The Treasure of Maria Mamoun Page 16

  “I can’t figure out how we’re going to go for the treasure without getting caught,” Maria said. “Or how I’m even going to get out of my room in the middle of the night without my mom noticing. You do realize our whole plan is crazy.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Paolo said. “But it won’t matter how crazy it was after we find the treasure. Then everyone will just be congratulating us and spending money.”

  “We’re running out of time,” Maria said.

  “I know,” Paolo said. “But freaking out isn’t going to help. And I’m tired of worrying about it.” He lifted the corner of the tarp on the ocean side of the boat. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” He disappeared over the side with a splash.

  Maria dove in after him. Her swimming had been gradually getting better. Though she had the basics from her long-ago lessons at that awful, overcrowded city pool, Paolo had shown her new tricks: how to exhale through her nose when she jumped off the dock to keep the water out, how to dive under waves, and something he called “elementary backstroke,” which made Maria feel like a frog on its back. She paddled over to him now.

  “You know, I agree with you,” Maria said, treading water. “It’s pretty crazy for us to go out without a what-do-you-call-it sail.” She turned toward the beach. “Come on, I can’t swim as long as you.”

  Maria rode a gentle wave in and sat in the shallows, facing the boat. Paolo swam up beside her. The waves billowed his swim trunks around his legs, showing the pale white of his upper thighs in sharp contrast to his tanned knees.

  “It’s too risky,” Paolo said.

  “Risky or not,” Maria said, “we’ll have to be ready to grab whatever chance we get.”

  26

  SHAKEDOWN

  Maria was surprised to find their chance came the next evening. She was sitting in the beetlebung tree behind the cottage, as she often did in the afternoon to read and wait for her mother to come home. Sometimes Celeste walked up the clamshell drive, sometimes Frank gave her a ride. This time Frank drove her up in his truck. Hattie was with them. They were all going to head up-island to Menemsha for lobster and steamers, and to watch the sunset from the beach.

  “You’re welcome to come.” Celeste squinted up at Maria, one hand a visor over her eyes. “We won’t be back till after ten and Hattie didn’t make you any food because we thought you’d join us.”

  “No, thanks. I’m kind of tired. And there are a ton of leftovers from last night. I’ll be fine. Really.”

  “Well, okay.” Celeste looked a bit doubtful. “I’ll just go in and change, then we’ll go. If you maybe change your mind.”

  But of course Maria didn’t change her mind while her mom changed her clothes. She waved as the adults drove off, then leaped from the tree and ran into the cottage to pack food. She’d just wrapped everything up in plastic bags when she heard Paolo’s bicycle skid on the drive. Maria met him at the door.

  “Did you hear? They’re all gone!” He threw his bike on the grass.

  “I packed food.” Maria showed him the bag. “What about your grandparents?”

  “I told them I was coming over to study. And I’d catch a ride home later with Frank and Mom.” He took the bag from her and started trotting toward the beach.

  Maria jogged after him. “What are we studying?”

  “Phoenicians.”

  “Okay. I’ll be sure to quiz you later.”

  “Don’t bother,” Paolo said. “I got them down. Invented the alphabet. Big on sailing. Purple dye made from snails. Established Carthage. Defeated by Alexander the Great.”

  “And they’re Lebanese,” Maria said. “Or at least they’re who the Lebanese came from.”

  “Yeah. Your people.”

  They crested the dune and ran up the beach.

  * * *

  “Sail first, eat second,” Paolo said when they reached the boat. He unlaced the line that held the canvas to the rail. “We’ll have to get all this out of our way.”

  “And we’ll have to put it back up like it was when we’re done,” Maria said. She ran across the deck and pulled the line from the other side. They met each other halfway and laid the tent on the deck. Then they folded it longways and rolled it tightly till it resembled a giant white cigar. Paolo did a fancy thing with the lace-line and secured it to a deck cleat.

  “The next part is going to be a little tricky,” Paolo said. “We have to get the sail up first, I think, then untie her from the dock. Because we need power to get off the dock and we can’t risk being washed up on the beach while we’re hoisting sail.” He was readying the various halyards as he spoke, running the lines back toward the wheel and leaving them in neat coils. “But the problem is, if the wind catches the sail while we’re still attached to the dock, the lines might pull too tight and we won’t be able to undo them. And whoever’s on the dock might get left behind.”

  Maria tried to picture it. She could see the problem. Wind pulling them off the dock while the ropes held them to it.

  “We could maybe take all the lines off except one, and then run that last one around that thing.” She pointed to a short, thick post.

  “Bollard,” Paolo said.

  “Yeah, run it around the bollard but tie it off to a cleat on the boat. Then, as the boat starts pulling away let it go real quick.”

  “Yeah. Yeah!” Paolo jumped off the Privateer and began untying docklines and tossing them aboard. Maria caught and coiled them down.

  Finally he loosed the stern line. But he left it running around the bollard and carried the rest back aboard and secured it to a deck cleat. With no sails yet up, the boat’s nose swung gently away from the dock, her back end tethered by the stern line, till she was nearly perpendicular to it.

  Together, they hauled up the mainsail and the jib. As the evening wind filled the sails, the Privateer started to pull away from the dock.

  “Hold this!” Paolo unwrapped the stern line from the cleat, leaving only one loop on. He handed the line to Maria. It felt alive, as if it were trying to jerk away from her. She leaned back and dug her heels in.

  Paolo spun the ship’s wheel. “Slowly let it go.”

  Maria loosed the line. It slipped around the cleat and the Privateer pulled farther from the dock, and the bow swung more toward the mouth of the bay. The sails made a luffing sound as the wind bellied them.

  “Let it go completely!” Paolo yelled.

  Maria unwrapped the line and tossed it over the rail. The rope fell in the water. The Privateer was truly under way now, heeling starboard and picking up speed. The wet end of the stern line flew out of the water and whipped around the bollard, spraying the dock with sparkling droplets before it dropped back in the ocean again and trailed behind them like a tail.

  “Haul it up! Haul it up!” Paolo shouted.

  Maria hauled the heavy rope onto the deck. She looked up and saw the mouth of the bay just ahead and the open ocean beyond that. “We did it!”

  “We did!” Paolo looked as surprised and happy as she felt.

  Maria slid over the wet deck to him. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. We sail around a little, then eat.”

  They sailed out of the bay. The Last Privateer bucked and bounced on the larger ocean waves. It felt like that first time they’d sailed in the yacht club catboat, only stronger, as if the wind was a giant hand pushing the canvas. The air felt crisp and smelled clean. Far off in Edgartown harbor a fleet of white sails scudded about.

  “You’re a natural,” Paolo said. “I can’t believe this is only your second time out.”

  “It’s ’cause I’m half Phoenician. It’s in my blood.” She was joking, but she felt free and happy. She lifted her arms and ululated.

  “What the heck was that?”

  “Just, like, cheering. Like ‘whoo-hoo!’ In Phoenician.”

  He laughed. “Whatever. It’s good, though, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s good.”

  Paolo spun the wheel and the boom came across the de
ck. Suddenly they were pointing back toward the bay.

  “Do we have to go back so soon?” Maria cried.

  “We know it works, and we can’t risk getting seen.” They were closing quickly on the mouth of the bay. Soon they would be back at the dock, doing the boring hard work of sewing the canvas tent back to the rail.

  “You’re right.” Maria sighed. Already she could see the enormous house in the cove beside theirs.

  “Is that where that guy lives?” Maria said. “Taylor what’s-his-name?”

  “Bradford.”

  “He’s super rich,” Maria said.

  “Yeah.” Paolo stared at Taylor’s mansion. The sleek motorboat and a couple of jet skis were tied to its dock.

  “And that’s just his mom’s house. His dad’s got a bigger house in Newport and a massive condo in Boston. And a ski lodge in Maine.”

  As they neared the shore, they dropped the sail and coasted in. Paolo handed Maria the wheel and jumped onto the dock with the stern line. He quickly wrapped it around the bollard and stopped the boat. Then he secured the rest of the lines.

  “Our parents are getting their sunset picnic,” Maria said. “We can at least have our sunset picnic, right?”

  “Yeah,” Paolo said. “We can put the tent up after.”

  Maria sat at the stern and laid out corn bread, deviled eggs, and tomato salad. Paolo sat beside her and they dangled their legs over the water as they ate. The sun was large and low and turning the waves copper.

  “My dad told me if you keep your eyes on the sun, you’ll see a green flash as it disappears over the horizon,” Paolo said.

  “We’ll have to put the tent up before that.” Maria held the jar of Hattie’s homemade pickles out for him. “Have you ever seen it?”

  “No.” He was staring at the horizon. Then he took a deep breath and held it so long Maria put the jar down and looked at him.

  “My mom was really messed up after my dad died,” he finally said.

  Maria didn’t know how to answer. She watched him close his eyes, then open them. She’d never had anyone die on her. She couldn’t imagine it.

  “I mean, it was so unexpected it was ridiculous! She just kind of lay there on the sofa, and she wasn’t doing laundry, or cleaning, or anything. I guess I smelled pretty bad for a while there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maria said.

  He went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “And I was wearing my dad’s old army stuff—his dog tags and coat—because that was the only thing I had of his. I don’t know, I guess it made me feel like he was still out there somehow. So that’s the Major part: Army Major. And I was like majorly dirty—ha, ha. And now everyone calls me it. The whole school. All the time. And I can’t do anything about it because I already got busted twice for fighting.”

  “It’s okay,” Maria said. “It doesn’t matter what people call you. Everyone calls me ugly. And I don’t care, because I know I am.”

  “No you’re not,” Paolo said. “You look…” He squinted at her. “Normal.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Maria said.

  “Anytime,” Paolo said.

  “Do I look normal now?” Maria crossed her eyes and fattened her lips.

  “Very normal,” Paolo said.

  “How about now?” She rolled her eyes back till the whites showed and flared her nostrils.

  “Even better,” Paolo said. “But really, I prefer this look.”

  He shoved a hard-boiled egg into his mouth so it pushed his lip out like a chimpanzee’s.

  “Oh, that’s pretty,” Maria said. She shoved an egg in her mouth the same way.

  Paolo swallowed his egg whole, rather disgustingly. “Gorgeous,” he said.

  27

  SQUARE ONE

  After her morning visits with Mr. Ironwall, Maria generally found Paolo in the kitchen with his mother. Hattie would feed them something (which Paolo would wolf down so quickly he could barely have tasted it), and then they would either go off on their bicycle adventures or head over to the boat to make repairs.

  But the next day Paolo wasn’t in the kitchen with Hattie.

  “Where’s Paolo?” Maria tried to sound casual, but she felt nervous. Maybe she’d been too weird or something last night. She cringed, remembering the faces she’d made.

  “Oh, Harry took him fishing. Pops decided Paolo had too much time on his hands if he was going around stealing boats. It’s time he learned a useful trade.”

  Maria remembered Paolo saying something about that. How he would have to go fishing as punishment for stealing the yacht club catboat.

  Hattie set out a plate with steamed mussels, sliced bread to mop the sauce up with, and an empty bowl for shells. “He certainly isn’t going to be a rocket scientist with grades like he got, despite your efforts, Maria. Which I do appreciate.”

  “When is he getting back?” Maria asked.

  “You won’t see him for a couple of days. But he told me to tell you: You know what to do.” Hattie turned back to the sink. “Whatever that means. Is it something for school? Because I don’t want you doing his schoolwork for him.”

  “No. No. We were just, you know, just building something … a clubhouse.” Maria stopped talking by digging into the food.

  “Well, I hope you two aren’t making a mess. And don’t use anything from the shed. Frank says things have been moved around. He still swears someone stole his keys and took the golf cart for a joyride. I just hope it wasn’t you two.”

  After she was done eating, Maria wandered over to the boat. If Paolo had been with her, they might have taken Brutus along—he liked to swim off the beach—but since he was gone, she figured she’d just hang out belowdecks and read.

  But when Maria climbed through the gap between the tarp and the rail, something was wrong. Her foot came down on a round object; it rolled underfoot and she heard the sickening sound of breaking glass. She’d stepped on the glass chimney of a kerosene lamp. The lamps usually hung on the wall of the cabin below. It made no sense that she should have stepped on one up here, on deck.

  She looked about. Nothing was where they’d left it. Nothing was the way they had left it. The lines had all been pulled from the pulley blocks, and all the pulley blocks lay scattered about. Whatever could be taken apart had been taken apart, and more than a few things looked smashed—as if whoever had done the damage had taken whatever heavy thing lay at hand and banged it about indiscriminately.

  Had they secured the boom tent properly after their sail last night? Maria couldn’t remember. They’d been having so much fun; maybe they’d been careless. Or maybe someone saw them out sailing; maybe someone saw them come back into the bay. Maybe Taylor.

  Maria wandered the deck, stunned and heartsick. The dinghy had a dent, the sails had been unstrung from the stays, and the deck was littered with objects previously stored below. She didn’t even want to go into the cabin to see the wreckage there.

  But she forced herself down the ladder and gazed, nauseated, at the destruction. All their weeks of work—undone. The drawers had been pulled from the cabinets, upended, and their contents thrown all over. The books pulled down from the shelves lay broken-backed on the floor. Whatever cushions and pillows hadn’t been thrown up onto the deck lay trampled and muddy. Someone had even taken the bouquets she had made, torn the petals from the stems, dumped the water, and shattered the vases.

  Maria brushed her sleeve across her eyes. She would not cry. She would clean. She had done it once before, she could do it again.

  She found the whisk broom and dustpan and began sweeping. It seemed so pointless. They were back to square one. There was no way she could repair all this damage without Paolo’s help. And she had no idea when he’d be back.

  28

  FIRE ESCAPE

  The morning after the destruction, when Maria walked Brutus on the beach, she felt as she had back in her old neighborhood, walking home from school watching out for Bad Barbies. Afterward, she paid a quick and distracted visit to Mr.
Ironwall, in which he’d become frustrated by her “lack of conversational skills” and insisted she needed books, “good books, to improve your mind.” He dismissed her with a cranky wave.

  She decided to spend the afternoon repairing what damage she could. When she slipped under the tarp, her heart pounded. What if Taylor and his buddy Josh were back on the boat undoing all the work she’d done the day before? They could come back anytime and wreck everything again. If the boat was trashed, then she and Paolo couldn’t use it for the treasure hunt. And they’d have to either forget about it or come crawling to Taylor for his boat.

  She resented cleaning and fixing things a second time, but mostly she resented the creepy feeling she now had. It was as if she’d had something special, something she’d worked really hard on and felt really good about, and Taylor Bradford had snatched it from her and thrown it in the mud. The boat had been her chance to change her future. With it, she could get the treasure, buy a house, and never have to move back to the Bronx. They could stay on Martha’s Vineyard forever. Without it, what could she really do?

  Be realistic, her mother would say.

  Maria did her best to put aside her worries and concentrate on fixing things. Cleaning below and putting things back in their proper spots—that wasn’t so hard. It was just like the work she’d done before. But the rigging! She consulted the mildewed books she’d brought up from below. Whatever she didn’t understand, she left for Paolo’s return.

  She tied the tarp tightly and hoped it would stay tied till she returned the next day.

  Maria kicked at clamshells as she walked home. It was now July 10—just days before they had to sail. And still Paolo was not back. And the boat was not finished. And she still didn’t know what time the Queen would tread upon the door, so she had no idea which island the treasure was on, or whether they should leave early in the morning on the sixteenth or late at night. And she was no closer to figuring out how she’d sneak past her mother.

  She entered the cottage and sighed. There was just one door, and that was so close to the sofa where Celeste slept; there was no way Maria could slip out without waking her mom. It was hopeless.