West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

  “Nothing like a afternoon swim to get the old juices flowing,” Alex said smiling sarcastically. “Does trouble follow you everywhere she goes or is this just a coincidence?” Alex asked Rob.

  “I don’t know, but maybe we should get off this island before one of us gets eaten,” said Rob about to soil his pants.

  Without a thought, Raymond picked up a bucket of water from the deck and poured it over Sydney’s head as Alex watched wishing like hell that she’d had the pleasure. Sydney sat up gasping for air – sputtering like an engine with a broken shear pin.

  Alex dressed and left Rob to wait for Sydney to shower and change into her grossly over dressed evening attire. Although a bit late, Alex made it to the bar in time to still catch Jacques for a round of petite punch with the owner of the establishment and his son, not to mention numerous other regulars. Alex was quite enjoying the attention she was being paid by Jacques and was feeling, quite rightly, as attractive as she looked that evening, since she’d actually put on a dress and make-up and had even worn her hair down. When Rob and Sydney finally arrived, he didn’t even recognize her until she called his name and motioned for them to sit down.

  “So you’re the young lady that caused all the excitement today,” said Jacques, laughing good heartedly as he poured Sydney a shot of rum.

  Sydney hesitated taking it since she was quite hung over from her morning’s medication, but she shrugged and downed it figuring it might actually help the pain between her eyes. Rob was relieved that she had not taken his comment as an insult and that she seemed to be so overwhelmed from the days events, she had mellowed into an unusual manageable state. By the time they had gotten to the little restaurant called, Maya’s, on Public Beach behind the commercial dock – she had graduated to champagne and was actually becoming quite tolerable, Alex thought.

  “So tell me Rob, where’s my friend Joey. And how on earth did you convince him to sell you half of his boat. I would have thought you’d have to kill him to get him to let go of a single share of his baby,” joked Jacques.

  “Actually,” laughed Rob, “He does seem to have disappeared… I have no idea where he is. He left the night I wrote him the check and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “See,” chortled Jacques, “Maybe you killed him and disposed of the body.” “Well then,” lamented Rob sarcastically. “I guess that mean his ghost cashed the check,” sending Jacques into roaring laughter.

  By the main course, Jacques was holding Alex’s hand and the group had already polished off a bottle of champagne and a bottle of wine. And Rob, who was starting to feel a little tipsy himself, was feeling an unexplained surge of jealousy rise in him every time he saw Jacques smile at Alex and she returned the gesture – even if Sydney was hanging all over him in an exuberant embrace. It really bothered Rob that Alex was quite obviously enjoying the attention she was receiving. “I can’t believe how incredible she looks tonight,” thought Rob, totally ignoring Sydney who kept whispering in his ear and rubbing his leg trying to get his undivided attention.

  Alex had become an undeniable distraction for him that evening. Rob had never seen Alex dressed in anything other than a bikini, shorts or sweats, and there she was in a dress, heels, and make-up. For the first time Rob realized – Alex was quite beautiful. And, although Alex found Jacques quite attractive, she was having trouble taking her eyes off of Rob.

  Rob had asked Alex if it would be possible to move the boat to a deserted anchorage before dawn, to avoid an early morning shopping spree in Gustavia before they could get the boat off the dock. so, late that night after dinner. Jacques escorted the Island Fever around the point to Columbier Bay with more selfish reasons in mind than making certain Alex was safe. Once Alex had set the anchor, Jacques convinced her to go for a midnight stroll along the beach in Rockefeller Bay. Taking full advantage of his official standing on the island, Jacques docked the patrol boat alongside the private Rockefeller dock in hopes of impressing her. He took her hand as they strolled along the surf talking about the island and the Island Fever which Jacques was impressed to learn, Alex had helped build. Alex talked easily and laughed comfortably with Jacques until he asked about her family. That was where Alex turned cold – her personal life was just that – personal, and she was not willing to discuss it with a man she’d only known less than twenty-four hours.

  Back on the boat, Rob couldn’t sleep and had left Sydney snoring away in the bunk, and had gone up on deck to stare at the stars – wishing Alex were there to stare with him. But what in fact Rob was staring at was the shore where he knew Alex and Jacques had gone – alone. It had been a long time since he’d felt jealousy towards anyone other than Dirk at his reunion with Julie Ann. But tonight, it welled up in him – gnawed at him – and made him wonder what he was doing engaged to Sydney. Rob was confused – torn by a sensation brewing in the pit of his stomach.

  “Of course I’m doing the right thing marrying Sydney,” Rob reasoned. “But then why do I have this overwhelming desire to race ashore and make Alex come back to the boat,” he questioned.

  The moon wasn’t full enough for him to see them on shore, but Rob sensed Jacques arms around Alex and his lips on hers as they kissed on the beach. Indeed, Alex sat next to Jacques with, his arm around her just above the high tide mark, and she did let him kiss her. And although, his French accent and his uniform enticed her, something was missing – something important. That spark of raw physical and spiritual attraction that unfortunately just wasn’t there – only an intellectual inquisitive-ness that prompted her to pursue it a little further. Actually, her thoughts were elsewhere. In fact, they were still back on the Island Fever in the master birth. Alex wondered how Rob could actually bring himself to marry Sydney. She knew that somehow she had to save him from his fate – somehow she would have to find a way. But unbeknownst to her, fate would intervene and assist Rob with his newest dilemma. Did he really want to marry the woman who was already known in the Caribbean as a one woman demolition team?

  Around four in the morning Alex had still not returned to the boat. But, Rob was so tired he’d fallen asleep in the deck-house on the settee and never heard Alex, who’d come in just before dawn. Of course, Alex had yet to get any real sleep for the last forty-eight hours but she felt refreshingly revived by her brief affair d’amour.

  Morning came way too early for Rob. When the island roosters and peacocks started crowing at the hint of first light, he sat up wondering if Alex had ever made it back to her bunk. He was actually quite surprised when she appeared in the deck-house around eight all bright and chipper and quite unlike herself – refused Raymond’s fresh brewed coffee. Jacques arrived in his patrol boat by nine to take Alex for café and croissants before he cleared them out to take their leave to St. Maarten. By the time she had returned to the boat at eleven, Raymond had finished his morning meditations and the breakfast dishes, and was removing the awning and sail covers. Alex had brought back fresh pastries for Rob and Sydney, courtesy of Jacques as a small token of their new friendship.

  As she was kissing Jacques good-bye, Rob stumbled out of the head, showered and dressed in his bathing suit and T-shirt. Of course, the sight of Alex kissing Jacques did not leave him in the best mood nor did his aching head from the previous night’s libations. By now I was wondering what it would really take for Rob and Alex to acknowledge the rapidly increasing gravity between them – a little magic that we here on ‘The Other Side’ are allowed to perform when the occasion arises.

  A hungover Rob gulped down a handful of aspirin with a third black espresso and deposited himself on the starboard jib winch seat. Unable to speak for a good thirty minutes, he watched while Alex readied the boat motor to pull the boat in closer to shore so they could have a quick swim to wash away their morning hangovers. Alex dropped a stern anchor and motored up close to shore dropping her bow anchor just off the beach – allowing the boat to drift back slightly on her bow anchor rode4* while taking in the scope5** on the stern anchor. T
he bay dropped off quickly from shore allowing a cat to anchor, on a calm day, just yards off the sand.

  That way she figured Rob and Sydney would be able to wade ashore and avoid, the dinghy altogether. The Rockefeller estate was private property and since they had never built a road to it, the access to the beach had remained unapproachable by land to the public, unless one wanted to make the forty minute hike in the hot sun from Anse des Flamandes. But, since all beachfront in the French West Indies was considered public domain, the beach at Rockefeller Bay was technically deemed for public use even if the current owners of Rockefeller Bay, one of several owners since it was sold by the Rockefellers in the seventies, owned the entire point.

  Rob was quite relieved to have retreated to their deserted anchorage for the day to avoid any further unneces-sary expenditures or additional excess baggage –after all the deserted bay technique had worked where their rock’n rollers were concerned, why shouldn’t the same principle of simple availability apply here? By twelve, Sydney had finally regained consciousness. She arose from the bunk looking like hell – her make-up all smeared and her hair looking as if several bats had nested there. It took her an hour to put herself together and make her appearance for the day, in one of her many new designer bikinis and pareos,6* hoping to catch a glimpse of some elite inhabitants of their morning’s anchorage.

  Alex suggested that they swim ashore and do a little exploring since the water here was relatively safe and the property was filled with exotic birds such as peacocks and some type of rare Chinese geese. Uncertainly, Sydney unwound her pareo and climbed down the ladder to swim the few yards to shore with Rob, Raymond went below to bake some quiches for lunch, and Alex stretched out on a deck cushion to read a little poetry and get a little sun – making sure that Rob and Sydney had reached the shore safely before she lost herself in her book.

  On shore Rob and Sydney walked along the beach towards the estate house and dock on the western most point, picking up broken shells and beach glass. Alex watched from the boat as the peacocks wandered the hillside fanning their tails and strutting for the females – their screeching call piercing the silence of the peaceful scenery. Not that different, though Alex, than guys like Joey who used their physical possessions to attract members of the opposite sex.

  Sydney’s curiosity was getting the best of her about the 1940’s house that she’d heard so much about and she insisted on getting a closer look as she dragged Rob along up the hill toward the house. Suddenly, from out of nowhere. a pack of huge white birds appeared from behind the house marching down the hillside, at an alarming rate, shouting loud cries which sounded like fussy old ladies chasing a purse thief.

  Before Rob realized what was happening, the huge, three foot tall geese were upon them screeching and pecking as they chased them, like watch dogs, off the property. Alex heard the screeching of the birds but paid little attention since she was quite used to the sound, having anchored here more than once before. That is, she paid no attention until she heard Rob and Sydney’s screams coming from the beach as they ran just ahead of the attacking angry birds. She couldn’t help but snicker a little at the sight of Sydney running in an undignified manner from six angry geese. However, she did feel an obligation to Rob to jump in the dinghy and go to their rescue just as Rob and Sydney dove in the water to escape the birds who stopped just short of the water’s edge – having done their job to keep trespassers off the property. Alex killed the engine as the two swam desperately towards the dinghy. Rob reached it first and climbed over the rubber side as gracefully as a seal might waddle into an automobile. He turned and pulled Sydney aboard the very same vessel that she had sworn to never set foot in again, but was at that moment quite grateful to climb aboard.

  “Get me out of this place,” screamed Sydney as she rubbed the beak marks on her posterior where the geese had nipped at her as she ran. It seemed it was time to leave St. Barth behind and head on their journey to the ‘friendly island,’ of St. Maarten.

  1*COCONUT TELEGRAPH — Now the ‘coconut telegraph,’ a form of communication which is somewhat akin to the jungle drum, is the only reliable means of communication in the islands and is far more efficient than any inter-island telephone system. In the islands, should you need to send an urgent message, just tell any two locals in the morning and by the next afternoon it will have spread for at least a two hundred mile radius; within the ‘Yachty’2** community, wait a week and it will have crossed an ocean. One should be certain however, never to depend on the carrier pigeon in the West Indies, since in the islands, pigeon is considered a delicacy.

  2**YACHTY — Is the word used in the islands to describe that strange breed of transient sailor whose worldly possessions are circumscribed by their vessel and whose definition of home is wherever they choose to drop their anchor for more than a twenty-four hour period.

  3*BRIDGEDECK – Bridgedeck meaning the deck which is suspended over water that spans the gap separating the two hulls of a catamaran.

  4*RODE — The anchor line consisting of either rope, chain, or cable.

  5**SCOPE — The length or ratio of anchor rode in relation to the depth of the water. In good conditions, four times the depth of the water is the rule-of-thumb, however in bad conditions the scope should be increased to as much as ten to one.

  6*PAREO — A traditional Polynesian wrap which is also known in some cultures as a sarong, and has been adopted by our culture as a designer bathing suit cover. It’s a simple piece of fabric which is tied around one’s body in an unlimited number of ways.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Guilt

  “Difficulties are the very road to immortality.”

  La Tzu

  Rob was feeling quite guilty by that point that Sydney had experienced so much trauma in the first forty-eight hours of her visit to Paradise, not to mention how worried he was about appeasing her. He was hoping that wining and dining her and dancing til dawn in St. Maarten, not to mention a little gambling in one of the island’s casinos, might help him to make it up to her. He was a bit concerned however, about the wonderland of duty-free shopping in Philipsburg, but luckily, Raymond had told him that the stores were all closed for Carnival – at least on the Dutch side. If he could keep her away from the French side, which didn’t observe Carnival on the same date, Sydney’s shopping might actually be limited to a few airport trinkets on her way out, three days hence. A moment that would come none too soon for Rob.

  To Rob’s relief, the downwind sail to St. Maarten was as uneventful and boring as a White Sox game with no runs. And Sydney by this point, was sleeping like a baby on the foredeck, thanks to her trusty prescription for Valium, which she’d topped off with one of Raymond’s famous margaritas. Although, the Island Fever was riding an inch or so lower on her waterline due to their added cargo, life was okay for the moment and Rob was quite optimistic about the prospects of a pleasant few days in St. Maarten. He was convinced that they were over the worst of the storm, but, Rob had never been through a hurricane. Little did he know that he was merely in the deceivingly calm eye and that brutal punch was yet to come. Hurricane, Sydney, it seemed, had arrived early in the season, and Rob was soon to learn why for years meteorologists had only named tropical storms and hurricanes after women. With today’s advances in social etiquette and twentieth century equality of the sexes, women had demanded that men share in the blame for one of mother nature’s most destructive forces and the custom of alternating every other storm between men’s and women’s names had become the accepted standard.

  Alex allowed Rob to take the helm once she had set the spinnaker,1* but she stood close to him as she helped him to get the feel of steering on a spinnaker run. With a following sea and the four thousand square feet of canvas, or mylar, which billowed out ahead of the boat pulling it at wind speed over the wave tops and down through the trough of the following wave, steering was a tricky proposition. Flying a kite was a little unruly, but eventually Rob got the hang of it. A catamaran was l
ight enough to ride more or less on top of the water and due to the length of the Island Fever, which spanned several wave crests at any given moment since the waves in the Atlantic ran quite close together, this downwind sail offered a smoother ride than a Cadillac. Whenever a large wave caressed the sterns of the boat, it would raise it with it’s forward momentum and carry it quite some distance, not unlike a surfer at Wakiki – until it decided to leave off its playmate and pass on its way northwest to the Virgin Islands. There it would wash up on some pristine beach for some surfer hoping to catch something that could qualify as a real wave in the Caribbean. Although not known for its surfing, as the Hawaiian Islands are, the Caribbean make up in its reliable sailing what it fails to offer the consummate surfer.