Authors: Peter Matthiessen
Far Tortuga (8 page)
I thinkin dat dese old rocks was ballast. Call dem kellecks, huh?
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.
