cc.goldenbuddha-第3节

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　Two　miles　from　shore；　a　small　boat　slapped　over　the　rolling　sea；　approached　the　ship　and　swung　around　on　a　parallel　course。　The　pilot　closed　on　the　rust…streaked　hull　as　a　boarding　ladder　was　thrown　down　from　an　open　hatch。　
　The　pilot；　a　man　in　his　fifties　with　brown　skin　and　thick　gray　hair；　stared　up　at　the　ancient　ship。　Her　black　paint　was　faded　and　badly　needed　to　be　chipped　away　and　repainted。　Streams　of　rust　flowed　from　every　opening　in　the　hull。　The　huge　anchor；　pulled　tightly　in　its　hawse…hole；　was　pletely　covered　by　corrosion。　The　pilot　read　the　letters；　barely　discernible　on　the　upper　bow。　The　weary　old　freighter　was　named　Oregon。　
　Jesus　Morales　shook　his　head　in　amazement。　It　was　a　miracle　the　ship　hadn't　been　scrapped　twenty　years　ago；　he　mused。　She　looked　more　like　a　derelict　than　a　cargo　carrier　still　in　service。　He　wondered　if　the　party　bureaucrats　in　the　Ministry　of　Transportation　had　any　idea　of　the　condition　of　the　ship　they　had　contracted　to　bring　in　a　cargo　of　chemical　fertilizer　for　the　sugar　and　tobacco　fields。　He　could　not　believe　the　ship　had　passed　maritime　insurance　inspection。　
　As　the　ship　slowed　almost　to　a　dead　stop；　Morales　stood　at　the　railing　and　the　pilot　boat's　bumpers　squeezed　against　the　freighter's　hull。　Timing　the　crest　of　a　wave　as　it　lifted　the　boat；　Morales　leaped　agilely　from　the　wet　deck　onto　the　boarding　ladder　and　climbed　to　the　hatch。　It　was　a　function　he　performed　as　often　as　ten　times　a　day。　A　pair　of　crewmen　were　waiting　beside　the　hatch　and　helped　him　up　on　the　deck。　The　two　were　both　burly…looking　individuals；　and　they　did　not　bother　to　smile　in　greeting。　One　simply　pointed　toward　the　ladder　leading　to　the　bridge。　Then　they　turned　and　left　Morales　standing　alone　on　the　deck。　Watching　them　walk　away；　Morales　hoped　that　he'd　never　have　to　meet　them　in　a　dark　alley。　
　He　paused　before　climbing　the　ladder　and　took　a　few　moments　to　study　the　upper　works　of　the　ship。　
　From　his　long　experience　and　knowledge　of　ships；　he　judged　her　length　at　560　feet；　with　a　75…foot　beam。　Probably　a　gross　tonnage　　around　11；000。　Five　derricks；　two　behind　the　funnel　and　superstructure　and　three　on　the　forward　deck；　stood　waiting　to　unload　her　cargo。　He　counted　six　holds　with　twelve　hatches。　In　her　prime；　she　would　have　been　classed　as　an　express　cargo　liner。　He　guessed　that　she　had　been　built　and　launched　in　the　early　1960s。　The　flag　on　her　stern　was　Iranian。　Not　a　registry　Morales　had　seen　very　often。　
　If　the　Oregon　looked　shabby　from　the　waterline；　she　looked　downright　squalid　from　her　main　deck。　Rust　covered　every　piece　of　deck　machinery　from　winches　to　chains；　but　the　hardware　at　least　appeared　to　be　in　usable　condition。　By　parison；　the　derricks　looked　as　if　they　hadn't　been　operated　in　years。　
　To　add　further　insult；　battered　drums；　tools　and　what　could　only　be　described　as　junked　equipment　were　scattered　around　the　decks。　In　all　his　years　as　a　harbor　pilot；　Morales　had　never　seen　a　ship　in　such　filthy　condition。　
　He　climbed　the　ladder　steps　leading　to　the　bridge；　past　bulkheads　with　flaking　paint　and　portholes　whose　lenses　were　cracked　and　yellowed。　Then　he　paused　before　finally　swinging　the　door　open。　The　interior　of　the　vessel　was　as　bad；　if　not　worse。　The　wheelhouse　was　dirty；　with　the　scars　of　cigarette　burns　on　the　counters　and　on　what　had　once　been　a　polished　teak　deck。　Dead　flies　littered　the　windowsills；　the　smell　assaulted　his　nose。　And　then　there　was　the　captain。　
　Morales　was　greeted　by　a　great　slob　of　a　man　with　an　immense　stomach　that　sagged　over　his　belt　line。　The　face　was　scarred；　and　the　nose　so　badly　broken　it　slanted　toward　the　left　cheek。　The　thick　black　hair　was　plastered　back　with　some　kind　of　greasy　cream　and　his　beard　was　scruffy　and　stringy。　The　captain　was　a　cacophony　of　colors。　His　eyes　were　red　and　his　teeth　yellow…brown；　while　his　arms　were　covered　with　blue　tattoos。　A　grimy　yachtsman's　cap　sat　perched　on　the　back　of　his　head　and　he　wore　dingy　coveralls。　The　tropical　heat　and　the　humidity　on　the　non…air…conditioned　bridge　made　it　obvious　to　Morales　that　the　man　had　not　bathed　for　at　least　a　month。　Any　dog　worth　his　salt　would　have　tried　to　bury　the　man。　
　He　extended　a　sweaty　hand　to　Morales　and　spoke　in　English。　〃Glad　to　see　you。　I'm　Captain　Jed　Smith。〃　
　〃Jesus　Morales。　Pilot　for　the　Harbor　Office　of　Santiago。〃　Morales　felt　unfortable。　Smith　spoke　English　with　an　American　accentnot　what　he'd　expected　on　a　ship　of　Iranian　registry。　
　Smith　handed　him　a　packet　of　papers。　〃Here's　our　registration　and　cargo　manifest。〃　
　Morales　merely　cast　a　brief　glance　at　the　documents。　Officials　on　the　docks　would　study　them　more　closely。　His　only　concern　was　that　the　ship　had　permission　to　enter　the　port。　He　handed　back　the　packet　and　said；　〃Shall　we　proceed？〃　
　Smith　waved　a　hand　toward　a　wooden　helm　that　somehow　seemed　terribly　old…fashioned　for　a　ship　built　in　the　sixties。　〃She's　all　yours；　Senor　Morales。　What　dock　do　you　want　us　to　moor　at？〃　
　〃There　are　no　docks　available　until　Thursday。　You　will　have　to　anchor　in　the　middle　of　the　harbor　until　then。〃　
　〃That's　four　days　from　now。　We　have　a　schedule　to　meet。　We　can't　sit　around　for　four　days　waiting　to　unload　our　cargo。〃　
　Morales　shrugged。　〃I　have　no　control　over　the　harbormaster。　Besides；　the　docks　are　full　with　ships　unloading　new　farm　machinery　and　automobiles；　now　that　the　embargo　has　been　lifted。　These　have　priority　over　your　cargo。〃　
　Smith　threw　up　his　hands。　〃All　right。　I　guess　it's　not　the　first　time　we　had　to　twiddle　our　thumbs　waiting　to　unload。〃　He　gave　a　broad；　rotten…toothed　grin。　〃I　guess　me　and　my　crew　will　just　have　to　e　ashore　and　make　friends　with　your　Cuban　women。〃　
　The　thought　made　Morales's　skin　crawl。　Without　further　conversation；　he　stepped　over　to　the　helm　as　Smith　called　the　engine　room　and　ordered　half　speed。　The　pilot　felt　the　engine's　vibrations　through　the　deck　as　the　tired　old　ship　began　to　make　way　again；　and　he　aimed　her　bow　toward　the　narrow　entrance　of　Santiago　Harbor；　which　was　bordered　by　high　bluffs　that　rose　from　the　sea。　
　From　offshore；　the　channel　that　led　inside　to　the　bellows…shaped　harbor　was　invisible　until　a　ship　was　nearly　on　top　of　it。　Rising　two　hundred　feet　atop　the　cliffs　on　the　right　stood　the　old　colonial　fortress　known　as　Morro　Castle。　
　Morales　noticed　that　Smith　and　the　members　of　his　mangy　crew　standing　on　the　bridge　seemed　interested　in　the　defenses　that　had　been　dug　into　the　hillside　when　Fidel　Castro　had　thought　the　United　States　was　going　to　attack　Cuba。　They　studied　the　gun　and　missile　emplacements　through　expensive　binoculars。　
　Morales　smiled　to　himself。　Let　them　look　all　they　wantedmost　of　the　defenses　were　deserted。　Only　two　small　fortresses　maintained　a　small　pany　of　soldiers　to　man　the　missile　emplacements　in　the　unlikely　event　an　unwele　vessel　tried　to　enter　the　harbor。　
　Morales　threaded　his　way　through　the　buoys　and　steered　the　Oregon　deftly　around　the　twists　and　turns　of　the　channel；　which　soon　opened　into　the　broad；　ball…shaped　harbor　surrounded　by　the　city　of　Santiago。　The　wheel　felt　strange　to　him；　though。　The　odd　feeling　was　barely　perceptible；　but　there　nonetheless。　Whenever　he　turned　the　wheel；　there　seemed　to　be　a　short　lag　before　the　rudder　responded。　He　made　a　quick　but　very　slight　turn　to　starboard　before　bringing　the　wheel　back　to　port。　It　was　definitely　there；　almost　like　an　echo；　a　two…second　delay。　He　did　not　sense　sluggishness　from　the　steering　machinery；　but　rather　a　pause。　It　had　to　e　from　another　origin。　Yet　when　the　response　came；　it　was　quick　and　firm。　But　why　the　hesitation？　
　〃Your　helm　has　an　off　feel　to　it。〃　
　〃Yeah；〃　Smith　grunted。　〃It's　been　that　way　for　a　few　days。　Next　port　we　enter　with　a　shipyard；　I'll　have　the　spindles　on　the　rudder　looked　at。〃　
　It　still　made　no　sense　to　Morales；　but　the　ship　was　entering　the　open　part　of　the　bay　off　the　city　now；　and　he　pushed　the　mystery　from　his　mind。　He　called　the　harbor　officials　over　the　ship's　radio　and　kept　them　informed　of　his　progress；　and　was　given　orders　for　the　anchorage。　
　Morales　pointed　out　the　buoys　to　Smith　that　marked　the　mooring　area　and　ordered　the　ship　brought　to　slow　speed。　He　then　swung　the　stern　around　until　the　bow　was　facing　the　ining　tide　before　ordering　all　stop。　The　Oregon　slowed　to　a　halt　in　an　open　area　between　a　Canadian　container　ship　and　a　Libyan　oil　tanker。　
　〃You　may　drop　your　anchor；〃　he　said　to　Smith；　who　acknowledged　with　a　nod　as　he　held　a　loudspeaker　in　front　of　his　face。　
　〃Let　go　anchor！〃　he　shouted　at　his　crew。　The　mand　was　answered　a　few　seconds　later　by　the　rattling　clatter　of　the　chain　links　against　the　hawsehole；　followed　by　a　great　splash　as　the　anchor　plunged　into　the　water。　The　bow　of　the　ship　became　hazy　from　the　cloud　of　dust　and　rust　that　burst　from　the　chain　locker。　
　Morales　released　his　grip　on　the　worn　spokes　of　the　wheel　and　turned　to　Smith。　〃You　will；　of　course；　pay　the　pilot's　fee　when　you　turn　over　your　documents　to　the　harbor　officials。〃　
　〃Why　wait？〃　snorted　Smith。　He　reached　into　a　pocket　of　his　coveralls　and　produced　a　wad　of　crinkled　American　hundred…dollar　bills。　He　counted　out　fifteen　bills；　then　hesitated；　looked　into　Morales's　shocked　expression；　and　said；　〃Oh；　w