Ignacio knew his city could become one of the top tourist destinations in the world, along with Las Vegas and Rome and the Caribbean, but it would take having to kill the old narrow-minded view of the city as belonging to the residents to achieve that.
“Have the Americanos left yet?” Ignacio asked.
“No, they are not leaving.”
“Why not?”
“They think the fishermen killed only one of the animals.”
“They think it’s the wrong one?”
“Sí.”
Ignacio stopped twirling the meditation spheres and put them back into the open case on his desk. “Get a boat ready, we are going to capture it ourselves.”
“The Americanos are crazy. That was the animal that killed the touristas. There is no other.”
“Get the boat ready, Hector. And begin gathering some men.”
Hector sighed and stood up. “Sí, jefe.”
* * *
47
Night over Viña was beautiful as nowhere else on earth. There were few clouds and the moon and stars reflected brightly off the surface of the Pacific, the heavenly bodies shining so radiantly that the streets hardly used illumination.
Jane sat on the veranda of a café and sipped iced tea. She looked around to the other patrons and noticed they were all tourists; few of the locals could afford even the iced tea she was drinking at a place like this.
A couple of Mormon missionaries were walking the streets tonight, stopping to speak with locals here and there. They were young boys and Jane had seen many of them here in her time with the Peace Corps.
They would pay their own way to go to distant lands and preach a Gospel they believed in with all their hearts. They would pitch in whenever they could and Jane had once needed their help.
After a massive rainstorm, a mudslide engulfed the village she was staying in. The Chileans were a stubborn people and many of the locals refused to heed the warnings and leave. As least fifty men, women and children were missing.
The missionaries came and helped her and the other volunteers from the Peace Corps as they began to dig people out of the mud. There were few survivors, but one moment of exaltation had occurred when a two year old boy was pulled out near his home. His parents and siblings were dead, but by some miracle he survived. Jane wondered where he was now and what he was doing; if he remembered her at all.
Patrick came almost half an hour late. He looked disheveled, his shirt untucked and his hair messy. He sat across from her and nearly tipped over her glass, his face flush with excitement.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“I’ve just been helping out with the ship. You should see this thing. It’s like a mini war ship crossed with a cruise liner.”
She absently played with her straw, dipping it into the tea and pulling it out again, watching the dark liquid drip off the end. “So you’re really going?”
“Yeah, I’m really going.”
“For a month?”
“That’s what it’s slated for. I don’t know, we’ll see how long it actually takes.”
“The experts on the news seemed pretty convinced that they already caught the squid that killed those people.”
“Our expert doesn’t seem to think so. If he’s wrong he’s wrong. I get paid anyway.”
“I can’t wait for you.”
“I know.”
They sat in silence and watched the people on the sidewalks. There was a man painted chrome standing on a box across the street, dancing whenever someone put money in a hat he had placed in front of him. But the police shooed him away within minutes.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Jane—”
“No, this is bullshit. I don’t want you to go.”
“Come with me then.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do. You would have fun. I’m not kidding; it’s like a cruise ship. They got buffets.”
She felt a burning in the pit of her stomach. She’d had this feeling before and she knew, just knew, deep down that she would never see him again if he got on that ship. She stood up and threw some cash on the table.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Jane, wait a second. Jane.”
She stormed out of the restaurant and walked to her car. As she climbed in, she put her face in her hands, and cried.
* * *
48
The ship had been cleaned from top to bottom the previous night and the metal railings and steps gleamed in the sunlight from a smooth layer of wax. The men had boarded and unpacked and Taylor Hamilton sat on the deck and looked out over the water with his second on one side and Mitch on the other.
Patrick stood on the port side and looked to the ocean. He had uneasiness in his stomach and he had tried to settle it with Tums but it hadn’t worked.
He didn’t understand what had happened last night, but he had never understood women. The truth was he cared about her, but they hadn’t known each other long. He knew there was a spark there, he could feel it whenever he saw her, but sparks came and went in life and there was no reason for this one to—
“Hi.”
He turned to see Jane walking up the ramp, one of the men lugging some bags behind her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t let it end that way, Patrick. I called Christopher and he arranged for me to have a cabin.”
“We’re going to be gone a long time. What about your practice?”
“It’ll survive. I have two partners and they’ll cover for me until I get back.” She walked to him. “I was married once, Patrick. I wanted you to know that. He got injured in a motorcycle accident and during his recovery he got addicted to pain pills . . . pills that I gave him. He got drunk one night and took too many. He survived in the hospital for three weeks before we decided to relieve his suffering.”
“I don’t know—”
“You don’t need to say anything. I just wanted you to know that because I wanted you to know that I’ve experienced loss. I think we have something special and I’m not losing that too.”
She leaned in and gave him a long kiss, the man behind her grinning, and then she pulled away and flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “Now, where’s a girl to get some breakfast on here?”
“Mess hall’s down below deck. They got a nice buffet going.”
“Come join me.”
“I will. I’ll be down in a minute.”
She kissed him again and then headed to the stairwell leading below deck. He watched her walk, the smooth elegance of her steps. She was refined; more refined than he was and it intimidated him a little. He constantly felt like he was making a fool of himself around her. But she never said anything if he was, and he admired her for that.
“That’s a mistake,” Mitch said, walking up to him, cleaning a small device with a rag.
“What is?”
“Having her onboard. It’s a mistake.”
“Her choice. By the way, I got your man free.”
“I got word last night. Looks like I was right about you and the mayor.”
“Maybe. He’s a strange guy though. Distant.”
“Look who’s talking, mate.”
Patrick had actually thought of it before; for some reason, Ignacio reminded him of himself and gave him an uncomfortable feeling.
“What are you going to do for him in return?” Mitch asked.
“He didn’t really get a chance to ask for anything.”
“Can I give you a bit of advice? You got powerful friends you keep them as friends. There’s nothing like an enemy that used to be a friend. My two cents, you call him today and ask what you can do for him.”
Patrick was about to respond when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. A young girl of no more than six or seven walked across the deck with a kitten in her arms. She came next to Hamilton near the railing and he began pointing to things on the horizon or on the ship and talking to
her about them.
“Whose kid is that?”
“Hm, don’t rightly know. That’s a mistake too.”
Patrick watched her as she stroked her cat and listened to Hamilton as he opened a map and began describing things to her.
That sick feeling returned to his stomach.
* * *
49
Rodrigo met Patrick at his cabin as the ship left the docks and headed out into the open Pacific.
They walked to the top deck together and watched as fishing lines were secured and shark cages lined up port and starboard with scuba gear and handheld harpoon guns laid before them.
It wasn’t long before the ship began to rock in rhythm with the sea and the docks and beaches and glimmering hotels were specks on the horizon.
The water was a sapphire blue and foamed around the stern from the powerful propellers. Patrick saw some dolphins near the bow, jumping out of the water a few feet, their gray-blue skin glistening in the sun before submerging once again.
The primary function of the deck right now seemed to be the fishing lines. They dragged netted hooks with chunks of meat attached behind them but the men were focused completely on the lines. There were at least eight stations set up along the deck and they sat in hard, blue chairs, their eyes on the water.
Patrick could’ve done what Christopher did and work as Mitch’s assistant in ensuring everything was running smoothly, but he asked instead to be assigned to one of the fishing chairs.
After a quick breakfast in the mess hall he sat near the transom, his feet up, absorbing the sun on his cheeks. Jane had gone to her cabin for a nap and promised that she would make him lunch and they would eat up here at his station.
The man next to him was listening to an ipod attached to some speakers and the music was a soft Latin song with acoustic guitar and flute.
He looked to the man and said hello.
“Hola,” the man said. “You the American?”
“That’s me. And you are?”
“Felix.”
“Nice to meet you, Felix.o meet y e
Felix nodded but didn’t turn to him. He kept his eyes on the water, occasionally tapping his pole or pulling up on it.
The engines suddenly shut off and the boat dipped slightly and then began to glide over the surface like a rubber toy in a bath. The men seemed to focus even more and sat up straight in their chairs and set drinks and food down on the deck.
The sun grew brighter as the day dragged on. Patrick was sweating and he cursed himself for not bringing any sunblock. He glanced back aft and saw Rodrigo in one of the chairs, his feet up and a hat over his head, soundly asleep.
He turned back to the water, and decided to do the same.
*****
It was nearly two hours later when Patrick woke up. His hands, legs, and feet were burnt and he poured some water over them out of a bottle. He stood up and went below deck and found Jane still asleep. He let her alone and decided to go to the mess hall and get something to eat.
The breakfast buffet had been changed to a make-your-own-sandwich station and he made a turkey with Swiss and got some chips and lemonade. He sat at a table by himself and ate and then decided to go for a walk around the ship.
He could tell the vessel was definitely old military with the narrow corridors and small doors and thin ladders leading to upper floors. Patrick guessed there were about thirty men onboard and many of them appeared to be professional fishermen.
But there was the other side of the ship too; the one that had a large game room with arcade games, flat-screens with satellite cable, and a blackjack table next to some slot machines. There was a cigar room with fine leather couches and a humidified vault with endless rows of cigars, and a bar where some of the men were already getting drunk.
He climbed down a floor and could feel the hum of the engines underneath his feet. He began walking down the corridor, just seeing where it took him, when he heard voices. They were soft and he couldn’t make out what they were saying but as he approached he could tell it was Hamilton’s voice.
He checked the door and it was locked. He put his ear against it but the voices were too muffled and he couldn’t make anything out.
There were a few other rooms but they were full of supplies, one with an old cot against the wall and one of the men sleeping on their side.
Patrick made his way back to the top deck and saw Christopher with Mitch looking over the fishing lines.
“You really expect to catch it with fishing lines?” Patrick asked as he walked up.
They looked surprised and stopped speaking immediately. Patrick got the impression he was not allowed to hear what it was they were discussing.
“No, mate. I don’t. But I do expect to bring it up to the surface where we can net the bugger.” He pointed to some colored buoys trailing the boat. “See those there? Leaking blood with flashing lights on the bottom. Not a squid in the ocean that can resist that. It’ll come up, and we’ll nab it when it does.” He looked to Christopher. “We’ll talk later.”
As he left Patrick stood there and looked Christopher over. He was wearing tailored shorts with a silk shirt and yachting shoes. Sunglasses were pushed up into his hair and an ipad was tucked under his arm, open to a calendar and to-do list.
“Seems like we haven’t talked lately,” Patrick said.
“I know. Sorry about that. Just a lot to do. Some of these fucking Chileans, man, they’ll rob you blind if you turn around. They go and sleep below deck when they think nobody’s looking. You have to keep an eye on them.”
“I take it you accepted that job with Hamilton then?”
“Yeah, a hundred and ten K a year, Patty. You fucking believe that? Your old man would’a killed me before paying me that much.”
“Just be careful, Chrissy.”
“Hey,” he said, slapping his arm, “aren’t I always?”
* * *
50
Night aboard the ship was an entirely different atmosphere. Patrick and Jane sat on the couch trying to watch a movie in the game room and the men were drinking and laughing and eating all around them. It was one giant party with an endless supply of whatever anyone wanted.
At one point a joint began to get passed around and Jane turned to him and said, “I want to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Get stoned. I haven’t smoked a joint since college.”
“Seriously? Aren’t you a doctor?”
“Oh please. It’s hardly a drug. No one’s ever died from marijuana.”
The joint came over to them and Jane took a long puff, held it as long as she could, and then began to viciously cough as she passed it to Patrick. He took a few puffs and passed it along.
“Wow,” she said, “that’s more powerful than the stuff I remember.”
They relaxed into their seats and after half an hour another joint was passed around; this one a different type of marijuana that some of the men said was only grown in the highlands of Chile by a tribe that still lived in huts and hunted for food.
It was smooth going down, like warm sake, and it had a piney taste. Patrick held on to it for a while before passing it on to the next person.
“I am really stoned,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Let’s go to the deck.”
“Okay.”
They left the game room and went through the maze of corridors to find the ladder leading to the deck. They climbed out into the night air, the moon so vivid Patrick thought it might’ve been daylight.
“Over here,” Jane said as she ran to the railing.
They stood over the water, watching the reflection of the moon on the surface of the shadowy water.
“Listen, do you hear that?”
Patrick quieted his breathing and focused on the darkness surrounding them. There was no land visible in any direction and he felt helpless on a vast sea that had neither mercy nor reason. It chilled him and then he heard what Jane was talking about.<
br />
In the distance was the mournful cry of whales.
“I hear it!”
“It’s amazing that they can communicate. Killer whales have different cultures. The ones in the arctic have different sets of clicks and noises from the ones in the tropics. They have different languages. Do you think they’re smarter than us?”
“I’ve never seen a killer whale city.”
She laughed at the thought and then gave him a kiss on his cheek. “We’re in a long line of species that have ruled the earth and then went extinct. Protozoa, fish, birds, reptiles, mammals and then us. What do you think will be next when we go extinct?”
“Squid,” a voice in the dark said.
Startled, Patrick looked to see Mitch Roberts relaxing in a deck chair sipping a bottle of beer.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, mate.”
“You been there the whole time?”
“Sitting in the dark’s not usually my bowl of rice but I have to say, the nights out here make me want to crack a fat.” He took a pull from the beer and then offered some to him. “Bit of the amber fluid?”
Patrick took a pull so as not to be rude and then handed it back.
“What do you mean squids?” Jane asked.
“Well they’re evolving; developing so bloody fast you can see it. Their frontal cortex, that’s the part that’s gonna be determining what the next apex species will be, that’s developing faster than any other species. The longer they live, the more they’re learning. Our frontal cortex, as a whole, is shrinking. We’re growing dumber and they’re growing smarter.”
“You really think we’re growing dumber?”
“Oh no doubt about it. The best way to measure it is entertainment. And when it comes to entertainment, America is the trendsetter. Whatever’s popular in America will become popular in the rest of the world. So, what’s popular in America? I’ll tell you what: shit.
Sea Creature Page 14
