A Dolphins Dream (10 page)

It rained for the better part of the day and while Compton tidied up and prepared a meal, the rain occupied his mind and made it difficult to conjure up a long term thought. 

The squall abated soon after an abridged sunset, as if a curtain had fallen to end a third and final act of this grand noir production. The night jungle came alive with a sound that seemed to reverberate off the sheer lava cliff giving it a life that was frightening in its volume alone, never mind the musicians who created it. Compton hastily made a dish of rice spiced with curry and boiled the green leaves of the bele that had the taste of spinach. The mosquitoes came in droves, forcing him into bed where he finished his dinner under the netting.

Afterwards, by the light of the kerosene lantern, he attempted to read from a copy of Newsweek brought from the States but found himself rereading the same paragraph as if to make sense of it. Lying in the fragile warmth of the lantern, he listened to the insect noise that spewed like raw electricity, blotting out the sound of the waves that lashed the beach. He imagined the insects massing into his hut and covering the netting so as to blacken it and suffocate him where he lay. 

Outside the door there came the faint rustle of footsteps and he snapped alert from his waking incubus, waiting for the sounds to become those of a man. They remained dim and inconclusive, as if their source was at the core of the insect noise. Eventually they became distant and he fell into deep sleep listening to that which was, or was not, there.

At first light the air filled with the buoyant song of birds replacing the pestilential din of insects. From behind the netting Compton aimlessly inspected his body, discovering tiny bites covering much of his feet and arms. Minute bugs scrambled across his chest and belly and he swept them off as though they carried the plague, launching out of bed as if he had been sleeping on an anthill.  

He had left the pawpaw on top of the dead refrigerator, believing it would be safe from who knows what and discovered a two-inch hole had been gnawed out by a rat or mouse, or possibly one of those fist sized, yellow bellied, jungle spiders. Hungry and anxious to be out of the insect ridden hut, he walked down to the water’s edge and cut the pawpaw open. The sweet orb of yellow nectar was more delicious than any fruit he could remember eating. Rather than save half, as was his plan, he ate its entirety and threw the rinds over a lava rock barrier that separated Orchid Beach from a small cove to the west. "Let the crabs eat it, or the mice, or the spiders," he said aloud. “Better it than me.”  

The azure sky was absent of clouds and a soft breeze blew in from the east. Compton sat at the table drinking lemon grass tea and watching the sparse boat traffic, near and far, pass the beach. Everyone who saw him waved and he self-consciously waved back, feeling foolish and very much the inane tourist.

Midmorning Moses came round the point as Compton was finishing his third cup of tea. Moses, as usual, was all smiles. “Bula, Michael, how was your night? Did you sleep well?”

“The noise from the jungle was incredible. It’s worse than your place.”

Moses gave off a high giggle. “The jungle is like a barking dog, lots of noise but it won’t attack.”

“I was attacked. Take a look at these bites on my arms and legs.  I was under siege. The mosquito net didn’t seem to help.”

“No, no, those are love bites, gentle reminders of anher busy world. I bring the repellent from Taveuni, make your nights more restful, eh. I have a gift for you.”

He went to the skiff that floated at anchor just beyond the light shore break and retrieved a large bag and unloaded it on the table. Out poured three pawpaw, breadfruit, a spool of fishing line and several hooks.

“You wish to catch your fish, eh. These reefs have many fish. You make your list for the store and I catch a sand crab for the bait.”  

Compton had no interest in fishing with the line but would not sour Moses’ enthusiasm, for he had already leaped from the kitchen table and was over the sea wall, digging for crabs with his toes. “They are crafty buggers. They cover their holes during the day.”

Moving from one spot to the next, he let out an “AAUGGG” sound when he located a cavity in the sand. Reaching down with his arm, well past the elbow, he came up with a golf ball sized crab.

“Squeeze ‘em tight and pull off their eyes.”

He brought the crab over to the table where Compton was working on his shopping list.

“Then you take off his back and inside there are three sections of meat. Each one goes right over the hook. Perfect, see, three on each side. Plenty bait in one crab. That’s all you need, one crab. You catch a reef fish with the crab and use the reef fish to catch the jack or mackerel. All from this one small crab. Amazing, eh! Everything’s right here, but the Indian man buys tin fish when he could catch the fish right outside the store. He have to get a job to buy the fish! I ask ‘em why he do this, an he shake his head and walk away.”

Compton read the shopping list to Moses. “Bread, rice, coffee, cooking oil, flour, tea, salt, onions, garlic, eggs, crackers and peanut butter if they have it. How about a couple of six packs of beer?”

“No beer, that’s in Somosomo. Also, two gallons of kerosene to get the refrigerator working,” added Moses taking the list. “I’ll fish on the way over and be back in the afternoon.”

Compton gave him thirty dollars.

“There is not much food in the Indian store,” advised Moses.  “Thirty dollars is too much.”

“That’s all right. Bring me back the change.”

“Right, right. Bring back the change.”

When Moses had pocketed the money, Compton idly wondered if he would see any of it again. Moses jumped into the boat, poled out to the edge of the reef and threw a crab baited hook over the side. Within minutes he pulled up a small fish, waved once and sped off into the open ocean towards Taveuni.

Compton walked over to an exposed flat rock that was well beyond the sandy beach and watched him go. The tide was out and the rock, as big as a kitchen floor, was pitted with tiny pools and fissures. A black-spiked worm-like arm caught his eye, twitching its way out of a thin film of water. At first glance he thought it could be the arm of some exotic octopus but closer inspection revealed the arms of a spidery starfish. Black-spiked arms began to materialize from every crack and beneath every rock, writhing like newborn snakes. The very rock he stood upon became festooned with serpentined arms and he leaped off of it as though it had become electrified. The creatures that slithered and squirmed about the earth disgusted him. He loathed the feel of an octopus, sea hare, or eel, for they conjured something from the underworld that was sinister and, at the very least, disgusting.

Returning to the far side of the beach wearing sandals, he edged out onto the coral that extended into deeper water and carefully made his way to a point where he could peer down into the pale shallows. Fish in brilliant yellows, blacks, oranges and neon blues gyrated like shimmering butterflies that had flocked to his feet to sun their wings. He blinked and backed away several steps for fear they held exotic poison that by their touch would render him ill and unto death. To his left was a large, shallow, pool with aerfect white sand bottom. The pool was empty and he gazed into it for relief both of his eye and his anxiety of unknown things. A ghostly apparition stirred before him, seen only in the eye but not the mind. Then a shadow glimmered briefly across the white sand but no object appeared as its source and he stepped to the safety of the dry beach. There, squinting into the pool, he again surveyed it until, above the shadow, there was revealed the faint outline of a fish, translucent as air and all but invisible were it not for its shadow. Another appeared, and another, all shadows of themselves. Unsettled by the fecundity that sprang from every inch of this water, he stumbled back upon the beach and sat among the broken shells. Selecting half a dozen whose flawed beauty had directed his hand, he later placed them in the center of the kitchen table and observed the sea from a less intrusive distance, where he contemplated this far place he had brought himself.

For even in his wildest imaginings he would never have placed himself in such circumstances. It was as if some other person or force had emerged from the bed of his hospital and was now inhabiting his body. This outrageous environment and its incongruous people that could read thoughts and in general occupied another realm of reality clearly disturbed him. It was the absence of control over these circumstances that had him in a state of imbalance and fear. Trying to keep this thing together was like trying to contain smoke. He felt on the edge of fleeing and returning to Taveuni and then a plane home. But there was no plane and something else was holding him fast, something keeping him here, almost against his will.

In the solitude of the open hut the bird sounds came in variegated shrills from the jungle. He looked into the nearest trees but could not find a single bird. Like the creatures of the ocean, the songs of the birds were shadows of themselves. Suddenly all the bird sounds ceased as though something ominous had entered the jungle. The small hairs on the back of his neck pricked and when, seconds later, the birds started up again, he realized he had been holding his breath.

The aria of the birds ran like the pipes of Pan through the jungle and he lay beside the fallen tree in the sun and listened to their song. A deep stillness overcame him and the discomfort lifted from his chest and dissolved into the sound.

Moses returned in the late afternoon.

“Bula, Michael. It was a very good day. I caught three fish and the Indian store had everything on your list. You lack for nothing, eh.”

“I lack for nothing,” repeated Compton while helping unload the groceries from the boat.

“Did you try some fishing?” asked Moses.

“No, I looked around near a shallow reef, saw some beautiful fish but like I said, I’m no fisherman.”

“Is it the sand crab pinch?”

“No, although they’re certainly well-armed.”

“Come over here.” He led the way to the far corner of the beach. “What do you see?”

“Old shells and broken coral washed up by the tide.”

Moses had the grin of a man with a secret. “Look carefully.”

A shell moved. Then others moved. Half of the shells were moving.

“Hermit crabs,” said Moses. “Jes’ take a stick and shove it in and pull ‘em out. Their pinchers are small, no pinch, see, very easy. Good bait but not as good as the sand crab.” He tossed the crab away and pointed to the nearest tree that towered over the hut. “Everything is here. We give the new leaves of this tree to babies with bellyaches. That tree over there has leaves that are bitter and cleans out your mouth and throat. If you get the sap in your eyes, it blinds. This one,” he said, walking up to the edge of the jungle, “you boil the leaves and drink the water and it washes you out if you are stopped up. Amazing, eh.”

Compton, who barely feigned interest, nodded and turned for the kitchen

“Would you like a cup of tea, Moses?” he asked.

“That would be good. Tea in the afternoon is a pleasure.” Moses fingered the seashells on the table while Compton made the tea.

“These are jewels, eh.”

“They’re beautiful. I like the broken ones, where you can see the inside.”

“The sea builds amazing creatures, all with their own secrets.  You see this one?” He held up a black and white checkered shell the size of a thumb nail. “It kills a man in five minutes. It has a tongue like a dagger. Tourists have put them into the sleeves of their wet suits and they are dead minutes later.”

Compton brought the tea. “You mean that little shell is deadly?”

“No, not the shell, the animal inside. Also, there is a stone fish, very dangerous, and the lionfish, and the sea snake. Everyone comes to Fiji and talks about the sharks. But it is not the things you see that will kill you, eh.”

“And where are these stone fish and lion fish and sea snakes?  Right in front of this beach, no doubt.”

Moses grinned, “No, no, you don’t have to worry. The lionfish come out at night and the sea snake is very shy. If you wear shoes in the water and step on the stone fish you won’t die. But there are others, eh. Don’t eat the red fish or the one with the white tipped spines, they are poisonous.”

This last bit of information drew Compton’s direct concern. “When I start to spear fish how will I know which ones are good to eat?”

“It is hard to know, so many kinds. They look alike for a small difference, eh.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll eat any fish until it has your seal of approval.”

“Seal of approval?”

“Until you take a look at it and give me the okay to eat it.”

“Right, right, seal of approval. Yes, that would be a good thing. Cut out the meat and leave the heads for me to see.”

“The tropics are very different from the waters of the Pacific off California or even the Gulf waters in Mexico. Here there are hundreds of different creatures for every one that is in the colder Pacific. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“So much to learn, eh. It is always that way. The world is full of amazing things. Tomorrow more things to learn. Aprosa will come in the morning, show you the sea. Teach you to dive with the breath and hunt for the fish with the spear.”

Compton dismissed this news with a hand wave. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” he said unconvincingly.

Moses looked long at Compton, then suddenly gulped the last of his tea and stood. “I have something else,” and he fetched a fish from beneath a burlap bag in the boat. “Here is your dinner. I must get home before the rain and feed my family who is waiting. Do you need anything from the garden?”

Compton looked up into a clear sky. “No thanks, Moses. How much do I owe you for the fish?” Moses shook his head. “You owe me nothing. Ahh, I almost forgot, your change from the Indian store.” He reached into his shirt and handed it to Compton who self-consciously pocketed it without so much as a look.

“When are you coming back?” asked Compton with an edge to his voice.