Far Tortuga (17 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
At a fork in the river Raib chooses the west branch, which dies eventually in a slough choked with blue hyacinth.
The still birds deepen the silence.
Talk about hell, dis a hell of a place, dass all I sayin. A
hell
of a place. In a civilized country now, you don’t got to be a explorer to go through de customs. (
angrily
) Seem to me I been up dis Godforsaken river all my life, and every time it changin, it never look de same!
Byrum sayin—
Dis river
changin
, dass all! A mon can’t count on it. Ever’ domn time you try to go up dis river, you gots to hunt out a new channel, or you die dere in de mud, like one dem old stumps.
I glad I not here in de night, with all dem stumps. All dat hair and arms on dem—
It de domn Sponnish! Dey don’t put markers out, not even a stick! Every place you go in de lands of de Sponnish, it de same! And when finally you finds de channel, it lead to nothin. One hut dere, and a couple Indians! Boy, you know dat you come to de end of de world! Cape Gracias a Dios! De end of de world is Gracias a Dios!
The tide is falling in the estuary, and soon the boat is grounding on soft bars.
I were six days away from marryin dat woman when she start foolin round.
Who she fool with?
Oh, she not fool much, just a little bit, but Speedy don’t like dat shit: you is or you isn’t. Den I find Miss Pansy.
So you marryin Miss Pansy.
What dey calls common-law. De old kind of marriage, dat is disappearin fast. Least in de poor people. Don’t get around to dat.
Too busy cootin. (
shouts
) Can’t cross dere, Vemon—don’t see dem birds wadin in de shallers?
De one thing dat I thankful for, we ain’t got rivers in Caymans. Dat right, Copm Raib?
Dommit to hell, I never see it bad as dis in forty years!
The Captain jumps overboard in his shoes and sinks up to his knees in mud; his curse hangs in the air. Vemon and Speedy ship oars and climb out of the boat, which is careened onto her side and hauled across the shallows; the mud is so soft that the men must lean on the boat to extricate their knees after each step.
Heat and mosquitoes. In the humid air, their shirts suck at their backs.
Stop leanin on de gunwales while Speedy pullin!
Leanin?
Afternoon half gone and we not even found de channel yet! We gone miss another day’s fishenin!
It ain’t
me
was leanin—
We lucky for dis little wind, Doddy—hear dem miskita? I can hear dem all de way over dere in de mongrove. If dat wind quit, we finish.
Shit! Miskita on de one side, and over on de other side, we get too close to dat little cay, de sand flies! Out here we okay—all we got is snakes and leeches, maybe a stingaree!
And dey got fresh-water shark here. Nicaragua. Dat right, mon.
Oh, I believe dat! Anything bad dat dey ain’t got in Honduras, dey bound to have it in Nicaragua!
On the far shore, two Indians in a dugout cayuca slip along under the buttonwood.
Talkin about miskitas now: Miskita Cay dere, Copm Raib—dey name dat for de Indians? Or de miskitas?
Miskita Cay name for de Indians dat used to live dere in de former time, but de Indians might be named for dis stinkin coast dat got de name
Mosquitia
, and dat name come from de sand flies, which de domn Sponnish calls
mosquitia
out of dere ignorance.
You speak Sponnish, Copm?
No! I be shamed to speak it!
I tellin you, dis pullin ain’t no sailor’s work, dat right, Copm Raib?
Dis donkey work! It take a donkey to work like dis! And dis port boat leakin, see dat? She a new boat and she leakin—dass de way dey make boats in dese goddom days!
Dat mate you got, he say dis port boat leak cause you never put flowers on de bow—
Flowers? Will say dat?
Boy? You got dis kind rivers over dere in Honduras, boy?
You speakin to me?
De colored dere, dey
used
to what we calls donkey work, I guess.
Speedy stops pulling long enough to spit.
Dass right, nigger. We ain’t like you. We ain’t afraid of work.
Don’t get discourage about Vemon; he can’t help hisself, poor fella.
I not discourage. I never been discourage in my life. I just walk ahead every day. I got four suits aboard de vessel, and my family got plenty clothes. I a hard-workin mon, work hard all de days of my life.
Ain’t like your partner, den.
When Brown done with dis voyage, he gone be naked. Dat what he say every night when he lie down: When dat old coptin done with me I gone be naked.
The Captain’s thick toenails are caked with river mud.
He were naked when he come aboard! I give dat fella his first chance! I bought him dem shoes he wearin, and now he think he somebody! But he don’t know nothin, and he don’t want to learn!
Brown ain’t got a willin mind—
Top of dat, he stupid! He so stupid dat he—
Dass what
I
think, Copm Raib!
You
think? Dat don’t mean nothin!
Don’t mean nothin?
Stop leanin on dat gunwale, I tellin you!
Brown say he were with Che in Guatemala—maybe he mean he were down dere at de same time with Che. Or maybe havin Brownie with him were de reason dat Che lost! (
hoots
) And after he got done with Che, he went over to de Yankees.
Che?
Don’t know about Che Guevara in Grand Cayman? (
grins
) Oh, dey too much water between Cayman and de world, don’t know about
Che
!
How de hell Brown find his way to Guatemala? Dat fella call de manifold mon-fool, he such a fuckin idiot. So what he doin for de Yankees? Spy? Fella stupid as dat, now, dey ain’t
nobody
would suspect him—
Oh, dey had a camp in Guatemala for de ones was goin to de Bay of Pigs. Lot of food dere and no work, mostly fellas like Brown dat called dereselves Cubans and went over dere to eat de food.
He say he done some soldierin—dat where he done it?
Soldierin
! (
pause
)
No
, mon. Dat were Colombia, back up in de country. “La Violencia,” mon. Oh, dat were very uncomely, what de
banditos
done down dere. Killed people by de thousands.
You were runnin guns down dere, ain’t dat right, Copm Raib? Makin good money?
Raib smacks his paddle on the river, sending a dash of water over Vemon. The water drips untended from the bill of Vemon’s cap, and from his chin; he squinches his small face, but does not wipe it.
You gettin smart with me again?
Me?
And after dat he went to de Bay of Pigs?
No, mon. But de Yankees thought Brown must be some kind of a Cuba nigger, so dey sent him up dere to Miami. Den dey found out he never
heard
of Cuba. So while dey was tryin to figure what country to send him back to, he run off and wandered around on de Gulf Coast a while, living in de woods, stealin off de land.
Stealin? Didn’t look for no job?
Mon, he say dey so many niggers in de woods it hard to find a place to piss. Jamaicans. Haiti. People starvin, and dey goin to de States. De woods dere are full of strangers, lookin into de houses in de night. Dey no record of dese wild niggers but where Brown was, dey was raidin de houses, so de police come out into de woods with dogs. Brown sneak down to de coast and dis coptin say, Okay, nigger, you can work your passage, and Brown say,
Donde va
? De
Desirade
. She bound for Ceiba, but she got caught in de hurricane, put in dere to French Harbour. When Brown jump ship, all dat he had were a pair of pants and a black T-shirt, I remember dat. Didn’t speak hardly no English till he come to Roatán.
Who give him de name of Brown?
Mon, I don’t know. Pick dat up in de States, I guess, long with de name of Smith.
Midafternoon. The tide still falling. A mosquito whines.
The catboat is barely a mile above the delta, and the customs post is far away upriver. Vemon, exhausted, mutters to himself. Speedy tastes the water, spits it out. Raib reviles the thick blind flood and aimless winds.
A broken sky.
Strings of ibis and egrets, bone white, turn pale pink as they cross a broken sunset.
De last time I come down dis river, Copm Raib, we corried a drum of water and de crew; dis time we be lucky—
Turn dis domn boat around. TURN HER AROUND!
Copm Raib? We come back at sunrise, Copm Raib, and try again!
You domn fool! It be low tide at sunrise, just like now! I ain’t gone to lose another day! No, mon! We sailin for Bobel dis very evenin!
The boat drifts down the river in soft rain.
A school of mullet, parted, sprays the surface; a heron quawks once, passing over, under a hidden moon.
At the delta, the catboat is hauled across salt wavelets on the bar and launched into the surf. There are no stars; the sea and shore are dark. Raib has taken a range on the way in, using the islet point and a great stump; adjusting his heading, he glances back every few moments down the straight line of his wake.
Rain pocks on the night sea.
A masthead light, blurred by the rain.
Well, I glad to see dat
one
of dem got sense.
Still see de light? I lost it.
Dey got a squall dere now. But I got a bearin.
Raib shakes his head. He sighs.
I got a bearin.
