Far Tortuga (30 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
white sail
white clouds
white morning sky
He’s dead, Papa!
Raib’s cuffs hang, and his dry brown feet are scaly in the ocean sun.
He
ain’t
dead, Copm Raib. No, mon. I gettin sign!
Wodie!
The old man’s head is sunk onto his chest, the white hair blowing. Raib removes the thatch hat and stares at the papery scalp. Slowly he removes his own hat, standing there before his father. Behind him, Buddy removes his cap as the other men come forward.
Pity ye wouldn’t eat.
He tries to cross the old man’s hands, but they are hooked hard to the conch shell.
Papa? Is he dead?
Boy, death had to come to Copm Andrew more sooner den later, cause he past de age of eighty. He just dried up and blowed away.
Raib turns the white head by the chin; the eyes are clear. Frowning, he pauses, then presses his ear to his father’s heart. He leaps backward, wide-mouthed.
Jesus! Why de hell you ain’t spoke before!
He never spoke, Papa! I standin right here—
He spoke, I sayin! Right into my ear!
Raib replaces his father’s hat, then his own; shaking his head in wonder, he begins to laugh.
Not yet!
He say it slow like dat—
Not … yet!
All but Wodie watch the Captain’s dance of glee. Wodie climbs to the galley roof and lies down on his back, shielding his eyes. His mirror glints.
The Captain throws his arms wide to the sky.
NOT … YET!
The
Eden
’s course is south by east, 165 degrees, down the Main Cape Channel. Off to windward is the line of reefs: Half Moon Cay, Bobel, Hall Rocks, Cock Rocks, Edinburgh Reef, Cayo Muerto, known to turtlers as Dead Man Bar.
… forward of de cobberknife it tapers off. Dass where you shoot him, on de fall, just over de forward edge of his jalousies. One bullet dere kill a shark dead; eitherwise he don’t pay much attention. So dis tiger took dat bullet and head straight down and bury his head so deep in dat sand dat he were standin straight up, and his tail stickin out de water so you could snare it without ever thinkin about gettin wet. And dis were in ten feet of water.
Now dem big sharks dat you seen dere at Edinburgh Reef, dat is de turtle enemy. Big turtle now, shark got to bite him right to get him, and de turtle is very fast, so de shark try to dismantle him so he can go to work on him. Take a fin off or go for de head. But I seen many times dat when de shark bite de head off of de turtle, he give up den and go away. And dat is cause in my opinion dat turtle head is still openin and closin inside of de shark, de way de turtle do when you chop his head off.
Make him uneasy.
Make him uneasy, and he abondon dat turtle.
Byrum best remember dat on de day dat big shark come for him. Just keep dat big mouth workin when he bite your head off, Byrum, and maybe he leave de rest of you alone.
Dass a very good plan, Athens. Thank you.
Rolling southward.
Lone white bird.
No, dat
not
a sprat bird—dat is a
egg
bird! Look something like a nightingale! De sprat bird has yellow bill and yellow feet!
You thinkin about de bos’n bird!
No, mon!
Sprat
bird! Dat one dere is called de
egg
bird cause dem goddom Jamaicans theft de eggs of it.
The northeasterly trades continue, bearing away heat and humidity in a hard breeze; as the day wears on, the wind increases.
See dat? Comin back at us again! I hoped dat wind were done with us, but when I seen dat star, I knew dat it were not!
The men stare somberly at the green seas and the white sky of spring. The world is empty.
Look at dat! Call hisself a seaman, and he pissin on de weather side de ship.
Who dat?
Athens! De cook dere! (
grunts
)
I
can cook better’n dat. I can
cook
, mon. I shipped as cook once, and I know how to cook good. I ain’t shamed of it like some of dem; a mon can be proud of anything he know how to do.
Cook for
us
, den—we half starved, eatin dat shit.
Ain’t got time to cook! If de coptin got to do dis mon’s job and dat mon’s job and de next mon’s job, and watchin dem and carpin at dem—he can’t do dat. But dat de way it is dese days, de crew you gets. And I hungry as hell myself.
Can’t keep no steady crew, de way he treat dem. If he had a steady crew, he would had a first-class pilot in de port boat and den a first-class cook, like dey got on de
Adams
. Dem fellas on de
Adams
, de most of dem have been aboard a good while, and dey know dere jobs. Aboard of de
Adams
, a mon eat very good.
We
all
hungry, Copm Raib! Copm Raib?
De galley’s gettin in a terrible shape. Nasty! And I got dem so much dishrags and soap and fresh water and all so forth—puddin pans. And dey take dat old salt water dere to wash de turtle grease off de pots! Jesus! Never take de time to do it right! But dat de kind of crew you get dese days. When all de boats was under sail, a mon had to be a sailor to get his job, but now any kind of half-ass fella call hisself a seaman! (
pause
) Dat Athens, dass a pretty one. I made a bad mistake when I sign him on. Dat were a very poor job I done.
Fuck’m. If de
Adams
still at Miskita Cay, I sailin home on her. I had enough of dis wind coptin. No equipment—I don’t work dat way. No ’commodations. I worried
about my baby—can’t get he breath. Like me. He can’t keep me aboard of here if my baby dyin, he got to sign me off.
A lot of de coptins now, dey have de same opinions of dere crews dat I haves, but dey scared to open dere mouth.
Dat one thing
you
not scared of, dat right, Copm Raib? I can hear you good all de way over here!
Dass okay, Athens, won’t do you any hurt! Might learn something! It always best to speak de truth, like Speedy say!
Well, dey are times—
No! A mon got to have de guts of his opinion! And my opinion is, dey too many fellas like some dat I got aboard of dis vessel dat don’t know nothin and don’t
care
—no self-respect! Dass what it is—self-respect! Used to be dat in Caymans a mon respect hisself. He done his job, took care of his family, all of dat. He had his land and his own provision ground; he built his own catboat and hung his own nets. Things like dat. But now dey all gettin like de cook dere, like dat engineer I got—don’t motter what de color is no more, dey
all
actin like colored people!
Colored people okay, Doddy. It us niggers dat takes hondlin.
Okay, den, Speedy, I be honest with you! You a very good mon, and I done a very good job dere when I sign you on down in Honduras! But I don’t disagree entirely with discrimination! You know yourself dat colored people always kept dereselves in such a poor way, dey don’t know to keep dereselves decent. We almost
need
some discrimination, we almost
need
some! When people comes around so goddom sloppy, hondlin de food like Athens dere with dem dirty shirt sleeves lickin down into de food—like dat engineer I got dere. Dass another one. Used to be de only place you see fellas like dis was in jail. Now dey all over de Caribbean Sea!
Athens, squatting, cap askew, eye squinted in the smoke of the damp cigarette hung from his mouth, is slicing turtle meat. His ragged arms move back and forth between his ragged knees. The
big hickory-handled knife slides silently, twisting and winnowing. Despite the heat, Athens still wears his undershirt; its front is stained with turtle blood because his outer shirt, with only the top button fastened, is flying on the wind.
Brown and me hearin you good, Copm Raib. Loud and clear.
I hope you listenin—hearin ain’t enough!
Athens holds up a piece of turtle meat and turns it in the sun.
Dat child Ronald—know de one? Ronald
your
child, ain’t he, Copm Raib?
Raib stands up.
What de hell you mean by dat?
Oh, I know he
your
child, Copm Raib. I mean to say, he ain’t nobody
else
’s.
What you mean, den?
Don’t mean nothin. I just askin.
In an eddy of wind, an orange cigarette pack spins across the deck with a faint scratching sound. The men watch Athens’ knife slide, slice, carve and pull and pare.
Cause he got bad hair—
dat
what you mean?
You
sayin dat, not me.
A thick slap of meat on meat.
Vemon? H-ss-t. Vemon? Best tell your partner to go soft!
Look at Raib face. Look at dat
face
…!
Look at Athens! He
mad
, mon!
Got de nerve of de thief’s callin, dat boy!
Raib stands over Athens, thick hands at his sides; the wind lifts the white strands in his iron hair.
You like a domn chameleon, know dat, Athens, de way you sneak around shiftin your color.
Oh,
my
color ain’t shiftin, Copm Raib. I white as de driven snow, all cept my skin.