Far Tortuga (43 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
Dere’s your portion, Wodie. Don’t go spillin.
Midafternoon.
A noddy lights upon the tiller. It cocks its silvered head.
See dere? It waitin.
How you
know
dat? How you
know
?
I see birds flyin in de corners of de sky, dey towardin de last light to de west, and I get feelins, and I
know
!
The bird raises its wings, and the wind lifts it; it flies away westward, into bright wastes of ocean afternoon.
Dusk.
One day I was in de bushes nearby what dey calls de Shadow Pond cause dey ain’t but de shadow of water in it, and dat day I found dis old coconut tree dat I knew never belonged dere, and beside it dis nut with a young sprout comin out, so I say to myself, De old people put dis coconut tree down so a mon could get a drink, and I gone to do de same. So I plont dat tree, and so de story end.
Tell him stop talkin about WATER!—
Dass good, Wodie. I plont some young trees when I get home, small plonts. On my own ground. In de Bay Islands.
Oh, I know everything dat grows, cause I were reared up in de Island, and by dat I come to know things. De old people tellin dat fore de hurricane of ’32, all de sea front dere in Bodden Town were Jennifer and sea grape and coco-plum and lavender. Oh, coco-plum! Dey tastes so nice, boys! Cocoes!
When Wodie sits up straight and claps, Byrum slaps his big hand on the tiller, then cries out, clutching his shoulder.
Pig food! Maybe de niggers eats dat at East End, but back home in West Bay we calls dat pig food!
Noon.
My grandmother dat were a slave woman dat a white mon got by his cook over dere by Prospect, she seen dis pirate standin in de Gun Bay road dat had no head—
Give me dat water for you knock it over!
Let him do what he want with it, Byrum.
Never heard Will say dat I in charge of dis boat? Never heard dat?
Speedy does not answer. They gauge each other, red-eyed, dry lips parted. Byrum’s big face is loose, on the point of tears.
Dis Jonah say he dyin! He admit it! He givin up on life!
Maybe two more days of no wind and dis heat, you find a reason to take my water too. Ain’t hard to find a reason when you thirsty.
Well, givin dis one water is a waste! He spillin it!
Speedy shrugs.
Ain’t we in friendship, Speedy-mon? I
needin
it!
Darkness.
You too quick dere with dat knife.
Best back up, Byrum. Best sit right up dere in de bow where we can see you.
I ONLY SAYIN DAT HE SHOULD NOT GO TALKIN ABOUT DYIN WHEN HE DO NOT
KNOW
!
Maybe he know. Maybe you so wild cause you b’lieve him.
Oh, yes! I seen de night birds flyin to de moon.
Noon.
Wodie’s hand lies on the turtle’s belly, black fingers taut on the pale calipee.
Where one old wreck struck on de reef was de flat we calls Old Anchor Flat, but dat growin up again long years ahead of me. Oh, yes! De corals is fillin it in.
Don’t spill dat, Wodie. Wodie? Dat little cup is all you gets today.
Course dere is duppies dat is facey enough to show dereselves—one dem rusty cats or a ruffly hen, sometimes a goat—and dere is times you will see one if you look back quick over your left shoulder, or rub your eyes with de eye water of a dog …
Shit! (
spits
) Ain’t gone to eat dis turtle?
Got to eat her raw. You ready to do dat?
Speedy splashes sea water on the turtle.
When we ready to eat her raw, why, den we eat her.
Noon.
In the parching sun, Byrum’s caked lips are caught on his dry teeth.
The water bottle stands in the shade of Speedy’s seat. Speedy whispers.
You touch dat bottle once more, mon, just once, I gone to move, mon, very very fast. So you got your own self to deal with, Byrum.
On the cracked blue paint of the thwart, Speedy lays down his knife with a hard rap.
I goin home, mon. Dat land in Roatán waitin for Speedy, fifty-five acres, mon, and cows. I take anybody with me dat don’t get in my way. If Wodie die, den I am sorry. If Byrum die, den I am sorry. But Speedy goin home.
Noon.
Dis de bad time of de day. Oh, yes.
Huh?
Oh, yes. Mon got no shadder. Very dangerous time. Cause de shadders of de dead is flyin round, lookin for people dat don’t have no shadder.
Afternoon.
De old people, dey taught me. I was just a boy dat loved to keep old people company. I loved to know something about de old people and de old ways. I loved …
Wodie sits up smiling, starts to speak again, sees Byrum, stops. He lies back again beside the turtle.
I dyin, Speedy.
Not Speedy, mon. Not dis year, anyways. I goin home.
Speedy winks at Byrum, but Byrum turns away.
Yah, mon. Been goin home all of my life, seem like, and dis time I meanin to remain.
Dark.
