The Tale-Teller (8 page)

***

YOU ALREADY HEARD HOW I had been rescued from the sea by Spaniards. The ship that saved me was called the
Santa Maria
; the story I am about to tell took place after I had been on board for almost a year: long enough to feel comfortable hiding my body and revealing my thoughts, both of which had been difficult at first. In fact, as time went on, my limited stock of words lagged behind the increasing complexity of those ideas that came to me no longer in solitary bursts but all day long, in an interior monologue I was convinced others must be able to overhear. Indeed, my desire to talk became so fervent that my friend Joaquin insisted I was turning into a real woman after all. I wasn't sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by this comment, but I stored it away as one of many things to ponder at a later date when I had more experience of this brave new world.

I spent my time aboard the
Santa Maria
helping Joaquin and learning from him. Life on the ship was generally pleasant. The crew had been together a long time and were better fed and better paid than the sailors on most merchant vessels. This was because of the good management of the captain. He was willing to go almost anywhere and carry almost any cargo — except slaves. Captain Jago, whose own Moorish ancestry was betrayed by his dark complexion and tall stature, had forsworn trade in human lives, which was one of the reasons Joaquin was happy to serve under him.

One day, as we were heading towards the island of Madagascar to careen the ship and replenish our stock of food and water en route to the Orient and a cargo of ivory, silks, and spices, a square-rigged schooner flying a black and white flag bearing a skull and crossbones appeared out of nowhere. It gained on us quickly, revealing many guns on deck and mounted along the rails, and a crew of about fifty pirates. Captain Jago tried to escape, letting out more sail and throwing cargo overboard to lighten the load, but our clumsy merchant ship was no match for the vessel, especially once it began discharging its arms. The Santa Maria was not outfitted for serious battle, having but two cannons and one swivel gun. The pirates soon pulled alongside us, demanding that Captain Jago lower his longboat and come get them. This he did with alacrity. The captain had no more desire to make martyrs of his crew than he did to make slaves of innocent Africans, and he immediately surrendered all the gold on board in exchange for the pirate captain's solemn word that no one would be harmed.

The pirates proceeded to strip the
Santa Maria
of whatever they could find of value, including its pistols and gunpowder, wine and brandy, and a goodly stock of colourful cloth and mahogany from the African trade. No one was harmed, but several members of the crew were recruited to join their captors, me among them. Joaquin — insisting that he was my father — immediately asked if he could come too, and the pirates, perhaps mellowed by their easy conquest of the ship and its valuables, indulged him. They also commandeered the ship's cook, claiming that their own was incompetent, and our doctor, because medical skills are valued even among such ruffians. They then bid Captain Jago farewell, wished him a successful voyage, prayed that they might all raise a glass of rum together some day, and sailed away, firing a warning shot across the bows of the
Santa Maria
to discourage any pursuit.

The
Santa Maria
's cook was a big man with a foul mouth who felt at home immediately. Although he drank as much wine as he poured into his stews, nobody reproached him for it because the more he drank, the better his cooking became. Our doctor spent his time reading and writing in his journal when not called upon to treat the venereal diseases, parasites, toothaches, and festering wounds that were the prevalent ailments on board. The pirates, thinking he must be bored, promised him that once they entered into battle he would be called upon to treat more bloody and interesting cases, and were surprised that he was not thrilled at the prospect.

This doctor, whose name was Esteban, was not an entirely selfish person. Concerned that the pirates might discover my identity and take advantage of me, he requested “the cabin boy” to be his assistant, and thus was able to keep me safe. The pirates teased Joaquin for making a girl of his “son” by letting him spend so much time with the doctor, but none of them suspected the truth until the day the revelation was forced upon them. It happened this way. You may have heard that in order to enforce honour among thieves, the crews of pirate ships are generally required to sign what they call “articles of regulation.” On our new ship, these articles stipulated that every man would have an equal title to any provisions or liquor seized in the course of their criminal activities, sailors each receiving one share and officers one-and-a-half shares. They also included a list of piratical obligations, such as keeping arms clean and ready at all times, putting lights out by eight o'clock, and avoiding fighting amongst themselves, and of crimes punishable by marooning or death, including cheating any of the others, deserting the ship, or bringing women on board.

About a month after our capture we were asked to sign these articles, thereby becoming proper members of the crew. The cook signed immediately, seeing more profit under this new system of reward than anything available to him in his former employment. Doctor Esteban refused, saying that he hoped his services would be properly valued but he would not pretend he had joined such wicked company of his own free will. Joaquin merely asked why Captain Fergus's objection to women was so strong: a comment which, coming from such a homely figure, raised a shout of laughter and a host of obscene and insulting comments from the crew. Foolishly provoked, I in turn asked the Captain if any man who brought a woman on board would really be put to death. Captain Fergus looked at me with cold eyes, as though I was a parrot mimicking human speech, and simply responded “yes,” whereupon I taunted him that he must therefore kill himself since I was a girl in disguise.

He drew his sword in rage. A murmur swelled around us as the crew absorbed this turn of events. I heard Joaquin behind me muttering, “Apologize; you must apologize at once!” But it was too late. Though I ought to have known better, I hadn't been able to resist saying what was in my heart, and would have to face the consequences.

Doctor Esteban stepped forward, attempting to appease the Captain by insisting that I wasn't technically a woman since I was not yet able to bear children. The captain sheathed his sword, muttering he would not be made a fool of, and that Esteban himself would be marooned along with me and my father as fitting punishment for his complicity in this charade. He called for blankets, and a tinderbox, and a jug of water and one of wine to be put into the longboat, as well as some ships' biscuit and a sack of dried peas. The doctor was given permission to bring his Bible and journal, though not his medical instruments. Joaquin had the foresight to request fishhooks and line and, after some consultation, was entrusted with a snarled length of twine and a few rusty hooks. Two large and heavily armed men forced us into the longboat and rowed out to a desolate island — not much more than a coral reef with a few mangroves stuck on it — where they abandoned us.

Contrary to all expectations our desert island proved kind. Though shark fins circled close enough to shore to prevent us from swimming, there appeared to be no poisonous snakes or large predators on land. We found enough wood to build a shelter from the tropical sun that beat down in unvarying brilliance day after day. Our only real challenge was constructing a storage system for rain so that we would not run short of drinking water. As for food, none of the local animals feared us at all, which made eating them seem unfair. Turtles and lizards lazed in the sun, blinking at us incuriously. Such quantities of fish browsed in the shallows that we could scoop them up with our bare hands. Some of the birds were flightless, and others were so untroubled by our presence that we could lift them right off their nests. One day, after we had not only consumed a mother frigate bird but also all the eggs upon which she had been brooding, I decided that I could not bear to devour one more innocent creature. That was the day of the seaweed and saltwater soup.

***

ESTHER BROKE OFF HER recitation at this point to sip some water from a crystal goblet. She held it up to the light to marvel at the prisms dancing across its facets, and appeared to forget her audience entirely.

“Esther, please. You can't stop now,” exclaimed Madame Lévesque, sounding like a small child begging for another story at bedtime.

“But Madame Lévesque, I explained about the soup,” Esther protested.

“Nonetheless, you have left your audience marooned on a desert island.” Beauharnois was laughing; but, as usual, the merriment in his voice did not reach his eyes. “I order you to rescue them at once.”

So Esther took a deep breath, closed her eyes again, and resumed weaving her spell.

***

FOR FOUR MONTHS, BY Esteban's count, carved each sundown on the bark of a tall palm tree, we lived if not comfortably at least in relative safety. We named our sanctuary “Isla de las Tortugas,” and as days stretched into weeks and existence began to seem less perilous, we began to understand the turtles' reluctance to exert themselves. There really was nothing to do except sleep, forage for food, and sleep again. The sun rose; the moon rose; the sun set. Once a school of dolphins came to play in the shallows and I overcame my fear of sharks to frolic with them. Another time we saw what might have been a ship, too far off to hail, shimmering on the horizon. The only work required of us was catching water and fortifying our shelter to withstand tempests.

I found the monotony of life on Tortugas familiar and was able to relax into its rhythm. But the men were restless, and soon began trying to build a raft large enough to take them to freedom. The first one they lashed together from branches and reeds was clearly too flimsy for the job, but they persisted. When the raft was torn to bits against the coral, they did not give up but scoured the island for stronger materials with which to build a more seaworthy vessel.

This obsession with being busy is one of the things I find peculiar about humanity. Apes are intelligent creatures, but they refuse to work more than is necessary for survival. They prefer to watch clouds billow across the sky or listen to the voices of the wind. Myself, I don't understand what it is about stillness humans find so unsettling. Perhaps they fear that a lack of motion indicates a lack of purpose. Or maybe repose too closely resembles death.

One day I asked Joaquin why he persisted in building a craft that could not survive the punishing waves of the ocean, should it ever manage to navigate the atoll. He retorted that being a sailor he needed to sail and sitting around idly waiting to be rescued was unmanly. Building the raft made the time pass more quickly and engaged his mind and his hands so that he did not despair. He insisted that I help him despite my misgivings, saying such work would keep me out of trouble, though what possible trouble I could get to in that remote and desolate place I never understood.

We had not completed the second raft when a real ship — three-masted, splendidly rigged with eight billowing sails — drew close enough to the atoll to notice us waving madly from shore. It was a heavily armed frigate. As it sailed towards us we discerned that it was flying the tricolour French flag. This worried Joaquin, who explained to me that France and Spain were traditional enemies, especially at sea. Luckily Esteban had a good working knowledge of French and was able to explain our unhappy situation to those on board. As soon as the captain of the ship understood that we had been marooned by pirates, he ordered the longboat to be sent for us, and we took our leave of the island of Tortugas.

Le Lys
was well outfitted: more heavily armed than the
Santa Maria
because it was a navy vessel, but nonetheless more comfortable than the pirate ship. We were immediately offered hot food and clean clothes. That my new garments were far too large helped maintain the fiction that I was a boy. No one considered otherwise, which no longer surprised me. I had learned from my tenure with the pirates that most people tend to see exactly what they expect to see: no more, no less.

Esteban was happy to be our interpreter, asking as many questions as he answered about events in this isolated corner of the globe. It turned out that the captain, Le Chevalier Alphonse de Pontevez, was on a voyage funded by the King to claim new lands for France, and had named a fertile island northeast of Tortugas after himself. Pontevez was at first convinced he had discovered the original Garden of Eden, and anticipated starting a new French colony there, until
Le Lys
made berth on a less fortunate isle upon which they found broken chains and anchors and the wreck of an old French ship, the fate of which had long been a mystery. On shore lay the skeleton of a man shining white in the glare of the sun, rusted shackles loose around its bony ankles. Holding their swords before them like Archangels blocking re-entry to paradise, a search party spent two whole days exploring the interior of the island for any other signs of human occupation. They discovered several more skeletons and the ruins of a few primitive huts. Such desolation was more fearful in the midst of the exuberant green of creeping vegetation, the brilliantly coloured birds and flowers. The only mark man had left on the place was the sign of his defeat.

So the captain was perplexed about the true nature of these islands. Were they peaceful or deadly? Perhaps they were both, simultaneously. After all, the Garden of Eden had sheltered the satanic serpent, and the return of Adam and Eve to their first home had been expressly forbidden by the Holy One himself. In this dilemma he was pleased to discover that three people — one of them an old man and one a mere youth — had managed to live for almost a hundred days in a place so remote, without proper food or shelter. Concluding that our survival was a good omen for the future of a French settlement that would carry his name to later generations, he declared the expedition a success and decided to sail back to France.

Once he had interviewed us and demanded that we draw as detailed a map as we could of our island, Pontevez ignored us for the rest of the journey. We were entrusted to the first mate, a cynical type named Fourget who spent most of his time sampling the Chevalier's excellent wine cellar and playing chess with Esteban in his cabin. Sitting with them day after day I began to learn French, as well as how to play the game of kings. Soon Joaquin and I had set up another chessboard and played alongside our medical companions.