ADVENTURE ON OCRACOKE ISLAND; CHAPTER 9: A LIFESAVER TELLS HIS STORY (NINTH OF 14 PARTS)

THE STORY SO FAR: Delia has started school and made another friend, a girl named Katie Marlborough. After returning from lunch at home on the first day, Delia and Aunt Hetty are pleased to see that Ben, Delia's other new friend, has decided to come back. When Delia walks home at the end of the day, she races past the graveyards on Howard Street, not daring to look at them.

Delia was hungry after running in the fresh air at school. She sat in the kitchen and ate a biscuit with fig preserves. Grandpa was nowhere to be found.

Afterward, Delia went outside. She heard voices down at the harbor docks. She walked down to where Grandpa docked his two old skiffs. Aunt Hetty had told Delia all about Grandpa and what he called his "purty little boats." Both were small, flat skiffs. One was a sailing skiff, called "Pamlico Queen," which he used for most of his fishing. Because it was small and shallow, it was easy to maneuver, and even with his bad arm he could usually manage the sails by himself if Ben wasn't with him.

The other skiff, "Essie Marie," had a motor attached to it. But, as gasoline was scarce and expensive, Grandpa rarely used it. He also rarely used it because he thought the motor's noise scared the fish away. "You get a feelin' about things over time," he had said last night at supper. "Where the currents are, where the fish are, when the storms are comin'. It's instinct."

There were some fishermen working here and there, and Grandpa was one of them. He sat off by himself on an overturned bucket, mending a net. Delia watched him for a moment. Under his jacket, he wore a faded blue work shirt. Delia recognized it from the quilt on her bed.

Grandpa had removed his hat, and the bald spot on his head shone like a wet rock in the sun.

Delia stood quietly until he looked up at her, startled. "Eh, girl," he said awkwardly. "How was school then?"

"It was fine," Delia said. "I made a friend and some of the kids played meehonkey.'"

Grandpa actually chuckled. "I remember that ole game," he said.

Delia tried to think of something to say. "Are you going fishing?" she asked.

"In the mornin'," he said. "Done for today. Got me a couple of gray trout and more oysters."

There was a bucket of oysters and a small pile of silvery fish in the bottom of the boat.

Delia watched Grandpa's hands while he worked. They were dry and chapped, and there was a little blood on them. One hand was a pinkish color on the back, and a shiny, mottled scar ran up the arm and disappeared under the sleeve.

Delia's mother had told her how, in 1918, Grandpa had become a hero. He was a young man then, and he'd been sent home with honors from the war in Europe because he'd been wounded by an explosion. It had permanently damaged his hearing, too.

After his wounds healed, he was restless and angry. He wanted to do something.

So he joined the U.S. Life Saving Service up the Banks at Chicamacomico. And in August 1918, the crew saw a horrifying accident at sea. A British tanker called the "Mirlo" had struck by a German mine and the cargo of fuel caught fire as the ship was sinking. Flaming gasoline shot across the surface of the water, a "sea of fire," it was called. Ten men died, but six, although badly burned, were saved.

Grandpa himself was badly burned, and his arm was so mangled in a rope that he nearly lost it. It was a famous story up and down the Banks, but Grandpa never told the story himself.

"He still has nightmares," Aunt Hetty had told Delia, who wanted to know the story. "He never wants to talk about it."

So now, standing on the dock, Delia looked at her Grandpa's scarred hand and said nothing about it. Instead, she said, "Can I come along some time?"

Grandpa looked up. "You want to fish?" He pronounced it "feesh." "It's dirty. Cold. A lot of work, too." He eyed her doubtfully, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand.

"I can work," Delia said. She didn't know anything about fish, but she thought she should learn. She thought she should get over her fear of the water, too.

"They say it's bad luck to have a woman on a ship," Grandpa said. His face had a crooked smile. Delia thought he was teasing her.

"But I would be good luck, I think," she said.

So they started fishing together, and she was good luck after all. Sometimes Ben came with them, but he was often too busy with homework.

Grandpa made it clear that they would fish only in the sound and the inlet, never offshore. "Too dangerous," he grumbled. "Dirty Nazis, sneakin' around like sharks."

Sometimes they went early on Saturdays, sometimes after school. He showed her how to help with the sails, and how to help pull up the nets, squirming with fish. They picked oysters from the shallow water of the Sound. And Delia learned that everything tasted better when you had caught it yourself.

Grandpa never said much, but Delia didn't mind. She began to like his silent company.

Then one day he surprised her.

It was a sunny day with round white clouds floating overhead. They were fishing in the sound, just the two of them, southwest of the island where the inlet opened to the sea.

Delia looked out at the wide blue water.

"Everything looks so calm and nice out there, but it's so terrible," she said. "At night I dream about people in the water. I wish we could help them."

Grandpa frowned. "You dream about 'em?" he asked.

Delia nodded.

Grandpa stared at her for a long time. "You must have it in your blood, then," he said quietly. "I dream about 'em, too." Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve. He showed her his scarred, puckered arm. "I wish I could help, too, but I'm not much good in a rescue no more," he said.

Then he told her about the "Mirlo," and the man he had saved.

"It was a terrible sea of fire," he said, pronouncing it "far." "Hollerin' and moanin' and the smell of burnin' skin all around. We rowed as near to the flames as we dared. Then I saw a man, in the middle of it all, thrashin' around. I can still hear him screamin'. He was burnin'! He was like a human torch!" He leaned toward Delia and she could smell his warm, salty breath. His eyes looked frightened. "I reached into the fire to pull him out. I don't know how I done it. When my own skin started to burn I thought I was dyin' myself. It near about killed me."

He stopped, his face shiny with sweat, and looked out at the open water. "There's nothin' worse than the cries of a drownin' man," he said. His thoughts seemed to be far away.

"Were you ever afraid that you would drown, too?" Delia asked.

Grandpa nodded grimly. "The handbook says you have to go out," he said. "But it don't say you have to come back."

NEXT WEEK: Chapter 10: A Letter.