A cigarette glows and dies. In the night shadow of the port companionway, a heavy rat sniffs the old man’s high black shoe.
Wind southeast, it seem like.
Yah. (sighs) I seen plenty of bad nights. You go out to de edges of dem high-sea bars, and a night like dis cotch you out dere, I want to tell you, it is not agreeable. De first year dat I sailed as pilot for dat old man settin out dere, it were de prettiest weather in de world, and dat afternoon before I got done settin, I saw de turtle comin in towards de nets. Goddom it, dat wind come down, and dat vessel started to drag her anchors. Dragged and hooked, every now and den she hooked into de rock, and she would keep on buckin and pitchin till she tore it away. Anyway (groans) de two boats was up alongside and she was gone mash dem up. And we never had no crew, I mean to say, de crew was not experienced fellas. Experienced fellas don’t sleep very much after bad weather sets down. You take dis weather dat we got now, you fellas knows enough to get a little bit uneasy.
Yah. Goddom wind plays with de nerves.
Anyways, de next mornin, she pulled de anchor out de rock, and it come up short of a clew. So we went into Miskita Cay, dat was Tuesday night, and we never got back till Sat’day mornin. I found five turtle, but out of my gang of nets I lost sixteen, and de other boat lost seven.
Wind is de enemy of mon. Learn dat from school days.
Well, you got to have trouble if a east wind like dis cotch you out dere on de high-sea reefs. But what I do I take my boats up on deck before night. Dat way your men mightn’t get damaged, cause fellas dat is green, y’know, messin around in de night with boats, de vessel draggin or ye got bad weather to take in dem boats, you can’t fool too much before you get in trouble. It take real good men, good experienced men aboard of a vessel, to hondle boats like dat in rough weather. (pause) Course it very hard to find good men today. You two fellas is very good, and den Will—I speakin about de work on deck now. You fellas is about as good as you will find today. But it not like it used to be in de old days.
Modern time, Doddy. We de best dey is, we got to be good enough, ain’t dat so, Byrum?
Dass it. You lucky to get us, Copm Raib. You a very lucky fella.
Raib squints, looking at Byrum.
Well, I mean to say, a mon in de crew could take an order den, and keep his head. Now dey answer back—I don’t go for dat, mon. I don’t go for dat.
Time is changin, mon. De old days a mon burn de johnnycake, he walk de plank. Dese days we got unions and all of dat. A mon got rights.
A long silence. Then Raib speaks quietly.
You hear dat rushin out dere, Byrum? De wind and de sea comin together? Dat de sound of hell, boy, dat de sound of hell! You way out on de edge, boy, you out on de edge of de world. No mon! Ain’t no unions on de turtle banks, I tellin you dat! Ain’t no rights out here! Ain’t nothin out here but de reefs and de wind and de sea, and de mon who know de bleak ocean de best has got to be de coptin, and de men don’t listen to de coptin, dey stand a very good chance of losin dere lifes!
Raib gives an unwilling whimper, then begins to laugh.
Course Copm Steadman Bodden dere, he were an exception to de case. He told dem men dat were abondonin de Majestic dat dey had no business tellin him how to do de job. De day he drowned dere at Serrarers, Copm Steadman told dose men dat dey best stay with him on de vessel, bein dat he had fifty-four years of sea experience! Dat right, Will?
The deckhouse lies still: Will does not answer.
And just de day before, dem dat were drowned was settin dere just Like you fellas, just settin dere thinkin about dere belly and scrotchin dere balls. Never had no idea at all what was comin down on dem. No idea at all.
Raib laughs for a long time, staring outboard. The two men watch him wipe the tears out of his eyes.
Daybreak.
Clean black clouds of fair weather chase the gray wind banks of the day before, but still the wind increases, and short waves rush westward in disorderly ranks. The port boat is awash.
The men crouch at the galley door.
Will, I got to keep crew enough aboard to raise dat anchor if need be. So one boat got to do de job.
Dat port boat leakin pretty bad, dass all.
Take my boat, den. Pick de two men dat you want.
I want de two with de most experience of catboats and nets.
Dat Byrum and Vemon. You want Vemon?
Don’t much want’m but I got to take’m.
Shit! What de motter with Speedy?
Well, dass right, Vemon, Speedy de better mon, but he didn’t got de theory of pullin oars and hondlin turtle in no sea like dis. Mon don’t do just right, capsize de boat.
Byrum bangs the Eden’s deck with the flat of his big hand.
Well, let’s go den, Vemon. Anybody see my knife?
Speedy and Buddy haul the catboat alongside. It is leaping so that Will and Byrum time their jump to the catboat’s rise. Bailing the boat with a half-shell of coconut, Will is silent and his face is tight. Byrum is noisier than usual; stepping the mast, he nearly capsizes the boat. Vemon has gone into the deckhouse, but when Byrum bellows at him, reappears and perches on the rails, awaiting his chance to jump. His striped cap is pulled down tight against the wind, spreading his ears.
You find your knife, Byrum?
Fuck my goddom knife! Get in here and let’s go!
Almost affectionate, Raib grasps Vemon by the back of the neck.
Get in de boat, Vemon! What you scared of? You lost your life, you still ain’t lost nothin!
Vemon hops neatly into the boat. As Buddy lets go the line and the catboat falls astern, Vemon, gazing upward, answers Raib with a kind of smile.
Will takes the tiller as Byrum and Vemon hoist the sail: the three brown faces gaze back toward the Eden. Wind strikes the canvas—whamp!—and the blue boat heels over. Then she is gone on gray-green waves. In the early light, the men’s bent silhouettes are high on the catboat’s weather side. The wind buffets her, and she falls off to leeward, then heads up again, moving fast, spray flying.
The men on deck watch their shipmates disappear. They do not speak for a long time. Raib picks up a torn net and begins to mend it, but soon his hands stop; he gazes out to sea.
Dat ocean look so old in de mornin time.
He frowns at the uneasy faces.
You see de way Vemon smile dere, Speedy? What de hell he smilin at? (shakes his head) Dat one thing I got to say about old Vemon—dat fool surprise you. I knowed him since we was children, and every time I think I know de kind of a fool he is, he turn around and give me a surprise.
Vemon ain’t no fool. No, mon. He just play de fool, cause for him, dass de way life go de best.
Speedy is restless. He hauls the port boat up under the stern, and jumps down into it. The boat fills with leak and slop almost as fast as he can bail, yet he works furiously, water flying. Like Raib, he keeps one eye out to sea, but from the water line he cannot see the catboat sail; the ocean is too high.
Still seein dem?
I seein dem, darlin.
Okay den, dass very fine. (stoops and bails) Pull best, Speedy! Dass you, Speedy! You okay, Speedy-Boy! You doin fine!
Two miles to the east, where the surf lunges at the reef, the boat sail flutters, disappears. When the mast rises once again, the sail has disappeared.
Athens? Fix dem men a good meal, boy, dey gone be hungry!
Yah, mon, dass what I doin. I gone to give dem dis nice lumpy rice—
What?
some dis old barra dat ain’t got too hard yet in de sun—
You gettin smart with me? If you had butchered dat hox-bill—
Copm Raib, if I was smart I wouldn’t be on dis vessel in de first place.
If you wasn’t on dis vessel, you would be in jail! Cause you a thief!
Athens grins at him.
Dey all kind of thieves, Copm Raib. I only de one kind.
You de worst kind! You steal dis whole domn boat if you could do it!
Dat might be, Copm. Dat might be. (pause) Less I had de insurance. Den I might burn her to de water line.
Raib glances at Buddy.
What do dat mean, Athens?
I don’t know, mon. What do dat mean to you?
A glint of oars.
Dey drawin now.
Vemon know he done some work dis mornin. Pullin dat boat into dat wind, den losin all dat ground every time dey draw de net—no, mon. Dey get back here by noon, dey doin good.
Wodie is tending to the turtles. He wets them down by splashing buckets of sea water over them, and fixes the wood rests beneath their heads. Over those exposed to the open sky he throws old nets and canvas and dead rope.
Dass de first thing dat one-eye obeah worker done aboard dis ship without bein told to do it. De first thing. (whistles) Dey all surprisin me dis mornin.
One turtle dyin, Papa. Dat one. (points) I been watchin him. He keep kind of gaspin; he kept me awake last night, gaspin.
The turtle’s calipee looks sunken in, and a sick squirt of green manure lies lumped over its tail. Still gazing eastward, Raib probes his fingers into the folds of its neck, then under the hind flippers, gauging the turtle’s fat.
It were not dis turtle kept you awake—dat were de wind. I ain’t slept all night.
He straightens, forgetting the turtle, and contemplates the boy.
I bet you glad you ain’t out dere in dat boat dis mornin. (squints) Don’t be shamed of it. I glad dat I ain’t dere dis mornin, and I domn sorry dat I glad: must be gettin old.
Raib takes up his net again; he cocks his head.
Why you standin dere? Nothin to do? You know dat de bilges ain’t been pumped dis mornin, and you ain’t took Copm Andrew to de rails so he might ease hisself, and you know dere is ropes to splice and ends to whip up and down de ship (his voice rises) and you standin dere starin at me! (points) DEY MEN OUT DERE RISKIN DERE LIVES! You gettin a share of dis voyage just like dey are, and you not a experienced mon; dass why you got to work twice as hard! You got to jump, boy! How many times you got to be told: in dis life you got to jump! (quietly) Should have left you home in school stead of makin a ass of yourself out in de cays, seasick all de time!
The boat returns at midday. Four turtles are hoisted aboard, and the men follow. Five nets have been lost. Will and Vemon do not talk; they go straight to the galley and sit there side by side looking down at their hands as they wait for coffee. At the rail, Byrum, still breathing hard, is pissing. Raib speaks to him politely.
De wind’s moderatin, Byrum. Ain’t blowin fresh as what it was.
Byrum spits toward the reef.
Don’t feel dat way out dere. Rough, mon. Ain’t got no wrists left.
Dass turtlin, boy.
Think so? (turns toward galley) I like turtlin as well as any mon, but I don’t like dat mess out dere.
The Eden moves west along the reef, toward the Maggie white hole.
De Maggie? I don’t know, mon. She was long years ahead of me. Edinburgh Reef, dat is another one. I venture some ship by dat name struck on dat reef, and dey named de reef after. But several fishenin places named after vessels dat found dem, like de Ginevra Bar, and de Thane Bar, and de Sisters—dere was an old turtlin vessel named de Sisters. Dey was de vessels found dese places, and dey still good turtle places today.
The Maggie white hole is a drowned amphitheater of white sand surrounded by steep walls of coral. Because it lies in the lee of the reef and the wind is dying, the nets are set in a near calm. Toward twilight, an egret appears out of the western sun, alighting on the submerged pan shoal and stalking with care across the silver water.
Don’t like a lonely bird like dat. No, mon.
Sailing back on a light breeze, the starboard boat flies her small jib; she crosses the darkening water with a hiss. Raib brings her about at the last minute, stopping her alongside the schooner in a swirl of spray and snapping sail. Byrum and Speedy lower the mast and jump aboard the Eden, but Raib yells at Buddy to throw down a line, sail needle and a flour sack; he remains in the catboat, patching the rotten sail.
Turtle dead, Papa!
Course he is! Y’see de way dat goddom Desmond had dem? On de open deck?
Raib stands up on the catboat thwart to stare at the dead turtle. Its plastron is depressed and its mouth slack but its open eye regards him.
Why de hell dat goddom Athens didn’t butcher it straight off?
Buddy resumes work at the bilge pump when his father finds him staring.
Well, you were right, boy. I be very sorry to lose Copm Andrew’s turtle, owin to de fact dat he have so few, but I glad dat you usin your eyes not only to look but to see.
Dat were not de old mon’s turtle. Dat de Eden’s turtle. He cheatin his very own father.
As Raib jumps back down into the boat, Buddy calls after him.
No, Papa, it were Wodie seen it. It were Wodie dat told me about dat turtle dyin.
Byrum turns to look at Wodie, who stands in the port companion-way, holding the conch shell to the old man’s ear.
Know something, Speedy? Dat Wodie some kind of a Jonah. One eye, and dat crazy shirt—
No, mon. He just wanderin a little. Wanderin and wonderin.
Athens butchers the live hawksbill and the dead green turtle.
whack!
With a hatchet, he chops the hawksbill’s throat, then lops the flippers, and hard jets of dark blood shoot across the deck.
The dead green bleeds slowly.
whack!
Best show me how you doin dat, mon. Cause I gone corry a few net back to Roatán. In de Bay Islands.
Have to pay me to learn you dat. Come down to butcherin, you watchin de island’s best.
Oh, mon! Hear dat?
Come down to thievin, he de island’s best. Speakin fair now, he just about de best.
Athens hacks off the last flipper.
whack!
Yah, mon. De island’s best.
With a machete, Athens cuts free the calipee, then trims the edges off the belly plate, saving the central strips of unossified cartilage; similar strips, darker in color, are cut from the outer edges of the carapace. Vemon puts the strips into a pot to boil; later, they will be dried on the galley roof.
Calipatch and calipee. See dat, Speedy? Sell dat for green turtle soup.
Calipatch? Dat from de back?
Yah, mon. In de old turtle, now, de calipatch turn to bone, but de calipee stay very very nice.
Athens carves fat from the gleaming pieces, then tosses them into the turtle shell, which is used as a tray. Speedy, Byrum and Vemon squat on their heels around him. Brown sits on his fuel drum in the shadows, and Wodie lies on the galley roof, watching the sky.
Copm Andrew ain’t eat yet, y’know—don’t want to eat.
Maybe he eat a bit of turtle.
No, mon. He stubborn. He just like de son. All dem Avers, dey belongs in de back time, y’know—
Gone to salt dis fella here, cause he died by hisself.
Corned turtle, Speedy—dey’s dem dat prefers dat to fresh.
Course Caymanians people don’t like turtle meat less dey kill it dereselves with its own fat. Turtle is like beef—a leany cow ain’t tender.
Wodie, smiling, rolls over on his belly.
Oh, yes! Dat put me in mind of dat old song—y’know de one? It was a cow died in where dey call Cane Piece, back of Georgetown, and a whole crowd of dose fellas went up dere and butchered it, cut it up, and hauled it out—dey made a song of dat:
Sharpen your butcher knife, sharpen your butcher knife, Beef in de Cane Piece, beef in de Cane Piece, Sharpen your butcher knife!
Went something like dat!
Dat is quite a song now, Wodie. Don’t hear songs like dat no more!
It tell about how one got de head, one got de hide, and all of dat! Oh, it were a big song, mon! Oh, yes!
Athens winks at Speedy as Wodie descends from the galley roof.
How dey hear about dat Georgetown song
way out dere at East End? Take Wodie to know dem back-time songs. Dem East Enders still got hip-roof cottages down dere, thatch roofs, like de school learn us in pictures of de olden times, up England-side. People at East End still ridin donkeys. Lot of dem still got dirt floors dere, and sleepin on trash beds. De only modern convenience dat dey got is dem old strips of auto tire dat dey wears for shoes when dey comes up to Georgetown, what dey calls “whompers.” Dat right, Wodie?
Well, we comin along. But in my boyhood days dere was no road to Georgetown; had to go by boat. De road came through in 1935, and it were around about ’38 dat I first went walkin up to town.
Old Wodie come whompin down de road, yah mon.
Athens cuts turtle steak from the hawksbill’s quarters, back of the fore flippers; all the rest is put aside for stew. In the sinking sun, the purple reptile flesh is twitching.
Calipatch and calipee, mon.
Wodie, motionless, studies the guts: one by one, the men turn to watch. Then the Captain stands before him.
Far Tortuga Page 15
