Now listen, Copm, listen—
With de vessel rollin de way she doin, you could kill half dese men against de galley side!
All de years I been to sea I never done no different den dat way! Dat way is de way it done! Dat de rule of de sea!
Not aboard de Eden! No, mon! Not aboard of here!
H-ss-t! Nemmine, Will!
All de years I been to sea I never done no different den dat way! Dat de rule of de sea!
8:00 A.M.
The men have eaten, and the Eden is underway.
Raib and Brown are in the wheelhouse; Buddy is at the helm. Wodie lies on the galley roof, singing the Hawksbill Song. By the port catboat, Will is mending net, his arrowhead needle darting in and out of the salt-caked twine; his face is taut and he mutters as he works, yanking the mesh. Speedy and Byrum, disentangling the loggerhead, are counseled by Vemon and Athens, who drink coffee.
Watch dat hox-bill dere with dat bare foot, mon. You so busy keepin your eye on dis log’red, you gone lose your big toe to dat hox-bill. Hox-bill bite, mon—ain’t like green turtle.
Dass it. Green turtle very nice, mon. Keep dere mouth shut. Ain’t like some.
He crazy, mon. Dass why I say he crazy. One minute he laughin like he crazy and de next minute he crazy with anger. Fuckin wild mon!
Dere ain’t no need for him to corry on de way he do; dere ain’t no need for dat. Dey ain’t a steady mon he can call he crew from one voyage to de next.
No, mon. Nobody gone work like dat, dey gone move on. One day dis boat just be rottin in de sun—ain’t gone go nowhere, mon.
Boat rotten already, mon. Turnbuckles all froze up, and de cables kinked. You seen de riggin at de masthead?
Well, he vexed dat Will got turtle, dass de trouble; mad if he did and mad if he didn’t. Just plain mad, dass him.
Well, Will were lucky, but Old Raib don’t know we know dat—he think Will made a ass out of’m.
A-purpose. (laughs) He figure Will done it a-purpose.
Dass it—dass got’m.
The loggerhead lies twitching on its back. The heavy reptilian folds of skin are a dirty pink color, and its head and jaw look too big for its body. The upper jaw is beaked. Upside down, it gapes and stretches, hunting something to snap at.
Lookit de barnacles on’m. Green turtle don’t corry all dat barnacle and shit—green turtle clean, mon.
Dat a bad sign, all dem log’red. Will hit three in de port boat. And dem big shark.
What we do with him?
Nothin to do with him. Dey good for nothin.
Maybe we do what Desmond do. (laughs) Where Desmond used to set, dere was plenty log’reds, y’know, and de log’reds used to humbug his nets, like dis one here. So he went to work and he rigged a block-and-tackle up along his boat mast. Den he got one of dose big shark hooks and he hook dat in de log’red’s chin—
In de chin, huh?
All four men are laughing now.
Yah. Took him half de mornin riggin it. I sick of fuckin with him, Desmond say. So he hook de block to dat and h’ist de log’red by his chin. Den he runs him up de boat mast, and old log’red’s neck runs out about a fathom—
Athens whoops, scarcely able to continue.
—and den he take a knife and cut his throat! Pulls dat neck out straight, and cut his throat!
The men laugh for a long time; they sigh.
Dass Desmond Eden! Took half de mornin riggin up a log’red to cut his throat!
Copm Desmond! Everybody got stories about dat fella!
Shot a mon, y’know, dat were his enemy. Shot a fella down around Honduras.
Dat mon were not his enemy. See, Desmond were in trouble and were livin in de woods. And dis fella were his friend, who used to feed him, used to take care of him—
Moggs?
Moggs, dass it. Moggs’ wife, now, dey owed money. And she want to get clear of Moggs. And she knew dat Moggs knew all about Desmond smugglin through de cays, and she tell Desmond dat Moggs were gone report him. So Desmond kill him in de woods fore he found out she were tellin lies. Den he heard dat Moggs’ son were sayin dat whenever he sees Desmond he would get’m. So he got two guns and he handed Moggs’ boy one, and he say, I Desmond, boy, you lookin for me?
What hoppen den?
Well, first place, de boy knowed Desmond were a dead-eye shot. And second thing, he not so sure dat Desmond give him de best gun dere.
So what hoppen?
Nothin, mon. Nothin hoppen. Dat boy forgot what he had wanted.
Desmond! I ’member de time he were always swingin dat domn machete around, just missin people, y’know. Dere were some woman had him all riled up. He say, Athens, he say, I gone to cut dat woman in two. Oh, yes! I gone to get my piece of dat if I got to cut her clean in two!
Athens straightens, singing, as the Captain nears.
Now I can say, dear, you de worst of your kind
De gold rush is over and de bum rush is on …
Everybody grob a fin, we throw him over.
The great turtle strikes the surface and disappears in the wave washing astern.
Maybe de screws get him—dat would be best.
Why you didn’t cut de throat den, Copm?
Don’t like de way it lookin at me, darlin. Don’t like foolin with dem log’reds—dey looks too scornful.
Athens walks away, still singing.
Yes, de gold rush is over and de bum rush is on …
Hear dat, Vemon? Your partner gettin so weak he can’t hardly talk, but he can sing.
Copm Raib? Dat disease burn’m out quick, Copm Raib!
He all burnt out already. I three times his age and I still a better mon.
Well, he sick, Copm.
Ain’t too sick to steal. No, mon. He ain’t too sick to steal.
Siempre las palabras que ma mujer …
Copm Raib? Copm Raib? Other one singin now! Dat one calls hisself Brown! Can’t talk but he can sing!
Talk enough to tell me dis mornin dat de tachometer can be used for de oil gauge! Dat de kind of engineer you get in dese domn kind of days!
Siempre las palabras que ma mujer …
Bum bum bum-bum, bum bum bum-bum corazón …
Whispers … whispers (voice breaks) Aw shit!
When you whispers dat you love me so sincere
Love must always, love must always be unkind …
Dat pretty good, Brownie! Best come over here, sing us a song!
Brown comes slowly toward the men, who sit upon the starboard catboat and around the galley door. He tries to look careless, but he is pleased. Shyly he takes off his sombrero and, holding it at his navel, rolls it round and round.
Maybe I sing in a club. I sing muy bien, entiende? Pero, I drinkin and smokin. I lost it. Perdido. (pause) You ready?
Last night was de worst of my life, oh darlin
I stayed up home, someone else in your arms
I cry cause I love you in all of my mind
I miss me, oh I miss me, at your house last night …
Brown’s dog eyes are soft and golden brown. He offers a smile: his gold tooth glitters.
I miss holdin hands walkin down de lane
I miss dat sweet kiss dat was mine for so long
When you hug me with your arms wrap around me so tight
I miss me, oh I miss me, at your house last night …
Buddy has been relieved by Athens; he comes up behind Brown and leans against the mast, legs crossed, as if he had to urinate.
I got a nice voice, too, dey say, but I don’t know no pretty songs.
Buddy speaks so rarely that when he is finished, the men only nod politely; they do not know how to encourage him.
Brown is still smiling.
My chico dere in Barranquilla—dat little bitch can sing! Oh! Go to dat juke and he sing! De juke and him! Hay no diferencia!
Raib winks at the crew.
Boy like dat, now, Brownie, you can train him to get a job singin, make good money, support you
in your old age.
Sí, sí! Go right dere to dat juke! Oh, le gusta! Sí! Miguelito!
Miguelito, huh? I s’pose dey calls him Brown.
Turning to stare at Raib, Brown looks puzzled. When he gulps, the rawhide chin strap of his sombrero, hung on the stubble of his gullet, rises and falls. He decides to smile again.
Everywhere I go dey calls me Brown. I am Miguel Moreno Smith, but everywhere I go dey calls me Brown.
He glances at Speedy, who is wringing out white T-shirts.
Moreno. Dat is “brown.” So dey call me Brown. Sometime Brown, sometime Brownie, (confused) I got a future as a singer! Avenir!
He got a future all right, but not much. Dis engineer say dat de oil gauge can be used for de tachometer—dass what he say. Ain’t much of a future waitin for a fella like dat.
I sing another song!
Tonight I find you in de street
And my heart lay at your feet
I can’t help it aw shit, help it
If I still in love with you.
Dis other guy is by your side
And he look so satisfied
I can’t help it …
Land o’er!
Cape Bank Reef is submerged except for one flat-topped pan shoal, barely visible at low tide; it lies north of Cape Gracias, off the remote Caribbean elbow of Central America. Spurts of white water, exploding into a white misty sky, signal the presence of the reef from miles away.
The men stand on the taffrail, clinging one-armed to the deckhouse roof; they roll and swing with the ship’s motion.
See dat, Speedy? Reefs dat break dat way, we calls dem blowers!
Copm Raib? I think you got to get up right next dat reef, you gone to cotch turtle, Copm Raib!
You think? Dat don’t mean nothin.
You sayin dat don’t mean nothin?
Not much. (looks up) You ain’t a bad fella, Vemon. You ain’t nearly so bad as I always b’lieved. But you don’t know nothin.
No, I don’t know nothin! And if I did, I wouldn’t say nothin aboard dis fuckin ship, cause it wouldn’t do no good!
Raib’s look of astonishment changes rapidly to mirth; he pitches up and down the deck in tears.
See dat? He laughin! Dass why I say he crazy! I speak him back de way Vemon done, I be walkin de plank!
Byrum? I gone put you in Will’s boat place of Athens dis evenin; him and Vemon ain’t strong enough to pull it. Athens shot. (still laughing) Dat boy finish. All wore out, poor fella. (laughs anew) He so tired he can’t hardly talk, he sound like a goddom Jamaican, dass how bad he is—can’t hardly understand what he sayin. All he can do is sing—him and de engineer dere. (hoots) Dey a pair of birds, okay! Pair of blackbirds, singin dere life away!
Raib’s laugh is so wholehearted that, grudgingly, the men grin. Then Athens, leaning back against the mast, laughs in harsh imitation, and there is silence. The men stare expectantly at Raib, who squints at Athens but says nothing.
In the ocean distance, white birds lift and fall.
Best come with me in place of Byrum, Brownie—we see de way dey do.
No, mon. Dis shit ain’t no use to me in life.
Best come with me. After dat we corry a few nets back to Roatán, cotch a few turtle.
Okay, Speedy.
The boats are launched. In the mounting wind, they bang at the ship’s hull, and the men curse as they load the nets and kellecks. In the starboard catboat, the wind tears the rotten sail almost as soon as it is hoisted.
Wodie? You come in my starboard gang in de place of Byrum.
No, mon, Copm—Brown goin! Him and Speedy!
Brown?
Rowing upwind from set to set in the rough water, Brown hurls his weight into his stroke in rage and snaps his oar off at the blade.
Dass it! Dass all I need! Come out here in a wind like dis with two greenhorns for a crew! Now h’ist dat sail, we go back to de ship!
Look dere, Doddy! Turtle shit! Dey turtle here!
I seen it, too! But we can’t set without no oar!
Gim dat poddle.
What?
Brown say give him dat Indian paddle; he use de paddle for a oar.
He do dat in dis goddom wind, he break his back—dat paddle short, mon! Got no pull in it!
We greenhorns, Doddy—we too stupid to know dat. So just give dat boy de poddle, and let’s see can we get us some dem net sot fore de night fall.
Speedy rigs the paddle to Brown’s oar thong.
In the heavy chop, the catboat pounds from set to set. Grunt by grunt, his mouth wide, speechless, Brown must stroke twice for every pull of Speedy’s oar.
By God, Byrum, dat greenhorn crew is de best crew dat I got! Dey strong and willin! To row all afternoon in dat mess out dere with a paddle—dat is willin! Brownie? Brownie, I got to hand it to you, boy, you done a job for me today!
Brown has raised broad blisters on his hands and broken them, then blistered the new skin beneath. He sits sullen with his pain, the hands limp in his lap.
Athens? What you and Wodie do dis afternoon? Lay in your bunk? I thought you was gone to butcher dat hox-bill, give us stew to eat!
Dat hox-bill be all over de deck! Can’t butcher turtle when de sea like dis!
So you say, den.
In the port companionway, the old man sits upright in the shadows. Behind him lie the turtles. Their mouths are closed and their breath infrequent, as in the sea, and the expiration, when it comes, is a hollow gasping.
A turtle sips air and subsides again. Its weary sigh, and the tears of lubricating fluid that squeeze regularly from its eye, go unnoticed except by Wodie, who pauses now and then to adjust the headrests; the other men step on and over the bound, silent creatures as if they were part of the ship’s gear.
Weather changin, look like.
Weather changin, but not de wind. If dis were not de month of April, I tellin you I would be lookin for sign of hurricane. (shakes his head) When de stars shootin straight down into de wind, to de horizon—dass okay. But last night I seen stars shootin across—y’know? Cuttin right across de horizon. And dat makes me scared.
What do dat mean?
Raib bangs the wheel housing.
Wind, mon, WIND!
In Roatán, we lookin for a ring around de sun. In de Bay Islands. Ring around de sun and ring around de moon.
The Captain nods.
One telltale thing for a hurricane, you feel de wind pullin toward de north or de northwest. Course dere are regular northwest storms, but dat is in de winter time. Usually from July, August, September, October, anytime dat wind goes to de north, dere trouble comin.
Yah, mon. A north wind in September, mon, you better not stop dere askin questions, cause dat is hurricane.
Sometimes you can see a half-circle, cloudy—
Raib draws his arm in a half-circle over the horizon.
Yah. De old people call it a hard sky. My grandmother
squally and blusterous black clouds, and behind dat blackness is a tropical storm a-blowin. De squall from a hurricane will not be long fore it will sort of break up in its pass over. But fore it gets cleared up good, you will see another squall formin, and each time it blowin a little harder. (sighs) I never forgot dat hurricane in 1926, how de people was standin by dere door dere lookin to windward. I never forgot how dem people looked when dat hurricane come down—dey looked like children. De people stood dere in dere door lookin to windward at dat awful sky, and dere faces—dey looked like children.
A long silence.
Will’s voice comes from the deckhouse.
Dass de way dem fellas was lookin down at us from de rails of de Majestic. Dey just stood dere watchin in dat wind till de boats was out of sight. (pause) Dey looked like children.
Will? Come out and tell dat tale to Speedy while we eatin.
No, mon. I done with dat.
Whole gale.
At twilight the wind jumps and buffets. A heavy chop batters the ship, which labors on her moorings.
Over the wind men have to shout, and when dark comes, they avoid looking out to sea. Soon they stop talking and lie still in their berths.
The wind rises through the night to fifty knots or better. Intermittently the sky is clear, and the masts of the rolling vessel carve great circles in the stars. The hull squeaks and bangs with strain. Where the ocean crashes on the reef, wind and waves are lost; there is no time, no space, but only the chaotic rush of the dark universe.
Raib prowls the ship most of the night, watching to see if the anchor drags, checking the water in the bilges, taking soundings. Periodically he goes to the port companionway, where his father sits staring straight away into the storm. Then he returns aft and sits against the wheel housing to rest. Sometime after midnight, Byrum comes out of the deckhouse and sinks down near him: then Speedy comes aft from his own bunk in the engine room. The three sit close by the doorway of the deckhouse, which vents a sad stale smell.
Won’t come in out of de wind, den.
No, mon. He won’t sleep.
Ain’t got time to sleep, no, mon. Not when you dyin.
In his bunk, Athens stops snoring long enough to cough, a long string of dry coughs and a wet one. He sits up in order to spit, sees the three men watching him, and swallows. Even in his bunk, his cap sticks out to one side of his head. Mouth slack, he listens to the wind a moment, then curls down around the cardboard suitcase that is still lying on his bunk.
… a sundog—gale-wind bird, some of de old people calls it—cause it a sign dat a hurricane is approachin. What? Well, sundog is a little color, little piece of cloud look more like a rainbow, on one side of de sun or de other. You don’t see it cept when de sun is goin down and at de time of de sunrise. From July on, mostly August, September, October, you must watch for de sundog, in de mornin and in de evenin. By dat you can always tell in what direction dat hurricane is travelin. In days gone by, before dere was any wireless and all to tell’m things, de people used to use de gale-wind bird as sign dat bad times was ahead.
Far Tortuga Page 14
