Working Title: "Slow Boat, Bitter End"

A Rony Boston Mystery by RJ Stewart

(This is a work of fiction. Some stuff is probably true, but most is made up. Readers can fact-check things they doubt, such as Islamic law regarding burial, and let the author know about errors.)

THE OTHER GUESTS slowly came forward, stared into the darkness, and screamed in horror at the realization of what had happened. The Wyoming cowboys were there, and so were the Merry Maidens, Judith and Abra, huddled together, their bathrobes rustling in the wind as they clutched their agonized faces. Henry and Ruthie folded into each other’s arms in horror. The gay couple had seemed to sleep through it all, and I didn’t see anything of Griselda. Some of the crew was missing, too. The Bulgarian, Ataturk, and the captain were not there.

* * *

The situation grew more troublesome by the hour. Perhaps our voyage would need to end. Surely, we’d need to go ashore and report the death. The corpse would need to be buried, and next of kin notified. Who would even want to continue a vacation under these circumstances?

Captain Yusef was obviously upset by the unpleasantness. He had a boatload of well-paying guests, and his mission was to ensure their safety and provide for their comfort. Now staring him in the face was a morbid accident. Matters worse, it turned out the victim was the berth attendant, the young and beautiful Aylin, horribly fallen to her death from the front of the boat. Perhaps she was lured there by the moon, perhaps just unable to sleep, perhaps … how could we know? In any event, for now the challenge was to notify the authorities and dispose of her body at the nearest port.

At least that’s what I thought. Capt. Yusef had other ideas.

What kind of uncivilized country would not require definite protocol in the event of a death at sea? It turned out the rule of law at sea is for the captain to decide, and Yusef decided on a burial at sea. I’ll be honest; I questioned that. What would the parents of this young woman think? Didn’t she have brothers or sisters, a boyfriend, friends who would want to be involved? The thing to do is head back to Marmaris. Certainly, Islam must have traditions regarding proper burial. I quickly searched my iPhone and learned that Islamic law requires the body to be put in the ground, not dumped in the sea. True enough, but in the case of a death at sea there are options, and the captain is in charge. At lunch, Yusef explained.

My friends, I am so sorry for the girl Aylin. She was a very kind person, good to her crew mates, her passengers, and good to herself. How this horrible accident could have happened is not known. Islam requires the body to be buried before decay begins, and I’m afraid we cannot possibly make that happen without disrupting our itinerary. We shall give her the respect she deserves, and that Islam expects. This afternoon at four we will dispose of her body properly. You, as the last people on Earth that she saw, are welcome to join us in the solemn ceremony. As captain I will preside, with assistance from my mates.

I sat as before at the head of the table, trying not to look at the meal, because my appetite had left me. I felt bad for the cook, losing his assistant, but as usual he did an excellent job, taking up the duties of service as well. Aylin had been a joy to the atmosphere aboard the vessel, providing humor and lightness, grace and energy for us all. And now, her funeral at sea? What were we going to witness? Captain Yusef went on:

We have two choices. We can attach weights to the body and sink it gently into the sea, preferably in a location where it will not be quickly eaten by scavengers, or we can secure the body between two planks of wood and set it adrift with hopes that it will soon come ashore. There, Islam followers can bury her with proper orientation as if in eternal prayer. I have chosen the latter, because we are not so far at sea that the body will drift endlessly.

This was a preposterous plan. We were strangers, and now we were to become witnesses to a funeral involving a young woman who died in an accident? I looked around the table – somber expressions everywhere. Then Henry spoke up.

Sir, I have served in the U.S. navy, and in my four years we never had occasion to have a burial at sea. It is most unusual. This is not my ship, nor is it my country, but I want to say that I for one would not mind if we had to return to Marmaris to take care of this terrible business.

Ruthie quickly agreed. So did Judith and Abra. Neil and Barbara nodded approval. I was quiet, perhaps deferring to Griselda, but she, Tad and Geoffrey had only this morning learned of the situation and perhaps were too stunned to say anything.

The captain is in charge, Vasil said.

He barely looked up. It was clear that he, the crew and the captain understood the culture and the rest of us did not. To me, it would have been much better to return to port, take care of everything, then be on our way. We were only a day out; and as far as I knew we had hove-to last night; it made no sense at all. The passengers already had assured the captain and crew that they were willing to suspend their voyage and return to port. It had not occurred to me until much later that the authorities on shore might have wanted an inquiry, statements maybe, perhaps even an investigation. In a voice of authority, Captain Yusef settled the matter.

It may be difficult for you to understand, but this is what is best. This afternoon at four.

With that he sat down and ate his lunch. Others did the same. I looked at Griselda and she was silent. I wished our guide, and his cheery smile, would take over, but Gungor, who had a difficult night, was evidently abdicating his duties for a few hours.

At four, I went to the stern. All guests already were on hand, and the crew had assembled, too. The body had been placed on a plank about twelve inches wide, and another of the same width and length secured on top. The planks were lashed tightly together. From what I could see of it, the body had been wrapped in cloth. Aylin and her casket were placed at the end of the gangway, which was lowered to its horizontal position. The diesel engine idled quietly, and I could see a wake indicating slight forward movement. There was no land in sight, and I wondered about our position. I could have used my iPhone, and vowed I would do that later, but I didn’t.

Griselda moved near me, and it occurred to me that she, too, was planning a burial at sea. I checked to see if she had brought the urn, but there was nothing. She stood with her arms folded, wearing an expression of dread. I thought again of our time the night before and was struck by the variety of expressions the human face can display. Thoughtful and circumspect last night, quietly on the sideline at lunch, and now grimly grouped for a burial with strangers. What a somber voyage this had become. Death was in front of me on the gangway, and an emissary of death was at my side. My own reason for being here was to lay to rest my recent history and my troubled past. It may have been selfish of me, but I wanted the ceremony over and done with so I could move on with the voyage and my interest in Griselda.