16
Night fell, and Forest and I walked down the sandy trail to the coral beach where Agwe kept the rowboat. I thought about Becca a lot. I wanted to move forward but didn’t know how. I wanted to take the initiative but just didn’t know how. The moon was rising, three quarters full. It was a clear night, and the ocean was calm.
With us we carried a small leather bag that contained three snappers. Agwe called them yellowtails, I assumed because of the obvious bright yellow tails. I wasn’t sure what the actual name was for the fish. They were a bit larger than the size of my hand. He told us to hook the fish in the back and slice its throat and stomach open before tossing it into the water.
We threw a large mango and a few small bananas into the boat, as well as a bottle of fresh water. We had two handlines, the kind used for big fish, and a large hook tied to each one. The hooks looked medieval. They were coated in rust but felt strong. Forest grabbed the back of the rowboat and started dragging it to the water’s edge. I grabbed hold of the side to help pull, but was of little to no use. Forest knew it and was cool enough to act like he didn’t notice.
We got on opposite sides of the boat and led it out into waist deep water. It was different at night. During the day the water was as clear as a swimming pool. At night it was black and mysterious. Forest sat in the stern between the two oars.
“You take the bow,” said Forest.
Forest began rowing, and we were soon at least a hundred yards out.
“How deep is it out here?” I asked.
Forest pointed to a patch of water.
“About thirty yards off starboard is where I found the conch. It was about eight, maybe ten feet deep. Thirty-two. thirty-three.”
Forest was counting off the number each time he rowed. Agwe said that every twenty-five rows was about a hundred yards in distance. We needed to get out 400-450 yards offshore to reach the edge of the reef where it dropped off to deep water. He said to go at least a hundred rows and at the most a hundred and fifteen.
“I keep expecting to see the police coming down the road,” I said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“You think Agwe will say anything?” I asked.
“No. I know he won’t. Sixty-seven, sixty-eight.”
Just then a large fish broke the surface of the water.
“Chasing something,” said Forest.
“Man, this boat feels small, eh?”
“It is small,” he said. “How long was that sailboat?”
“Twenty-seven feet,” I replied.
“This must be like twelve,” said Forest.
“If that.”
“Agwe loves this boat. Calls it cousin,” said Forest.
“Let’s not sink it then,” I said.
“Yeah, One hundred six, One hundred seven,”
The boat slowed and came to a stop. Forest shook out his arms. “I feel that,” he said.
Agwe’s house was still visible on the horizon, but not by much. He had his only lantern hanging from a branch to make sure we didn’t get turned around at night. I pulled one of the yellowtails out of the bag. There was no smell. It had been caught earlier that day and was still fresh.
I handed Forest the fish, and he quickly sliced its throat and stomach. I pushed the large hook into its back and pulled it out the other side. I tossed the fish out about ten or fifteen feet off the bow and let the current slowly take out more line. It was thick line, the thickest I had ever seen. The spool was like a square board and made of wood. It felt very strong and looked like it had fought many big fish.
It was quiet, dark, and downright spooky. Every movement we made on the boat seemed too noisy. Forest threw out his line. The current was moving us and our baits further out to sea, but at a tired pace. Agwe had told us if a big shark hit, not to panic and not to lose the line. He said that any six footer on a handline would have no problem pulling us out of the boat, so be strong and stay focused. If one of us hooked a shark, the other was to bring his line in and help fight the fish. He showed us how to leverage our body in the boat to battle the shark and keep from going overboard. The last thing he told us was to do well, because grilled shark steaks with lemon and garlic salt should not to be missed.
The moon had risen and mesmerized us. I was taken in by the peacefulness of the world around me. We could see nothing but the moon, stars, the reflection on the water, and the lantern hung by Agwe in the distance. We could hear nothing, and it seemed like all creatures were asleep. I felt a slight breeze and took a deep breath. It was like my soul began to calm. Forest sat with his feet hanging over the side of the boat, slowly letting line out inch by inch.
“Peaceful,” said Forest.
“Yeah, I was just thinking that. You probably shouldn’t have your feet hanging over the side, man.”
“Yeah,” Forest scooted back and put his feet on the sides of the old boat.
“What do you know about Agwe?” I asked.
“Not much. He was born in that house.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. You know that trail beside the chicken coop?” asked Forest.
“Yeah.”
“It goes down to some rocks. There’s a big one he dances on every morning while the sun rises. He sings, softly.”
“What’s he singing?” I asked.
Forest shrugged. “I don’t know. Songs I’ve never heard.”
I felt a tap on my line and wondered if it was a fish or my imagination.
“Locals are gonna wonder about us,” I said.
“I don’t know. That lady didn’t seem to take much notice,” said Forest.
“Yeah. Still we should get a story together if we get called in.”
“It won’t matter, man,” said Forest. “Our bloods all over that place, especially yours. It would just take some testing. If they come for us, we’re caught. Simple as that”
“Then what?” I asked.
“I don’t know about you,” said Forest. “But I’m running or fighting. Not rotting in a cell.”
“I don’t even know where we could go, man,” I said.
“What if we keep heading east?” asked Forest.
“Another island in the Bahamas. If we missed that then, shit, Africa.”
‘Nope,” said Forest.
“There’s some places southeast of here. Tourist islands I think.”
“Northeast?” asked Forest.
“We would freeze our asses off,” I replied.
“That’s Canada, right?” asked Forest.
“The really, really cold part of Canada. Like Eskimos. Polar bears.”
Forest laughed, “That’d be something. Sail past a polar bear. Like damn, turn around.”
I laughed, “It’d be a ghost ship. We’d be skeletons by then anyway.”
A half hour or so passed with no bite. I wondered about Becca constantly.
“What’s Becca usually doing now?” I asked.
“Taking care of you.”
“The whole time?” I asked.
Forest pulled his line in to check the bait. It was whole, not a nibble. He tossed his bait back out. I watched the flat surface break with dozens of slowly expanding circles.
“Every five minutes,” said Forest. “She was feeding you, cleaning you, checking your pulse. I didn’t know she had it in her.”
“I need to pay her back.”
“I think she sees it the other way around. She’s probably enjoying the break. Agwe has a lot of old books. She also writes.”
“Writes what?” I asked.
“Poetry.”
Poetry. That made sense. I wondered if it would be weird to ask if I could read her poems.
“Hey, the fight we got into at Havana,” said Forest.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t regret much, but I regret that,” he replied.
“It’s okay. You were looking out for her.”
With only my eyes, and barely any head movement, I shifted to view my far left. Forest watched his l
ine in the moonlight. He did look like he belonged here. I wondered if that was possible, or just head games. To live in a place your entire life but not belong. Then to happen along the place that fits you like a glove.
“Sucks that that night happened,” I said. “What are the odds of that?”
“Not too slim. It is what it is. It does suck though. I wish we could just stay here, man. I wouldn’t need anything else. Ever,” said Forest.
“I hate shit like that when you’re minding your own business and some assholes have to mess everything up.”
“Dead assholes,” said Forest.
“I swear I see that dude’s face every ten minutes,” I said.
“It will fade,” Forest replied.
“And turn into guilt,” I responded. The lack of any noise or distraction made it easier to replay that night in my mind.
The Less Fortunates Page 16
