July 15: Today I took a photograph of Hamilton sitting at the wheel with the sun setting1 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.
“It’s just a photo,” I replied.
“It’s evidence,” he snapped back. This is the first evidence I have had that he even thinks we could be caught.
“Let 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.
July 16: Dead clam today. Hot.2 The sails hanging limply3 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 business4 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 so5 I could hear him creeping.6 He stalks me like a mumbling crocodile.