Far Tortuga (39 page)

A brutal bang against the hull, on the port side, amidships, brings Raib out of the deckhouse; he comes forward to the galley. The crew of the
Eden
, standing now, mouths full, not chewing, are ranged opposite the eight Jamaicans, who have swarmed aboard.

The eight are big wild mongrel blacks, near-naked in remnant shorts and dirty singlets, with wild hair twisted into spikes and eyes burnt red by rum and sun. Wet muscles twitch in thick dark skins that are scaly with salt spray. One wears a beard and big dark glasses and a mean street hat with tight brim, cocked forward.

The eight sway softly with the slow roll of the ship.

Raib steps forward.

The eggers are nudging one another. They have recognized Raib from Bobel Cay, and wear bad grins.

Without looking at it, Raib takes the plate that Speedy hands to him in warning; when he puts food into his mouth, his men sit again and resume eating—all but Speedy, who leans against the galley side.

The man with the dark glasses jerks his chin toward Raib and speaks.

A silence.

The eggers look at one another.

Easing forward across the deck, the Jamaicans form a half-circle around the turtlers; they mutter and scowl at Wodie’s blind eye, and his shard of mirror. The turtlers stare at nothing and eat carefully.

Still squatting on his fuel drum, Brown utters a small aimless laugh; he tips his sombrero back onto his neck and begins to eat.

The eggers rail at the
Eden
’s crew; their jabber grows chaotic, with wild laughter. They nag at the turtlers for cigarettes and food, cursing shrilly when the crew ignores them.

Forks click thinly on tin plates.

The man with the black glasses feints toward Will, as if to take his food. Will is cutting turtle gristle and his knife turns upward, though he keeps the knife hand on his thigh. The jabber quickens; the angrier the eggers get, the more they laugh. They dart their hands at other plates, hooting in glee as the knives rise.

Brown disappears below.

The man with dark glasses scowls at Speedy.

Speedy chews.

The eggers go ranging through the ship. Taking their plates as an excuse to carry knives, the crew move aft to guard the deckhouse. Raib stands with one hand on the helm. His squint is cold and tight and mean; the eggers circle him. Hooting and jabbering, they pick around the bunks and duffels; one finds a pack of cigarettes and points a finger at himself in mock entreaty. Raib shakes his head, and the man drops the cigarettes with a sharp screech of frustration.

One has found the stove wood hatchet, another has the conch machete: he tests the old blade with his thumb as the jabber grows more strident. The man with dark glasses leans toward Raib and shouts angrily at his face; he leans still further, to touch Raib’s chest, and then thinks better of it. Between yells, they chatter rapidly among themselves.

When his father shoves him, Buddy drops his book. It falls open on the deck; the pages tatter.

Brown reappears and squats under the taffrail: he picks his toes.

His shipmates look at Brown, who shrugs his shoulders, gold-toothed, grinning; still squatted on his heels, he hunkers sideways to see better. He pulls out the shreds of his torn pockets, and laughs when the eggers hoot. They turn to Speedy.

Both sides turn toward Brown, who squats there grinning; he looks
proud of the big knife that he has drawn from inside his shirt. He winks at Speedy, giggling. The eggers fall silent. When Brown rises, they back away.

Brown spins toward Raib, lip curled, incredulous.

The eggers gaze at the big knife. The scales of salt spray are drying on their skin, which has turned a dirty gray.

Brown points at Raib.

Raib moves toward Brown.

Panting, Brown whirls, then swoops and rises, knife tip trembling; at his feet, a red line wells on the white throat of a turtle. The turtle blinks.

Brown confronts Raib with the bloody point.

Speedy and Will grab the Captain from behind. The man with the black glasses extends his hand to Brown, who puts the knife in it. The eggers sigh.

In the scuppers, the old conch of Andrew Avers rocks with a small
thump
as the ship rolls. A tatter of dried turtle grass, blown aft, hangs for a second on the taffrail, then whips into the sea.

The man with Brown’s knife enters the deckhouse and takes the cigarettes from Byrum’s suitcase. He strikes a match.

Raib speaks in a guttural thick burst:

The eggers loot the suitcases and duffels; they fill a sack with coffee, cigarettes, rice, flour, beans.

Two turtle are dragged to the port rail and heaved overboard in quick succession; because their flippers are still tied, they sink slowly out of sight.

A third turtle is lifted to the rail and toppled into the boat, cracking the bow seat. A fourth is dropped; its weight splits the shell of the third turtle, and it caroms into a basket, crushing tern eggs.

The man wings two eggs at Raib’s head; the eggs splatter on the cabin side. Raib turns toward Brown, and Speedy steps between them.

Brown follows the eggers down into their boat. They make a place for him, indifferent. A bottle is hurled at the men along the rail; as the rest dodge, Speedy blocks, fumbles, and retrieves it.

Started while in gear, the skiff leaps forward, and one man falls over the side. The boat circles at full speed, and the man grabs the gunwale as it runs him down; howling, he is dragged aboard. The skiff veers in toward the cay, striking the sand hard at the north point.

Wodie retrieves Buddy’s book; he pats the wind-torn pages. Byrum, at the rail, opens the bottle.

The crew crouch at the galley, watching the fire on the shore. Overhead, black rain squalls hang as the earth turns east beneath them. On the hull and cabin sides, the tern eggs are congealing. The turtle with the slashed throat blinks a last time, opening its mouth, and the mouth stays wide.

Will and Buddy butcher the slashed turtle.

Byrum, in his turquoise shirt, brings another bottle from the cabin.

For a time the crewmen drink in silence, avoiding one another’s eyes. Shrieks come from shore.

Speedy sets his cup down on the deck.

In a wind gust, the ship veers, and in the scuppers the old conch shell rocks.

Wodie speaks, in singsong.

Byrum drains his cup and comes up gasping.

Will lobs the head of the dead turtle over the side.