West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

  Overall, Grandpa’s life had been a good one. Not much had changed for him after retirement, since his old customers still came to visit him to share a familiar game of dominos and a petite rum punch. But for Grandma, the house had grown silent once all the kids were gone, and seeing Grandpa everyday, had taken some getting used to, as it had for him. But after a few years of getting on each other’s nerves they had simply learned to retreat to their corners and seek their own separate Paradise – which for Grandma was reading her mysteries and writing poetry, and for Grandpa, well Grandpa was quite content to have, Rob, his new resident domino partner on the premises.

  Maybe Grandpa’s life hadn’t changed over the years, however Rob’s life was currently providing as much change as a dollar bill changer at the local Laundromat. In fact, aside from laundry – Rob didn’t quite know what to do with all of the quarters that life was providing him. Somehow, he felt as if he’d received enough change over the last few weeks to handle a lifetime worth of dirty clothes.

  That morning while Rob sat under the coconut palms with Grandpa drinking their first rum & Coke of the day, he couldn’t help realizing as he stared at the Island Fever, how his life hadn’t turned out exactly the way he’d planned. In fact, instead of being well on his way to an early retirement, Rob was rapidly finding himself on his way to being a penniless pauper.

  “Some things just take time,” said Grandpa reading Rob’s mind. “You expect everything to be exactly the way you plan it to be,” responding less than sympathetically. If you always try to make things be a certain way – you be setting yourself up for disappointment. Dreams just don’t come true exactly the way we dream them. But, then again if you be learnin’ to accept things the way they come, you find you be really happy. Even if you won’t always know what the future will bring.”

  “Not knowing the future never presented itself as a problem before I came to live in the islands,” responded Rob. “The only thing that I seem to be able to count on here, other than change, is disaster and mayhem.”

  Rob was not only about to find that change was coming in his life like the rapid change of weather from a fast approaching thunder storm, but he was actually about to embark on an entirely new life. As a voyeur to Rob’s life, Grandpa, like myself, could plainly see the clouds brewing on the horizon, but he knew that forecasting its advance would be useless at this juncture and settled for a metaphorical approach rather than a prophetic one –

  “You see,” said Grandpa. “Life be like the weather during hurricane season in the West Indies, it changes from minute to minute. You just simply have to wait a while and it will be improvin’. The trick is, that you be open to change since it’s the only thing you can truly count on. Even a little rain or a storm serves its purpose.”

  Rob thought about this for a minute as he watched Alex show a local guy how to cut a new plank for the hull of the Island Fever. “The worst part of change is watching people change.”

  “You just can’t be bother by it,” replied Grandpa, taking note of the subject of Rob’s attention, “People always change… some for better, some for worse like the minister say. Especially women… they be changing their attitude ‘bout as often as they change their clothes. You just got to remember that underneath it be the same woman even though she be wearing a blue dress instead of a red one.”

  It took a while for it to sink in, but Rob did finally get on track with where Grandpa was heading with his observa-tion. Even if the train had already left the station without him.

  What Rob didn’t understand was that although Alex found Rob quite attractive, she was technically still peeved at him and being too stubborn for her own good, was far from ready to give him the pleasure of knowing she was indeed interested. If there was one lesson her father had taught her well aside from sailing, it was to play hard to get. “After all, men don’t run after a train if they’re already on it,” he used to say. So, even though Alex was at work on the boat, she made certain that the train was on the track and that she was still the engineer. Every time it seemed that Rob was about to catch the caboose, she’d leave him standing at the station wondering what he’d done wrong,

  “She’s just acting so strange,” Rob confessed to Grandpa with obvious concern as he watched Alex work.

  “With women strange not always be so bad. Strange just be, strange. If you try to figure ‘em, it’ll just run your own engine right out of steam. You just have to be acceptin’ how they are, an go bout your business,” said Grandpa with confidence, as he chuckled. “Grandma gets so many moods, she’d plum wear out one of those mood rings.”

  “Yeah, but I am used to a moody woman,” said Rob. “On that account no one had Sydney, my ex-fiancé beat. But Alex,” said Rob shaking his head, “I think she’s just not interested.”

  “Well you know Rob, it kind of be like tryin’ to sell a goat through a want-ad. No one be buyin your goat, if you don’t be runnin’ de ad.”

  Now Grandpa had a point there. Rob hadn’t exactly made another move to romance Alex since they were un-incarcerated. Especially since their little fiasco with the Island Fever. But then it seemed to him that she had made it pretty clear that she was not even in the market to buy a goat nor anything else Rob might be in the market to sell.

  Of course, selling a goat was just about the farthest thing from Rob’s mind, except owning one. But, like Grandpa said, life brings the unexpected – even if we thought we had it all well planned – it’s just not meant for us to predict in advance, nor even to fully understand once it has come to pass. So, that afternoon when Rob was walking back up the beach from the local marine store, an orphaned baby goat determined that Rob looked like a good substitute for mom, followed him back to their make-shift boatyard.

  The last thing that Rob needed right now was a pet – a horned and hoofed one at that. For that matter, it had been years since Rob had owned and animal of any kind, and didn’t have the slightest clue as to what to do with him. His last pet, a Collie named Magellan – his best friend since third grade, had died when he was in high school. He had named him after Ferdinand the explorer who was responsible for the first ship to successfully sail around the world. Rob had also raised pet show rabbits for years as a hobby for which his father called him a pussy, especially since he refused to eat them once they were too old to show. But then again, Rob’s father, Thomas, had called him that and every other name, from mama’s boy to milk-sop often over the years. This had given Rob a bit of a complex about his manhood, especially where women were concerned – resulting in his current shyness in approaching women.

  Contrary to Sydney’s modus operandi, Rob was not accustomed to making the first move in a relationship, and Alex was certainly not programmed to be the one to give up her hand and make the opening play. Luckily, when Rob arrived back at the cottage with that little lamb in tow, Grandma and Alex immediately took pity on the creature and made a bottle from a milk jug and a rubber glove in order to feed the hungry little guy. The two women cuddled and suckled that little goat as if it were their child, then named him Lambchop, even though he definitely wasn’t a sheep.

  I’ve always found it interesting that here in the islands, the difference between goat and sheep are not defined exactly the way they are in the rest of the world. In fact, there is barely any way to distinguish a goat from a sheep in the West Indies aside from the accepted rule of thumb that if its tail points up, it’s most definitely a goat, if it points down, then it is by all means a sheep. Since most can never quite get the hang of identification for the local hoofed creatures, it’s usually far easier to simply refer to them all as ‘Gheep.’ The locals figure that there is truly no need to differentiate since they both taste the same when it comes to roti,3* stew, and burgers.

  This was one goat however, like Rob’s rabbits, that was not destined to grow up as Christmas dinner. Instead, this odd little speckled creature was adopted by Rob, Alex, and Raymond as the Island Fever’s official mascot. Little Lambchop, wa
s never really aware of the fact that he was actually a goat, for that matter he was treated more like the family dog and had quickly become so bonded with Rob, who somehow seemed to fill all of his maternal needs, that he never let Rob out of his sight. Not only did Lambchop claim the front seat of the rental car whenever Rob drove to town but he never missed a spin around the harbor with him on the windsurfer.

  Between all the island chickens and their newly acquired goat, Rob was never quite sure as to whether he was living in a boatyard or a barnyard, and was feeling quite like he was back on the farm in Iowa City. In fact, Grandma’s rooster, Henry, had taken up standing on the Island Fever’s boom at sunrise to perform his morning duty, not to mention his cock-a-doodle-doos. Who needs an alarm clock when you’ve got a feathered wake-up service as reliable as old Henry. As much as it annoyed Rob, Henry was truly doing him a favor since there’s nothing more miserable than trying to sleep in a hot stuffy boat bunk once the sun was up. Even Ole’ Henry it seemed, was another life metaphor for Rob – offering up a wake up call when he just wanted to sleep-in.

  1*DAGGER BOARDS – The vertical waterproof blades or boards that can be lowered into the water through a catamaran’s hull to serve some of the same functions as a monohull’s keel, albeit a fraction of the weight. They provide lateral resistance – i.e. keeping the boat from drifting sideways when you want to go forward.

  2*HAPPY HOUR – Also known as the complaining hour – America’s discounted version of the psycho-therapy session at the end of any given work day between four and seven, where, for the price of a discounted cocktail and the willingness to listen to a perfect stranger’s problems, one can unload their own baggage onto some schmuck equally dumb enough to listen.

  3*ROTI – The West Indian version of the burrito usually made with, conch or mutton and potatoes, in a curry sauce instead of salsa. Once again a diplomatic mixture of the Mexican burrito, East Indian curry, and in the West Indian tradition, which is to use of anything that walks or swims that doesn’t take an inordinate amount of effort to catch.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bankrupt

  “Success is not measured by the position one has reached in life

  rather by the obstacles overcome while trying to succeed.”

  Booker T. Washington

  Once the problem of hauling-out had been solved, Rob needed to figure out where he was going to get the money to pay for everything, including a new engine – since he’d discovered that the deductible on his ten thousand dollar insurance policy was higher than the cost of repairs. The only thing he had left to his name once he’d returned Fritz’s deposit, aside from one hull of the Island Fever which now had a rather large hole in it, was his condo back in Chicago. Rob knew that Sidney had always loved his modest little penthouse and that daddy had always wanted to buy her a home. So, reluctantly he telephoned Sydney to see if daddy would consider buying Rob’s last state-side possession for his little girl. In fact, to Rob’s surprise, Mr. Corandini was more than thrilled to have the opportunity to steel it from him for half its worth, taking advantage of Rob’s desperate situation. It gave Mr. Corandini and Sydney great pleasure in knowing that once the mortgage was paid off they had left Rob with only enough for one good shopping spree – Sydney style, if of course it was the yearly half off sale.

  Rob hung up the phone feeling empty inside, as if he were bankrupt in more ways than just financially. It was becoming all too apparent to him that he had never really had a life outside of his career, his bank account, his condo, his car, and his high society girlfriend. Now, finding himself devoid of any of these material accouterments, he was beginning to feel an overwhelming sense of emptiness. He felt about as lost as he would have been if he were alone at sea and at the mercy of his own inept seamanship skills. It was as obvious to me as it was becoming apparent to him, that he was in desperate need of being rescued from this floundering void in which he’d suddenly found himself. The only question being – was there a rescue in sight by some soul willing to take pity on him, or would he have to simply navigate these uncharted waters all by himself?

  It was really too bad that Rob had never developed any strong sense of direction outside of the financial world. Had it been a question of whether to invest in futures or options, Rob would have been right in his element. But, when it came to investment in his own future, Rob was running out of options fast and had suddenly found himself sailing on more than one sinking ship – floundering like a boat without a rudder.

  “It’s hard to believe that only a few short weeks ago I had a totally different life,” thought Rob. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. How could this have happened to me? Just sixty days ago I was in my prime… knocking ‘em dead at the stock exchange. Now look at me… I’m a mess. I have no house, no car, no job, no savings, and no idea what the hell I’m doing. I have holes in my hulls, a hole for a head, and a floating hole in the water to pour money into which I needed just about as much as a hole in my head. I may as well be bankrupt for all it’s worth. After all, look at the reality,” Rob thought analyzing his life, and taking stock of what was left. “The only real asset I have left to my name is a rather large liability, with holes in it, named after a tropical disease.”

  Rob pessimistically started to realize how little he had left, instead of appreciating what he’d gained. He didn’t realize that sometimes when things start to go wrong, or at least differently than expected, it could be just the start of a great new adventure. But then again perception is everything – it could also be the start of a Kafkaesque nightmare as Rob had already perceived it to be. So, Rob sat down with Alex to budget the Island Fever’s repairs and salaries. When it was over, he had a grand total of five thousand dollars left to his name. It was becoming rapidly apparent to Rob that Paradise was getting more and more expensive by the minute and that the cost of a rental car on the island of Sint Maarten, which he greatly needed in order to get to the airport for freight or to the docks to have something welded, was not going to fit into his budget for any extended term. So, both Alex and Raymond suggested that Rob invest in an ‘island car,’ as they were known in that part of the world.

  An ‘island car’ could be best described as a mechanically sound vehicle whose engine will surely long outlive its sadly rusted-out body, and should only cost somewhere in the neighborhood of one to two thousand dollars. There are many brands of cars that fall into the ‘island car’ category, but the locals know only too well, never to be deceived by the modern day South American strain of the Volkswagen beetle, whose life expectancy rarely exceeds a day past twenty-four months without experiencing its first apparent symptom of island rot – loosing a fender or two along the roadside. But, Rob was still naive to all the nuances of island life.

  Volkswagen had sold the molds and machinery to the Brazilians several decades ago when they ceased making those classic, little cars, and in doing so relinquished all rights to any semblance of quality control. Rumor in the islands is, that’s where they take all the recycled tin cans from that part of the world. But if the truth be known, it’s more likely than not the product of what has become of the top half of all those fifty-five gallon drums that are cut up to make what is known in ‘de islans’ as ‘de steel drum’ – a very romantic sounding instrument fashioned from the bottom half of that steel container which has been pounded into a concave configuration and tuned to hit a plethora of pleasing notes, depending on what part of the drum is tapped with a xylophone-like mallet. However crude this may seem, it is in fact the sound that defined the birth of true island calypso music – that liquid, sensual, lazy, rhythmic beat that so well describes the island lifestyle.

  Unfortunately, against all good advise from Grandpa and Raymond, Rob decided that if there was one thing he could handle alone without Alex or anyone else’s help, it was buying a car. Even if his budget only totaled two thousand dollars. And of course, Rob had not allowed them to coach him on the number one rule of island car shopping – avoid u
sed Brazilian VW’s at all costs. So, when Rob pulled up at the boat that day in a bright yellow VW square-back wagon, Alex just shook her head and bit her tongue. Of course, Rob was quite proud of the great deal he had made for nineteen hundred dollars, especially since the car ran like a champ and was just two years old. To top it off, it even had a brand new paint job, a fact which Rob never bothered to question about such a new car. However, he was quick to find out in the months to come that the paint job was in fact a temporary cover-up of a very progressed case of island rot – already halfway through the fenders, which were now held together by that fresh coat of paint. It was only a matter of weeks before the cancer began to spread faster than chickenpox on a six year old, reveling an incurable case of car-see-no-more fenders as Rob’s bargain started shedding them one by one – only to be left by the side of the road as they dropped off like over ripened tamarinds1* from a tree.

  Eventually, the hole in the passenger floor board grew so large that whoever was riding in the passenger seat had to lift their feet in order to avoid the sand-blasting inflicted by the sandy, salty dirt from the unpaved roads, which of course was the reason the holes were there in the first place. But then, Lambchop usually managed to get the front passenger seat in the Yellow Submarine whenever they drove into town, forcing Rob to take the back seat if Alex was along.

  It started to rain so hard and fast one day during the island’s normally dry season, that it left eighteen inches of standing water in the street. Like Grandpa had warned – the weather in the islands had a penchant to change with little or no warning and Rob and Alex found themselves nearly drowning in the car from the water gushing up through the VW’s holey floorboards like Old Faithful. It was then that they had christened their little underwater vehicle, the ‘Yellow Submarine,’ which it was known as for the rest of its short life span. Eventually, the front passenger floor board totally rotted out taking the passenger seat with it – to be replaced by a sheet of plywood and a little boat resin, patched back together somewhat like the Island Fever.