O’Mahoney climbed into the front seat of the jeep and Kerrigan got in beside him, carefully shutting the plywood door. Kerrigan started the engine and slowly they drove down the dock.
The Chaplain took a last look at the ship as they drove by her. The crew was hosing down the decks and the longshoremen were closing the hatch.
“I’ll bet you’re glad to be off that boat.”
O’Mahoney nodded. “You know, that trip took years, literally years off my life. I don’t think that I’m the same person now that I was when I left Andrefski.”
“How come?”
“Oh, the wind and all that. Fear, I suppose you’d call it. Somehow all the little things that used to bother me don’t seem important now, if you know what I mean.”
“That right?” Kerrigan looked at him with interest. “There must be something purging about being so near to death.”
“I think so.” The Chaplain sighed. “Jealousy and things like that. Being afraid to die and things like that. They seem unimportant now.” The Chaplain said these things and meant them.
“It must have been a great experience. I understand one of the men was lost.”
“That’s right. Poor fellow fell overboard. He was a Catholic.”