Far Tortuga (27 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
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.
Wodie? How you
know
dat turtle was gone to die?
On the Captain’s foot is a dark blood crust, and on the deck beside his foot there is a fly. Wodie murmurs: the men strain to hear.
I feelin it when he come aboard. I got de sign.
Dese guts givin you some kind of sign?
Raib flings the guts over the side. They float away downwind toward the coast, a blob of cruel colors in the sea.
Speedy goes to the rail and watches the guts until they disappear.
Don’t eat de guts?
We
don’t. In Jamaica dey eat it. In Jamaica, dey so poor down dere dat dey eat everything.
We eats guts in Honduras, too. It okay to eat it. Hungry people ain’t too picky. Modern time, mon.
Anything okay, I guess, if it don’t kill you.
In Jamaica dey eat dem bird eggs dat dey rob at Bobel Cay. Taste like bad fish. And dey eats dem dragons.
Eats dem in Caymans too, down to East End. Never eat iguana? Something
good
, mon.
Don’t like dragons, mon—dey looks too scornful.
Eatin
hox-bill
, now, you know you eat something. Put lead in your pencil, mon.
Don’t need dat! (
laughing
) Ain’t like de old days.
Yah, mon. All dat Indian squints. Y’see, Speedy, every turtler had he woman at home, and den he had he Indian at Miskita Cay. Copm Steadman kept dis Miskita woman—
Raib is working on the catboat sail; his head appears over the rail.
Never had no Miskita woman.
Copm Steadman?
No, mon. Copm Steadman had one dese Creoles, what we calls Wika. What is actually de Indians, with a very long bow nose, all dem fellers died out over dere. De ones dere at Miskita Cay, dey call dem Miskitas but dey Wika. Lot of colored blood. Dey talk English, and dey talk dere own language, too.
Raib mumbles his idea of Indian language.
Sound like dat—I never could cotch it. But dey born with it.
Raib hoists the catboat sail, which he has patched with checkered sacking that reads
GOLD RING FLOUR
.
Throw down a knife, till I trim dis patch!
Let de mon borrow your knife dere, Vemon. Ain’t you de one so proud about his knife?
Proud? De hilt of dat knife come from de famous pirate knife dat were found guardin de treasure dere by Meagre Bay! And de blade better’n any goddom knife aboard dis vessel!
Will raises his eyebrows, then speaks mildly.
You seen dat knife stuck above my bunk? You take a look at
dat
!
You de mate? Well, you go fuck yourself!
Throw de pirate knife down, den, or any goddom knife!
Look above Vemon bunk, you find an old rum bottle, most likely.
Athens passes down a big hickory-handled knife. Raib gazes at him.
Dat is Copm Andrew’s knife.
Dass right. Used it for butcherin.
Raib climbs up out of the catboat; the men make a place for him by the galley.
Course in dem days when Copm Steadman kept him a Wika woman at Miskita Cay, de old mon never cared a bit about goin home. Once he got his turtle crawled dere, and everything handy, he just as soon lay around dere a little while. But his son Autway, he a young feller at dat time, and he got anxious about goin home. Den a nice southeast wind come up, a fair slant for home, but de old mon say he wouldn’t go. So Autway look at de father and he look at de Wika woman, and den he say, Dis be a
pussy
wind, Autway say. (
laughs
) So Steadman sit straight up at dat and he say, What you said? And Autway say, Dis be a
pussy
wind, Autway say, I be a mon now and I say anything I want. Den he say dat last part again just so he can hear de words; I be a mon now, Autway say. But de poor fella got lost in de storm dere at Serrarers, long with de father. And dat were de end of a first-class turtler. Steadman Bodden were a first-class turtler.
Wash of seas along the hull.
Will? You gone to give us dat tale dis evenin?
No, mon. Everybody know dat story, Copm Raib.
No, Will, I ain’t heard it good in many long years gone, and dey’s men sittin here dat
never
heard it—Buddy, and den Speedy and dat engineer, and maybe Wodie. De news take quite a while to travel down to East End, ain’t dat so, Wodie? So you best tell it, just so’s we know you can talk good when you know what you talkin about.
Will, seated on the deck, squirts a jet of tobacco juice between the rails. He wraps his arms around his knees and squeezes hard, rocking a little, so that his bare toes dangle, and as the ship swings, the twilight shadows play on his lumpy face.
