Far Tortuga

by Peter Matthiessen

  Prob’ly de back-time people not speak English good as we do, Speedy, so dey say kellecks.

  We ain’t got dat word in Roatán. In de Bay Islands.

  Dey plenty you ain’t got in de Bay Islands, boy.

  Why you act so disagreeable, Vemon? We gone make a first-class turtler out dis boy.

  Dass right. I be very fine. Everybody tell you Speedy willin—he got a willin mind. (nods) I gots fifty-five acres in Roatán, mon. In de Bay Islands. And I got three cows. A mon dat got cows, he got it made. I got dis fifty-five acres dat I own all clear, got it cheap cause de people say dey ain’t no water dere. Dass cause dey lazy. So one mornin I goes out dere with a shovel and at eight o’clock I starts to diggin and at two o’clock Speedy got water—plop! Right in de face!

  Rigging a rope sling to a loose kelleck, Byrum jams it with a piece of seizing line.

  Dass what I told Copm Raib—when dat boy say he do something, he do it.

  Wind. Faint reek of tar …

  The rigging snaps and whistles. A loose kelleck rocks with the ship’s roll, making small thumps on the oak deck. In the bow, the iron figure shudders with each boom; a roar and rush as the bow wave pours outboard and the ship reels back into the trough.

  boom

  … tellin you, boy, don’t stack dem nets dat way!

  How you want’m, Vemon?

  Want’m? I want’m right, dass how I want’m! You gone be a turtler, boy, you gots to know how to hondle turtle nets. Cause de first thing about turtles, boy, is turtle nets!

  You seen you can’t humbug Speedy, so you tryin to pick on de boy, ain’t dat right, Vemon?

  Shit! For a mon dat got fired off de Adams—

  How you feelin, Buddy?

  I fine, thank you, Speedy.

  Well, dass very fine.

  Vemon relieves Athens.

  Each little while the men haul in the trolling lines to clear them of drifting weeds. Byrum holds the canvas lure a moment, gazing north over the rolling wake; then he blinks, becomes aware of it again and loops it out into the sea.

  Raib steps from the deckhouse, carrying the chart.

  Who de fella got de watch? Byrum? Dis watch I bought—

  Mine say five forty-three. And she a pretty good keeper.

  Well, I be honest den, we ain’t de proper distance. When I took dat position dere at noon, dis watch were wrong. So I lost de longitude.

  Why de hell you buy a cheap old watch like dat, and no chronometer on de goddom vessel? Mon, oh mon. It like dat new radio-telephone you got dere!

  Dass what I mean! I bought dat domn radio brand-new and she ain’t worked yet! Not once!

  Dass what I sayin—why you buy it if it don’t work?

  It brand-new, I tellin you! From out de store! If it don’t work, den why de hell dey make it!

  Copm Raib? If you don’t know where we is, Copm Raib, den what we gone do? We can’t heave to de way dat wind cuttin, not with dem currents, and Cay Gorda Reef—

  What you know about it, Vemon? Shut up dat talk! How de hell a mon gone think with you runnin off like dat? Goddom fool! Now head her up a little, till I see what I must do!

  Head her up!

  Dass it—steady, you domn fool!

  STEAD-DAY!

  I say, Head her up! I never say, Head for Africa!

  The sky is poised for the sudden dark. The swallow flutters up and down the deck, and Brown, amidships, catches it and tosses it high into the slipstream of the masts; it returns and he catches it again, and laughs. Again he throws it and again it returns; again he laughs. He casts it away, but this time the bird is caught by a wave leapt up along the hull and is sucked down and swept away into the wash.

  … don’t make dis course good, we not goin to make Cape Gracias tomorrow. And we don’t make Cape Gracias tomorrow, we gone to miss a whole day fishenin.

  And de season gettin late. Dem turtle gone to be headed southward. To de Bogue.

  We mash up on Gorda Reef, you men ain’t gone to bother yourselves about losin a day’s fishenin, I tell you dat much! You gone to be bothered about losin your lifes, like plenty others from Caymans dat sailed down to de Cays. Yah, mon! A mouthful of sand, dat be your portion! (glares) I mean to say, men dat sailed down to dese reefs all de days of dere lifes, and dey askin me to run dese reefs which is mostly under de water! In de nighttime! In de dark!

  With no proper bearins.

  With no proper bearins! Dem is men dat can’t learn nothin from de sea! Will Parchment settin right dere dat seen de Majestic mash up at Serrarers—

  We only sayin—

  Nemmine sayin, Byrum! Dey too many sayin too much aboard of here! (pause) Now, I want dis vessel steered offshore, into de southeast! Buddy, you jump forward dere and tell Brownie, Cut de rpm to 1300, till I eats my supper and thinks what we must do. De rest of you fellas strike de mains’l and lash it good—just leave dat jib dere for a steady-sail. Dere plenty of breeze in de wind’s eye yet, and maybe squalls.

  A smoky sunset. Wind.

  On the galley roof, Wodie lies upon his back, feet dangling down against the weathered boards of the galley wall. The black hairs on his leg are tight on his dark skin.

  In the galley hut, in shadow, Speedy hunches on the ware chest that also serves as the cook’s bench; there is headroom for a small man to sit upright. The galley was formerly a chicken coop, and the ship’s ware is stacked in the hens’ nesting boxes. Opposite, filling the fore wall of the hut, is a low stove forged of iron: the interior of the galley is soot-blackened from grease smoke. Heavy black pots on the ranges, plastic cups for salt and sugar. Speedy turns the sugar cup in his hand, wrinkles his nose; the dirty plastic has a gritty look and feel. He sets down the cup and wipes his fingertips on his denim shorts, as Athens watches. Athens is leaned against the doorway, hands in pockets, fingering himself.

  Over the sea wash and thump of rigging, the ring of tinware, the voices of Athens and Speedy come and go. Both talk quietly at once, in singsong.

  seen a rat

  dirty, mon

  food settin on de deck, mon

  roaches

  not enough

  pans for one thing—no pots. I say, I give you de best dat stove can do, but he expect better den dat

  got a demon, y’know.

  Mon dat rage and laugh de way he do

  come on hard with me,

  I be hard right back. It like de way he treat his boy dere—like he might treat some old kind of a crab

  Oh, yes!

  Wodie sits up, grinning. His single eye gives his quick face a sweet and sad expression.

  Dat was bad food, after dem storms. Dat was hard farins. All de provision grounds uprooted, so de women take and grate and beat all de cassava before it spoil, cause cassava bread, dat keep a good long while. Dey made sea grape wine and jelly, usin de tamarind pulp for de preserves. We ate dem red shanks, too—de crab. On lucky days we cotch red rabbit, and den dere was parrot pot pie. And de men would go by boat to Colliers and Innerland, and Ally Land, Whitemud, all dem places, to find bullrush. Grate dem tubers, too, make fungie porridge out of dat, and save de trash of it for dumplins. Oh, mon! We children were glad to get any victuals in dose times. Hard farins, mon. Oh, yes! (sings) If I had de wings of a dove …

  He lies back again, talking joyfully at the sky.

  Oh, I know practically everything dat grows, cause I were reared up in de island, and by dat I come to know things. As a child, I made a little money plattin. Baskets. Hats. And weavin thatch rope, too. Sometime de mon cut palm tops for de family. (sits up) Mon puts his basket across his shoulder and puts his hands in front like dis (gestures), but a woman she cannot corry so, she corry it on her head.

  Athens winks at Speedy, rolls his eyes, goes aft.

  Mm-hm—same way in de Bay Islands, Wodie.

  If I had de wings of a dove … Oh, yes. I can tell you something about palm tops cause dese hands have worked plenty of dat. Dass right. My father went away, y’know, and den my mother
had to give it up since her eyes not so grand. (shakes his head) De thatch rope, I love doin it. Oh, I love doin dat, I can roll it fast. (laughs) Take three people to weave dat, y’know. Oh, yes.

  He sits up, smiling, starts to speak, then stops. With Speedy, he stares at the wind banks on the evening sky. When he speaks again, his voice is somber.

  Now thatch rope is de real Cayman turtlin rope: it is de best water rope you can get; you just can’t beat it. Manila rope gets in water and after a while it get so slippery dat you can hardly hold it, with de moss. But dat thatch rope of Cayman, you just shake de moss right off of it, and you can pull it good as ever. Nowhere in de West Indies did dey find anything to substitute for de rope of Grand Cayman.

  We gots de sisal in Roatán, but we ain’t got de same thatch palm.

  Well, dere is a market for thatch rope still, but it only work now for de poorer class of people. De people is had such hard times, and dey tried to profiteer off dem, grob all dey could and just pay de people little or nothin. So de people say, Well, I not gone to do dat no more, for I been kept down too much.

  Kept down too much. Yah, mon. Dat were me.

  Yah, mon. So de people say, Well, I not gone to do dat no more, for I been kept down too much.

  Yah, mon.

  The ship rolls, the ocean booms.

  The ship booms, the ocean rolls.

  Wodie is restless. Speedy watches him. Wodie fondles a small shard of mirror that hangs around his neck on an old string.

  Speedy, dem dat accused me knowed dat it could look like I knowed something about de murder of dat child. It could look like I was an obeah worker, workin woe dere, cause dere was a basket in my house dat I always used to use for tellin what de future gone to bring. You know—just to play with and have fun, see what come to de top. Cause I didn’t need no old basket to tell me things, dat was just for fun. Y’see, Speedy, I one dem people dat gets sign of things to come, I born with dat. Oh, dey lots of people dat gets sign, but some is more open to it den others, and I got known for it some way so dat people wanted to pay me and all dat. So it were easy to throw de blame on me.

  A sound of ringing in the kettle.

  What you keepin in dat basket?

  Oh, lots of nothin at all—cracked bones, funny-lookin stones, old bits of wood, red beads and shiny things, sea shells, shark teeth—

  He lifts the shard of mirror.

  Things like dis, y’see. Keep away de Evil Eye. De Evil Eye don’t like to see itself.

  The mirror glints.

  Evil Eye, huh?

  Speedy, I see you lookin at me funny, so I tellin you now dat I never took de left-hand path, dancin widdershins, and witchin people, all of dat; I never worked obeah in my life. But de same day dat dey accused me, something tell me to turn around in de road, and dere I see one of dem take a nail and drive it down into my footprint where I left it in de white marl road dat run down past dere cabin. So y’see, it ain’t de law dat made me sail from home.

  Speedy is silent. Wodie lies back again, sighing.

  Oh, yes. To go up dere in dat high thicket of bush, and den cut all of dem tops in de day, and den come back out. And after all dat, you never made nothin anyways. I very hoppy I don’t have to do dat no more. It like de old people say: I ain’t gone to bother fungo with dat.

  Speedy is silent.

  Oh, yes. I must be honest, I thought a while before I come aboard, for Copm Raib is famous in de whole length of de island for sayin his opinion just de way it come to him. But it seem like de thing for me to do was to sail down to de Cays.

  The Lillias Eden moves off the bank into deep water. On the new course, the pitch increases, and the windlass soars and plunges on night skies.

  The men crouch outside the galley, clutching their supper plates and cups, bracing hard with their legs and shoulders. The evening meal—cornbread and rice—is gulped down quickly in the weak light from the naked bulb that swings back and forth over the engine hatch.

  Bad thing we never got a fish.

  Bad sign. Not even a domn barra.

  I seen a ring around de sun

  too rough. Water all cloudy dat

  way, fish can’t see.

  Maybe it de bait. Dat goddom lard.

  Mon get sick of rice and beans. Least he could do is corry a little bacon, little cornbeef, something like dat. Mon dat don’t eat meat get kind of dizzy.

  Meat worth money, mon. Ain’t like de old days. And crews ain’t worth shit with so many lookin for a job.

  Well, a mon dat would sign aboard of de Eden ought to be fed for nothin. In de insane asylum. (laughter) In de insane asylum!

  Dat coffee something bad!

  Dass cause de scuttlebutt never cleaned into de proper fashion. More oil in dere den water.

  Dass right. All de food taste of dat diesel.

  What say, Buddy? Got big ears dere?

  Dat boy okay. He not say nothin to his doddy, dat right, Buddy?

  Dat cause he scared. Raib scare’m fore he learn’m.

  He back dere right now scarin poor old Vemon.

  Well, Vemon deserve dat, Speedy, he such a goddom fool.

  No, mon. He just play de fool, cause for him dass de way life go de best.

  boom

  The ship shudders under jolt and buffet of night seas. In the bow, legs spread, Raib keeps his balance, taking bearings on the stars.

  What he up to now?

  If he can figure how far we is from de point where de star is directly overhead, and den he do dat with another star, den de ship’s position is at de longitude where de two lines crosses.

  Shit! Dey too much weather to know where de stars is at, nemmine dis goddom boat!

  We way out into de middle of nowhere, mon.

  Athens crumples an orange cigarette package and throws it at the rail. The wind catches it and blows it back inboard, and it skids aft along the deck. He sighs, fingering his collar button.

  I used to dat. Nowhere is where I been getting to all de days of my life. I like Vemon dat way—life sailin by without me.

  The men move into the stern, and Speedy relieves Vemon.

  … dis foolin round with reefs, not in de night.

  We be okay. Beat out dere five, six miles off de bank, run south again till mornin.

  It like Byrum say, we gone to miss a day dat way, and de season goin. We very close to May. Dem turtle gone be started south to Turtle Bogue.

  Ever run south down dat way, Speedy? Costa Rica way? Limón? Ships bananas and coffee out of dere. Cacao? Well, dat way you would pass Tortuguero. What dey calls Turtle Bogue.

  Bluefields de farthest south I sailed.

  Yah, mon. I been to Bluefields.

  Well, why de turtle go so far off to de southward?

  Go to lay dere eggs. De she-turtle haul out on dis long beach, black-lookin sand, y’know, with big seas rollin in, and de he-turtle lay around dere just behind de surf lookin to coot dem as dey come and go. Some dem big old bastard lookin to coot so bad dat you can come up alongside and harpoon dem, dey dat busy. You take a old board and stick a kind of a head on it, like a turtle stickin his head up, and by Christ he come up and try to coot dat.

  Fall in de water, mon, you in bad trouble. You gets grinded.

  Dose he-turtle, dey like Athens dat way—dey coot anything!

  Look who talkin! I heard dat Miss Gwen gone break her engagement to her intended dere, Mist’ Byrum Watler of Batabano, West Bay, cause he so free with dat Canadian squints dat comes up to de Blue Horizon.

  Byrum hoots.

  Now Athens, y’know, he thought he was a white mon till he lain ’longside some dem girl come down lately from Canada! Dem people is what you call fish-belly white!

  A white mon wouldn’t get no Canadian squints, I tellin you dat: dey gets plenty white up where dey come from. Dem girls is far from home, and what dey wants is de darker de better. (shrugs) It all dat snow, dey say.

  Byrum lies back with his head on his hands.

  Well, any
ways, about dis time of de year, de turtle have started southward to de Bogue. But de shes don’t go ashore till round about de month of July, and dey some still goin ashore dere in September. Comin down to de actual deposit of de eggs, August and September is dere peaks. Course, dey goes ashore two, three times—lay maybe three, four hundred eggs by de time dey done. Likes de full moon. And de eggs hatches out two full moon after dat.

  If dey makes it.

  If dey makes it. Cause dem Sponnish don’t let’m lay dere eggs, even, before dey turns’m. Turtle agent has de Indians rollin de she-turtle as dey comes ashore, and den when de boat come, dey send de turtles back to sea with a buoy tied to de fin, cause de seas too heavy for de boat to land dere. And de boats grob de turtle den, take dem over to Limón. Course, dey times dey finds her layin. Fore she comes ashore, she very coward, and she lay real quiet in de shallers; she see anything on de beach, she slip back into de sea. But once she started, mon, dey ain’t no stoppin: she go right on with dogs diggin out de eggs fast as she drops dem, and de goddom Indians tyin de buoy to her fin.

  Got calipee poachers, too, y’know. Just grob dat turtle and spin her over and carve dat calipee right off, and leave de rest. And de turtle layin dere, still blinkin, with her belly laid wide open to de dogs and birds.

  Calipatch and calipee, mon.

  Oh, mon. You seen all dat, Byrum?

  Copm Allie Ebanks told me dat, so I knows it good: Copm Allie knows a feller dat was dere and seen it. And he tellin de manner dat dey hatchin, too, beginnin along about September-October. Dem little fellas come scromblin up out de sand, ain’t one of dem big as your ear, and rummagin dere way up through four feet deep of dat black sand, and head straight for de water. Don’t even look around to get dere bearins—dey just go. Feel dat water and head straight for de sea. Some dem nests are way up in de bushes, y’know, out of sight de sea, but ain’t one of dem young turtle makes a mistake—dey know.