Dead in the Water

tried lifting the body, but I couldn’t budge it. Finally I got the main halyard around him and winched him intoa sort of standing position. When I let out on the line, he fell to leeward, and I was able to get him onto the side deck and undo the halyard. Then I released the lifelines and got him overboard.”
    “What did you do next?”
    She swallowed hard, then continued calmly. “I said a prayer for Paul’s soul, then I began to think about sailing the boat. Dawn came; I got the mainsail up with a winch and got us headed due west, and I repaired the headsail reefing swivel with a little steel clip. We had half a dozen spares, and we had already used half of them. Paul often talked about finding some more permanent solution to the problem, but he never did. Finally I got the headsail up again. I set the self-steering gear, as Paul had taught me, and I got a sleeping bag and slept in the cockpit through the morning. It was easy sailing, and with one or two direction changes as the wind came up, I got through the day. I slept in the cockpit that night, and by the second day, I was getting used to sailing the boat.”
    “So you just kept heading due west?”
    “No, there was a book on board about celestial navigation; I couldn’t find the manuals for the GPS or the high-frequency radio. I had never taken any real interest in the subject before—Paul had always done the navigating—but he had shown me how to use the sextant. From the book I learned how to find our latitude, and I just tried to keep us on the right latitude the rest of the way. We finished up a little farther south than I had tried for; our landfall was at St. Marks, instead of Antigua.”
    Sir Winston reached into his briefcase and broughtout two books. He showed one to Allison Manning. “And you kept this logbook?”
    “Yes, after Paul died I kept the log in a sort of abbreviated fashion. Paul was always very meticulous about recording everything, as you can see by reading the earlier entries.”
    Sir Winston held up the other book, a leather-bound volume. “And do you recognize this book?”
    She looked at it. “Yes, he bought that in Las Palmas, and he wrote in it a lot.”
    “Did you ever read what he wrote in this book, Mrs. Manning?”
    “No. He often made notes in such a book.”
    “Mrs. Manning, are you quite able to continue? Would you like a rest?”
    “No, I’m fine; I’d like to go on.”
    “Good, good. Tell me, Mrs. Manning, how would you describe your relationship with your husband?”
    “We had a good marriage; we were very content and happy.”
    Sir Winston looked surprised. “Really? You didn’t have fights, arguments?”
    “Rarely. Oh, I suppose anyone who’s married has an argument now and then, but we got along well.”
    “No children?”
    “No. Paul didn’t want children.”
    “But you did?”
    “Well, yes, but I suppose Paul was more important to me. I didn’t want to ruin our marriage by having a child unless Paul wanted one, too.”
    “So you were deeply in love with your husband?”
    She hesitated. “I loved him, yes,” she said finally.
    “Did you treat him well?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “You were a good wife at all times?”
    “I tried to be,” she replied. “Excuse me, sir, but what are you getting at?”
    Sir Winston opened the leather-bound book and showed her a page. “Is this your husband’s handwriting?”
    “Yes, it is.” Allison Manning was looking concerned for the first time.
    “Let me read you some of what your husband wrote in this book,” Sir Winston said, opening the book at a marked page. “I quote: ‘They had been on the boat together for months now, and she had been the perfect bitch.’” Sir Winston paused, looked at the jury, then continued. “‘She had always had a temper, but now she frightened him with the intensity of her anger.’” He looked at Allison Manning as if to elicit a response, but she said nothing; she looked stunned.
    Sir Winston turned to another marked passage. “‘They argued one day as she was making lunch. She had a chef’s knife in her hand, and for a moment, he thought she might use it on him. He slept badly that night, waking often, expecting to feel the blade in his back.’”
    Allison Manning was suddenly on her feet; her face was red and contorted with anger. “That’s not about us, dammit! It’s written in the third person, don’t you see? What are you trying to do, you bastard?”
    Sir Winston feigned shock at her