A Dolphins Dream (9 page)

The old man then nodded and stepped back. The moment was startling and Compton attempted, with some difficulty, to regain himself.

Moses, with obvious deference, almost entreaty, went to the old man and began to speak to him in Fijian. As they conversed they both repeatedly glanced in Compton’s direction creating further disconcert in him. Finally Moses spoke to Compton. “I am so sorry, Michael. I am a bad host, eh. This is Abraham, he is, how you say, has a great importance.” The gravity of Moses words spoke volumes and his face reflected, if not fear, then certainly a deep and abiding respect for the old man. Compton nodded at Abraham, who nodded back but did not smile. “He comes with a message for you,” continued Moses.

“For me?” Compton was incredulous.

“Yes, he say that something true waits for you in Fiji.”

Compton brushed his chin with his hand and did not immediately reply. Then he smiled. Now it comes, he thought. These guys are setting me up. This is a set up, he realized, almost relieved. I’ll play it out, see where it goes. “Really, and what is that?”

“He say you will know it when it comes.“

Compton maintained his frozen smile. The smile of the knowing, the smile of one who knows he is being led up the path of scam. “Let’s get everyone together and find out what true things await me.”

Moses understood sarcasm when he heard it and shook his head at Compton, then spoke in grave undertones. “You must listen to what this man says, Michael. He will send you where it is you wish to go, eh.”

“And where is that?” grinned Compton almost beside himself with understanding.

“He says you are incomplete and that you seek wholeness in yourself. That is why you are here.”

Compton’s grin temporarily faded and his eyes sought the face of the old man. In its absolute kindness he saw the truth of the words. Not a truth he was prepared to embrace but a truth that for the moment he was obliged to at least hear out. “Okay, go on,” he replied softly.

“He say that you must stay at Orchid Beach for awhile and hunt for a Great Silver Fish. He says that then you will meet a man.”

Compton was bewildered and then shocked when he remembered his dream and it threw him off balance. “I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

“It is a very nice beach, not far from here. I do not know what is the Silver Fish. He say you must pay what you call it, rent, for staying at the beach.”

Compton regained himself, reacquiring his frozen smile. They had me going there, but here it comes. He was pleased with himself that he had properly diagnosed the motive of his charade. Fully confident now of where it was going, he allowed it to proceed. “And what would be the rent for this beach, how much?”

Moses’ grew even more solemn, if that were possible.  “A hundred pounds of fish a week,” he said.

“What?” Compton, once again thrown off stride.  “You mean a hundred dollars a week?”    

They both turned to the old man who had been standing at the doorway but he had vanished. Moses went to the door and looked out into the night, shook his head and returned to Compton.

“He said a hundred pounds of fish. That is what he meant.” Compton opened his hands to beg the question. “Excuse me, but what is going on here, Moses?”

“Abraham has very special gifts. He can see things, eh, the rest of us cannot see. You listen to him, he is very wise. He say you live at Orchid Beach, very beautiful there and you hunt for a Silver Fish and then you will meet a man, eh.”

“A Great Silver Fish,” corrected Compton.  “What’s this hundred pounds of fish business.  Does he mean money?”

“No, you must get the fish, not the money. You must get the fish yourself.”

“I can’t buy the fish and give it to him?”

“No, you must get the fish yourself and give it to me.” 

“And how am I supposed to get this fish?”

Moses gave Compton a look that asked how he could be so lacking in the obvious solution. “You fish for it,” he finally replied.

“I don’t know how to fish and I would think that it would take someone quite some time to get a hundred pounds of fish, much less each and every week. My god, that’s all you’d be doing.”

“I will teach you how to fish.”

Compton attempted to pull himself together and in a voice feigning calmness replied, ”Moses, I’m not interested in fishing at all.”

“You spearfish?”

“I used to, a little, when I first began to dive, small fish, but that was twenty years ago.”

“Then you will spear fish, eh. I will have Aprosa teach you. Compton couldn’t help but grin.  “I rather doubt I could spear a hundred pounds of fish a week.”

Aprosa teach you good. I take you to the deep reef where the wailu swim. You spear two maybe three fish and you have a hundred pounds. You pay for the fuel, that’s all.”

“How much for the fuel?”

Now Moses was smiling. “You will do it, this is good.” He grabbed Compton’s hand and gave it a shake.                  

“How much for the fuel?” repeated Compton cautiously, still unsure.

“Five dollars get us out to the reef and back. But first Aprosa teach you, then we go.”

“That’s it, five dollars?” Compton paused for a long moment then shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it appears I have nothing much to lose here. Let’s take a look at the beach tomorrow and maybe I’ll give it a week.  If I don’t come up with the hundred pounds for awhile what happens?”

 “Nothing happens. You go to sea and learn from Aprosa. You don’t like it, I will take you back to Taveuni and the dive resort.”

They had not stopped shaking hands and Compton gave it a squeeze to seal it, then let go.

Compton could not fall asleep. The whole affair disturbed him. Were they running a scam, and if so, where was it going? How are they planning to extract money? He continued to see the kindness in Abraham’s face. The old man had no lies in him, he was utterly guileless. Sure, he felt incomplete, but who the hell doesn’t? He had long given up the quest for “something true” but the resurrection of that longing reached deep inside to a place he could not put a name to. And what is this business with the Silver Fish and the mystery man he is supposed to meet? These people are operating on some other wavelength. He realized he was having trouble accepting this entire experience really from the time he had met Esther. Yet there was also the strong feeling that he had long been insulated from the grit of real life and in that cocoon of isolation there was the almost desperate need to grow out of it and into something real and meaningful. He could not deny that there was an aspect of profound reality in this surreal place. He had indeed become Alice and had definitely fallen down the rabbit hole. He had to keep his wits about him but had nothing to lose by staying a week, then out. He would hang out in Wonderland, see if the Mad Hatter would show up.

Low, gray clouds ran with the wind, flashing blue sky. The ocean mirrored the sky in running shadows like great beasts that hovered just beneath the surface. A light wind ruffled the ocean’s skin, as the boat skipped over the water in half flight. They motored along Qamea’s easterly shore, the visibility in excess of fifty miles in all directions, not another boat nor any sign of human activity across the glimmering expanse. Compton was at once rejuvenated and reduced by the sheer vastness of the panorama.

In a matter of moments, before Compton could get his bearings off the island and reconfigure his internal compass, Moses cut back on the throttle and pointed to a small sandy beach several hundred yards away. Resting like a downed tyrannosaurus on that same beach was a massive fallen tree. Though the branches were bare, their circumference all but obscured the huts that appeared to rise out of the jungle like dreamscape. Moses cut the engine at the edge of a coral shelf that extended a hundred and fifty feet out from the island, and drifted into the beach. They jumped out and hauled the boat up onto the sand.

“Come look at your new home,” said Moses. “And take off your shoes. You won’t need ‘em here. Fijian have tough feet. Look, these feet can walk on fire.”

The beach was strewn with shells and dead coral, washed up to a two-foot-high sea wall that stood before the first hut. Walking gingerly on the sand and accompanying shells that bit into his tender feet, Compton fairly hopped into the nearest hut. It was without walls in the front, rear and west. A six-foot high trunk of the fallen tree served as the east wall and supported the structure, including the roof, which was at a severe pitch and covered with plaited palm fronds. Four large shelves stacked with cooking and eating utensils lined the tree-wall. At the rear of the open hut stood a cupboard, which Moses opened displaying a half dozen jars and several plastic containers, all securely covered. "You have coffee, sugar, curry, some rice, a bit of soap, salt, all ready to go."     

 Across from the cupboard, in the center of the hut facing the sea, was an ancient two-burner propane stove sitting on a weathered card table that was half buried in the sandy floor. To the right of the stove, inside the sea wall, stood a small, wooden table with attached benches that provided an unobstructed view across the Tasman Strait to the island of Taveuni, nine miles west.

Directly behind the kitchen area, on a raised cement foundation, sat a bamboo-walled bure. Behind it, a sheer, black lava cliff rose to the jungle, from which hung green vines, twisted for its full sixty-foot length. On either side of the cliff the jungle rose sharply up earthen inclines dense with fern and tree. Inside the fourteen-by-eighteen-foot structure was a table, a chair, a simple frame bed and, of all things, an old kerosene refrigerator in the far corner. The cement floor was partially covered with loose linoleum that was curling at the edges. A woven mat graced the floor in front of the bed, where Compton sat as Moses rolled up the bamboo shutters that faced the sea. “Sunday’s I sometimes come and enjoy the beach,” he said as he tied off the shutters. Compton crossed the room and looked out onto the beach where the low sun illuminated the blanched coral that shimmered in the curl of small glycerin waves.

“The beauty is everywhere in Fiji,” said Moses, “but I think that Orchid Beach is the most beautiful place on the island. Yellow orchids grow out of that fallen tree. It looks dead right now but when the leaves grow back, the orchids bloom. This tree and the orchids have been here for as long as anyone remers.”

Moses left the window and found a broom and began to sweep the dust and sand from the floor. Compton continued to stare out of the window. “Did you say this was your place?”

“It is on our leased land and I let the New Zealand man build the bure and the kitchen and dig the toilet. Life was hard here and he was old for it.  After the last hurricane, he went back to his country. He loved the beauty and was sad to leave.”

After sweeping the floor, Moses brought in bed sheets and a mosquito net, which he hung above the bed. He also brought four, five-gallon plastic containers of fresh water, as well as several pawpaw, a half bag of rice and a bunch of bele. “This will stand by you for a few days until I visit the Indian store. You make a list of what you need and I’ll come by and pick it up.”

“You’ll need money to buy the food, and we haven’t worked out the deal on this place, until I come up with the hundred pounds of fish each week.”

“I bring you fruit, vegetable and water for twenty dollars a week,” said Moses quickly as if to be done with the unpleasantness.

Compton expected far more and caught in the expectation, stumbled out with, “Are you sure twenty dollars will be enough?  Does that include the rent as well?”

Moses’ eyes narrowed giving the impression of a fox in deep thought. “The twenty dollars is for everything. But you must pay for the fuel when I take you in the boat.”

“Of course,” said Compton, who in afterthought believed Moses figured he’d become dependent on him then jack up the price. Or he’ll charge me a hundred bucks to get off this beach.

“You be very safe here. My bure is at the other side of the hill, but it’s easy to get lost in the jungle.”

“They’re snakes in the jungle?”

“No, the frogs killed them.”
“You have snake-killing frogs in the jungle?”

Moses cackled at the misunderstanding. “No, no the snakes died when they ate the frogs.”

“Thanks for the warning, I won’t eat any frogs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Moses giggling and shaking his head, “no frogs for dinner.” His expression suddenly changed and he pointed to the shallow reefs that encased the water’s edge. “The current is very strong outside and the coral is sharp. Cuts without hurting, until later.”

“I appreciate your concern, Moses, but I’ve no intention of exploring the jungle or walking barefoot on live coral. My worry is more about you, what if something should happen…”

“Nothing will happen to me. There is fishing boats that come by every day. This is Fiji, all you have to do is wave.” He then paused, and said almost in afterthought, “They take you to Taveuni.”

Which of course was what Compton was asking and didn’t realize until hearing it from Moses.

Moses looked at the sky. “It isn’t good to work in the garden when the sun is hot. I be going.”

They turned the boat around in the sand and dragged it to the water. Moses was away in an instant and Compton stood at the water’s edge waving as he disappeared around the point. He sat in the sand, his eyes darting involuntarily to the empty sea that had swallowed Moses and then to the beach where tiny bits of broken coral, in reds, browns and whites, formed mosaic patterns on the virgin shoreline. Compton had been adrift since his release from the hospital but had never felt more unanchored than at this moment.         Absently, he unearthed a buried shell in the sand, the spiral of which had broken off, revealing an interior that was clean and pink and pure as a tear. He held it tight until it became hot in his hand and vowed he would only retrieve the broken shells that exposed their beauty in their wounds and leave the perfect ones on the beach to come and go on the tide. 

Clouds raced in from the south, obscuring the sun. They swept over the island and compressed it. Rain began to fall light and steady a he moved from the beach to the kitchen table beneath the high-pitched roof. The drizzle turned to downpour that pock marked the beach with tiny explosions and beat its percussion on every leaf and rock and rolled its snare across the thatched roof. The din grew to such intensity that it seemed to occupy, with deadened fervor, all of his senses and constricted the vista to uncomfortable proportions.