay-te-le-dot-de-vova
Grare-te-lot-don-fu-te
Ang-wan-bay-la-taun-vay-fuega
Lom-gonna-zot-she-tang
Gome-ply-werti-som-sot-sora
Jack gently shook Bowie awake. They shuffled out to the kitchen where Devova was making breakfast. “Good morning, you two,” she said energetically. She couldn’t haven’t slept more than a few hours herself but showed no outward signs of exhaustion.
They nodded good morning, still not coherent enough to actually speak. She served them each a breakfast steak cooked in olive oil with onions. It smelled pretty darn good and after four days of fast food, it was absolute heaven. They both dug in. “Thank you, this is great!” said Bowie as an onion tried to escape his mouth down his chin.
“Yes, thank you,” said Jack more reserved.
“You’re both very welcome. It’s nice cooking for more than one for a change,” she said nostalgically.
They gorged themselves on the steak and onions, toast, fresh butter and blueberries. After they finished, they took their plates to the sink. “We’ll clean up,” offered Jack.
“I’ll take care of it,” insisted Devova. “You and Bowie get dressed. I went out earlier and got you some clothes.”
“But we have clothes,” said Bowie.
“Not for what we’re doing,” said Devova resolutely. “You’ll see the bags in the hallway. Go get dressed while I finish up here.”
Curiosity propelled the boys into the hallway to check out their new wardrobe. There were three bags resembling oversized beanbag chairs. Bowie opened the first bag and pulled out a pair of bright red Gortex overalls. Jack opened the second bag and pulled out bright yellow overalls, also made of Gortex. The last bag contained two pairs of Henri Lloyd waterproof boots. “Are we hiking to the North Pole?” asked Bowie.
“These are for sailing,” said Jack. That’s when panic set in. “Wait a minute, you don’t think … Devova intends … sailing to those coordinates … no way!”
Devova finished cleaning up the kitchen then donned her own sailing gear, which included her adopted father’s pea-coat. She had a box of provisions with her and led the boys out to the dock behind the house. Tied up was a well-maintained fifty-five-foot John Alden Yawl. Jack walked around to view the transom which bore the vessel’s name: Atlantis Pearl. “She’s beautiful!” said Jack.
“This boat looks familiar,” said Bowie. “Must have seen one like it back home.”
Prior to releasing the bow and stern lines holding the boat to the dock, Devova sat the two boys down for a little talk. “There are two things I need to say before you embark on this next phase of your journey: the first is the ocean is unpredictable. It can be calm as glass one minute and the next you could literally be fighting to stay alive amidst a storm generating waves twice as tall as this boat is long.
“There’s a second thing after that?” asked Bowie.
“More than you know depends on this,” expressed Devova with utmost seriousness. “Learn everything you can and there’s a chance—” she cut herself off.
Jack looked concerned. “You sound as if you’re not coming with us.”
There was a long pause before she answered. “I can’t,” said Devova.
“What?” Jack was shocked.
“Believe me, I would if I could.”
Even Bowie looked concerned. “Look, Gram, you’ve figured out by now I’m a risk taker, but I have to say in all honestly, yer aff yer heid!” Without knowing the translation, it was safe to assume Bowie just said she was out of her mind. “Sorry, just had to get that off my chest,” he added. “Please, go on.”
“Before we set sail today, I’ll go over the vessel itself, safety protocols and teach you some of the basics. The rest you’ll have to learn as we go. It took me years to become a competent sailor. You’ll only have a few weeks,” she said.
For twelve to fourteen hours per day, Devova taught Jack and Bowie how to sail as well as navigate. Maine provided an excellent training ground with its rough winds, cross currents and choppy seas. Whether it would be enough for what lied ahead remained to be seen.