Far Tortuga (22 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
When the oars and masts are passed down to the pilots and stacked on top of the fishing gear, the men come back aboard. Wodie serves large white tin plates of rice and johnnycake, with coffee, and a platter of salt barracuda on the side.
Let’s hustle, now! We got to set net right after we eat! Buddy? Dat food ready? Den give his plate to Copm Andrew!
He won’t eat, Papa! Just takes a little water!
Dat his business! But you got to give de mon de choice!
The men stop talking. Buddy carries a tin plate from the galley and extends it to the motionless old man. In the noon sun, as the chair rolls, the shadow of the foremast boom crosses the freckled hands, which make no move. Buddy sets the plate on the shrunken lap.
Mon, I hopes we pick up one dem hox-bill; my gut cryin for fresh meat.
Maybe we get a chicken green: green turtle something
good
.
Hox-bill bad for my asthma. (
laughs
) Gets my courage up so I can’t sleep. Dere was dis fella went to de doctor, he say, Doc, can you give me something to get my courage up? I havin trouble lately gettin my courage up.
Courage! (
laughs
) Dat pretty good, boy, dat pretty good!
Joke ain’t finish, Copm Raib!
Ain’t finish? Well finish it up, den!
Old Doc give him cascarilla tonic from over dere in de Bahamas, something like dat, I reckon.
What hoppen to de
joke
?
Well, someway I forgot de way it finish. I got to laughin over de courage part and forgot de joke part. I was in a bar, y’know, over dere at de Blue Horizon, and time I got done laughin dis fella dat were tellin me de joke had turn aside and were talkin to somebody else.
Buddy loiters at the rails, seeking his father’s eye; Raib is watching the old man, and the untouched plate on his lap.
Papa?
His father regards him briefly without answering, then turns to Will.
You begin on de south side of de white hole dere, and work back up into de north. Don’t bring none dem net back here; you just set’m all along dat reef out dere!
Papa?
And reef dem sails! Can’t corry sail like dat out dere, not
dis
afternoon, darlin!
Mon, dat wind really cuttin now!
Can I go in de boat, Papa?
You think you can pull dat oar out dere? (
shakes his head
) Boy, I know you try, but tryin ain’t de same as doin. You keep de fire burnin in de stove and see to de wants of Copm Andrew—dat be your portion.
Will leads Athens and Vemon into the port boat; Raib, Byrum and Speedy jump into the starboard boat. Brown squats upon his fuel drum, toes curled over the rim, and Wodie climbs to the galley roof.
We see you later, Buddy!
Let go de line, boy!
Rudders are rigged, and the starboard boat drifts astern. Byrum and Speedy step the mast as the boat tosses; the sail canvas snaps and ripples. The port boat, already free, beats cross wind on a northerly tack. In the glittering green troughs, its gaff-rigged sail rises and falls.
Now the starboard boat heels away downwind. Warm spray flies over the bow, and the crew leans outboard; she comes about and heads up toward the reef, close to the wind. Raib is shouting.
Dass de way you know a fine sailin boat, boys—de way she beat to windward when you slack off on de sheet!
A mile away, well short of the reef, the port boat has dropped her sail.
What de hell Will doin, Copm Raib?
Raib jumps up in the flying boat.
What? Goddom! God
dom
it! I never think he be as poor as dat!
settin at shadders, way out dere!
sailin to dese reefs all de days of his life, and den he go and set his net out dere—dat mon can’t learn nothin from de sea. Dat mon
what Copm Andrew used to say: Old Bush people can’t learn nothin from de sea
put de old mon in dat boat as pilot.
JESUS! If he deaf and dumb, he
still
do a better job den Will, he
still
do it!
The brown sail flutters aloft again; the port catboat has seen Raib’s signals. She gathers speed, bending away toward the reefs.
He ain’t pickin up dem net! Dem five, six nets is wasted!
I make a bad mistake when I call dat mon a pilot. I done a bad job
dere
.
No turtle out dat way, huh?
Well, he might have de luck to snag one comin and goin, cause green turtle out dere in de
day
. Dey out dere grazin on de sponges and de sea grass. But in de twilight dey go up under de reef. Ain’t no turtle in de world gone to spend de night out dere amongst de grasses.
The blue boat drifts in the green sea, in twenty feet of water. In the lee of the reef, the water clears. Dark coral heads gather; they loom and sink away.
Green turtle, mon! See dem two dere? Dem two big bastard dere lookin to coot! Dey gettin set to go down to de Bogue!
Ain’t no chicken turtle on
dis
reef, dass what Copm Allie say!
Strike dat sail, Byrum, take de bow oar! Stay dere amid-ships, Speedy!
The catboat is rowed against the wind, from set to set—lone coral heads, narrow reef channels, round wells of white sand ringed by coral, called “white holes.” Between sets, Raib rigs the next net to its buoy and clears the kelleck and the buoy line, so that it is ready to heave. With hands, toes and teeth, he spreads the whole length of the net to be sure it is hung properly and will not tangle, then heaves the kelleck on its line and throws the net out after it, using an overarm motion that casts the mesh wide in the air. One end of each net is secured to the log buoy of light wood, and this end is anchored by the kelleck. The net floats down the current like an underwater flag, shifting position with the change in tides: it is borne up by small floats along the surface line, and since the bottom is not weighted it hangs in the current at an angle. With its wide mesh, the light net encourages tangling, yet permits the turtle to haul it to the surface when it has to breathe.
De onliest thing, Speedy, when a small turtle hang up too close to de kelleck and got to drag
dat
to de top every time he breathe, why den you go out dere in de mornin time and find dat turtle drownded.
The boat works north along the reef, setting the channels and the edges of the jagged pan shoals that hide just below the surface; the coral walls of the shoals and channels descend steeply to white coral sand.
Easy on de bow oar, Byrum! Pull best, Speedy!
Speedy chatters to himself.
Hear dat, Speedy? You too, Speedy! Pull best, Speedy-Boy, you doin fine!
In the western light, the coral glows, afire. A shark glides outward from the dark wall, then accelerates with a stroke of its huge caudal. Farther on, bonita crisscross, chasing bait fish; where the bonita chop the surface, the minnows spray into the air in silver showers, all across the sunlit coral.
Byrum, grunting, rests a moment on his oars.
Dis de onliest place I ever see bonita on de inside of de reef. And dey jack dere—jack crevalle!
Keep her head up, Byrum. Pull best, darlin. You take a rest in dis wind, mon, she walk away from you right back down to de vessel.
The sprays of bait fish, catching the sun, have drawn the hunting terns, which beat along against the wind, just overhead. Fish and birds chase back and forth across the catboat’s bow, the tern shriek lost in the cavernous booming on the reef.
Where dem birds
come
from, way out here? How dey know dat bait was dere?
Dat what dey call
mystery
, Byrum. Dat is
mystery
. Many’s de time I seen dem noddies on de Cayman Banks, not ten mile west of de island, and egg birds with’m, and boobies. And not one of dem thousands of birds ever comes in sight of Grand Cayman.
The ship swings on her anchor. The catboats are drifted aft on lines of different lengths so that they will not collide or bang the hull.
Vemon! Get your ass out of dat deckhouse! Don’t you see dese other mens workin—day ain’t none of dem dat is drier den you! When de work is finish and de deck secure,
den
you tend to your own self!
Hear dat? Now come out dere, Vemon!
Huh! Call yourself mate, and den you—
I say, Come
out
dere, Vemon!
I
comin
, goddom it, Will!
When de Coptin change he clothes, den we know dat our day’s work be done, and we change too! Dat be de rule of de sea!
Both gangs are wet, and at twilight the wind is cool; they change their pants while Wodie and Buddy cook their supper.
I said, Move his chair in under de roof dere, case it rains!
Twilight.
The wind relents a little, but thick waves rumble on the reef, and the sea gnaws the hull.
See dat silver light? Make me sad, someway.
Gloomy, mon. What de old people calls de Mouth of de Night. Cause de night hungry, mon.
boom
The sea expires.
boom
Feel like dat reef
waitin
, someway. Watchin and waitin.
Athens, mon, you gettin worse den Wodie here.
How about yourself? Always talkin about dat big old shark out dere—how you know he de same one, Byrum? How you
know
dat?
Cause I
seen
’m! Got a big notch in de fin!
Dey some things a mon don’t have to see, but he know it all de same, cause he feelin sign.
Hush up, Wodie.
Darkness.
Copm? We seen dat same dead mess again! Risin and fallin on de far side of de reef!
Raib glares at Will in warning.
Dat old dead whale?
Copm Raib? Copm Raib? Dat thing must be alive! Eitherwise by now it would have fetched up on de coast. Wouldn’t be foller’n us around out here.
Dem sharks still with it?
HE TOLD YOU, COPM RAIB, ON DE WINDWARD SIDE! HOW IN DE HELL COULD WE SEE FINS IN DAT MESS OUT DERE!
Vemon, why you answer me in dat big voice? I ask a mon if he see sharks, and he—
NO, brother! All we seen was dat same awful-lookin thing, risin and fallin in de seas!
Must
be alive. Or else de currents—
Maybe dey
two
of dem—