Far Tortuga (32 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
Hey! Vemon!
Vemon Dilbert Evers!
He layin back dere thinkin up revenge.
He thinkin about obeah. He gone stick pins—
Obeah? I can do a little bit of dat myself.
Copm Desmond know about obeah good. He was down in Honduras, sleepin on all de graves.
Copm
Desmond! Call
any
sonofabitch a coptin in dese goddom days—
How you work dat, Athens?
Oh, you got to pay me pretty dear to learn you obeah. (
laughs
) Gone to make Wodie’s neighbors dere pay pretty dear for learnin it. When dey caught’m with all dat hair and shit, dey was complainin dat dey still had one more to kill.
Yes
, mon!
Kill?
You got to kill and do all dat! Why, you got to kill half a dozen,
learnin
!
You got to get what dey calls de Book of Moses, dat right, Athens?
Mm-hm. Book of Moses. Frogs’ legs. All dem things like dat. Got to eat salt when you thirsty and coot with your sister and hang upside down in trees. Got to sleep on graves. Got to drown a child—dass what dey done dere in Caymans. Ain’t dat right, Wodie? Dem obeah workers come from de East End, y’know, and dat where de deed were done. Up in de bushes over dere, by dem wild fig trees.
Athens pantomimes the murder of the child, and the men laugh out of nervousness.
Dey only de two ways to protect yourself from people dat is workin woe. One is, you goes to de graveyard and dig yourself up some crumbly bones. And de other is, you
kill
de obeah worker by pushin her down on a sharp stake. (
laughs
) But first you gots to pin her tongue to her chin with a sharp thorn, so’s she don’t fix you with her last curse. Dey do
dat
a few times down East End, dey wouldn’t have so much woe-workin, dat right, Wodie?
Wodie grins; he looks at Raib, who sits against the galley side, hat cocked over his eyes, wrists on his knees.
Well, dem two ladies down East End, dey is my neighbors. People like dat, dey just get caught up in dere own foolishness! I don’t think dey know what would be good for a pain in de belly, but dey walk around and try to fool people, make’m believe things, and dey had all dat nonsense in dere house. Well, after de death of dat child, dese things were found in de house dat was knowed to be used by people dat claimin to know obeah. Dey had black candles, and clothes of different folk, and skulls of animals and whatnot, and fingernails and hair and bones, which people think is used in witchcraft and workin obeah. And it be true dat de death of dat child is very mysterious. Because de child had no physical marks on it, like say, somebody kick it, or lick it with a piece of wood, or choke it, and it wasn’t drowned; it died before it hit de water. Because it didn’t have one drop of water in de lungs; dat child were floatin like a piece of bobwood, with de air still into de lungs, floatin along under de beach dere in de mornin sun.
Never heard about poisonin? Bitter cassava? Don’t have to be no jujuman to work with dat!
Who would poison dat child?
A long silence. The wind moves through the rigging, and the ragged clothes dance on the shrouds. Brown descends from his fuel drum and comes to the galley, squatting down next to Speedy.
Course I will say dem sisters is kind of unusual. Dey de ones dat drove dat nail into my footprint, and den accused me of de murder of dat child. Well, de night of de death, I were walkin home late, and I hear de sweet murmurin of a child in de nearby bushes. So dis were strange, and I wonderin if dis child were lost, so I call out but dere come no answer. So den, next mornin, I was over dere early to see if dese ladies want me to build dem gutterins so dat dey could collect a little water in de rainy season—it very dry out at East End, y’know—and when I come in de yard, dere was de sound of dis sweepin broom at de first cabin, and den dis broom stop even though my foots never made a sound in dat white dust. So dis sister, she very tall and got dese yeller-lookin eyes, she lean around de door jamb, and she point to de other cabin dere, maybe eight fathoms away, a goodly distance, and when I turn towards dere she speak out so soft I can hardly hear. I turn back to see if she speakin me, but she not; she speaking dat other cabin over dere, and
dat
sister already standin in
her
door. Well, dat sister pretty wild-lookin, too, got de same yeller eyes, y’know, and Indian kind of face only very dark, and both of dem wearin all dese big kind of rags dat cling to dem some crazy way so dey don’t fall. And de two of dose little voices in de wind dat if you did not know dey spoke, you would thought you had heard a breath of wind comin round de shutter, something like dat.
From under the rough slats of the galley side, a cockroach extends its feelers: the feelers twitch, hold still. From under the stove wood, the rat watches the big roach.
And it was den dat I turn and seen dat small boat out dere to de eastward, in de mornin channel. Couldn’t make out just who de mon was, cause he black as a dead stick on dat early sun, just standin dere gazin in toward de shore, like he was
waitin. Now dis were before I knowed de smallest thing about de death of dat child.
Wodie takes a breath, his good eye wide.
Raib has pushed his hat back. He opens his eyes slowly and whistles in disgust.
Now I know it be your opinion, Copm Raib, dat sign and duppies and obeah, all dat is nonsense, and you is an old sea coptin and a well-experienced mon. But I gone to tell you now dat I had
sign
. I want to tell you now dat lookin out dere at dat boat, I knowed something woeful had hoppen, and right den, it were like my heart had died. I looked back at dem two sisters, standin quiet with dere yeller eyes, and it were like dat de whole world had stopped. Mon! Dem two huts, I seen every speck of dat limestone on de walls and every straw in de thatch roof! Dey look like dey was dere two hundred years, dey were dat old and dat dry!
De one cabin has a kind of blue wash, faded to de same blue as de sky, and de other one white as bone, and both of dem bare, bare, bare, settin dere on dem old ironwood posts, with old gray narrow doors. A lizard were stuck to dat whitewash like a spot, and he never moved a scale. Dere was no wind, no air, nothin were movin, and all de same dis big leaf fall from de sea grape, just dis one, and come tumblin across de yard, big dead brown leaf, dry as de wind, and dat were de last thing in de wide world dat moved, cause den it fetch up on a post. So I turn my head slow, and all de palmetto and de grape and so, every plant were white with limestone dust dat de wind corries out dere at East End, but in all my years of livin in dat place, I never see things so white as what dey were dat mornin. De sky were white and de sea were white and all de island, too.
And quiet—dere were never a bird, although dis were just de time of dere mornin song. And out on de road dere was two dogs layin in de dust, white dogs laying in white dust, and dey lay like dey was dead, I seen black flies on dem, and across de
road, in de Jennifer and cocoes, dere was a very old donkey tethered dere, look like he
grew
dere. Dat donkey were de same silver color as a old piece of beach wood. (
sighs
) Well, I tellin you now, it were early still, in de first hour after de sunrise, but de light off dat white sand were something terrible. I had to shade my eyes to see dat stranger in dat boat.
And all dis time dat stranger never moved, and dat boat never drifted, no mon, not one foot, in de current and de wind. It were like de sun had stopped in its time of risin, and every livin thing had to stop and wait. De world was waitin. Den dat dead leaf jump free again, blowed down across de road, and I got my breath, and I turned my back on dem yeller eyes and I went down to de seashore. Oh, yes. I knew. I had felt de sign. I were right dere when he brought de body in. And you know something? I know every catboat on dat coast, and I never seen dat blue boat before. I never seen dat fella neither, never in my life. I never thought to ask his name, not den, and I never seen him after.
Near twilight, the
Eden
rounds the southwest point of Miskito Cay and comes up into the lee. The island, roughly two miles square, is the largest on the banks, but except for an acre of high ground where water of poor quality may be obtained, it consists mostly of red mangrove. There is no harbor at Miskito Cay, but ships can come in close on the south shore; in hurricane, they are run aground and lashed to the small trees.
There are two vessels in the anchorage. One is the rusty yacht called
Davy Jones
, the other a converted schooner like the
Eden
but much larger; she is trim in appearance, and her dark green paint is new. Turtles are being hoisted into the ship from two catboats that bob along her hull.
Dere she is, mon! De
Alice H. Adams
, Speedy! She takin on her turtle now, gone sail directly to Key West!
Silhouetted on the fading sky are two thatched, ragged Indian shacks on sagging platforms. To avoid the sandflies that infest the cays, these shacks on stilts are built well off the shore. Trailing downwind from each shack are the small dugout
cayucas
, which in the turtle season bring the Indians across the forty miles of open water from the Mosquitia Coast.
The
Eden
moors inshore of the
Adams
and lowers her small cat-boat. Athens and Byrum go off to the
Adams
, and Byrum alone, trying to chew gum while he whistles, returns at nightfall for his supper.
Hey, Byrum! How de Indians?
Most of dem Wikas treats me nice. Don’t treat me anything but nice. Dey give me dis nice sack of conchs.
Byrum drops a burlap sack onto the deck with a thick crunching sound.
Supper, Byrum, when you ready. No rush at all with me.
You back in de galley, Speedy?
Vemon? You ready for rice porridge?
Wait till I done! I still eatin dis hox-bill!
A catboat comes across the water, carrying Athens and three men of the
Adams
crew.
Cocinero!
Hey dere, Byrum! Gone to let us up?
Come up, come up! What say, Royal? Come up, mon!
The crews greet each other shyly.
Dis here Henry Bawden. From Old Providence.
Come up, Henry! When you fellas sailin?
Sail tomorrow, mon, if dat wind break with us.
Hey dere, Copm Raib!
Hey, mon! You talkin wind? We had a hell of a time! How many you get?
We full. Four hundred fifty—close to dat.
Hear dat, Speedy? De
Adams
got four hundred fifty, we got seventeen.
If dis wind moderate, you do okay. Dis last week, we didn’t do much neither.
Dis a bad trip, Royal. Very poor trip. Boat leaks bad; no equipment. He ain’t got de hang of dem motors—
frames is mahogany and de plankin is cypress, inch-and a quarter plankin on dat port boat—she pretty solid. I believe she a pretty good catboat. But somehow she keep right on leakin.
Will say she were launched dere without flowers—dat no good, mon.
We should have left dat boat at Half Moon Cay, and picked up Will’s boat dat were left behind
business is a lot into
de picture
rum
, dat make a hard night of it.
Dat homemade stuff? Calls dat white lightnin! More like
black
lightnin, by de color. Feel you quick
mon dat is willin to take de same hard farins dat we do
So Vemon tell me he got to have another half share for comin along, and I tell him, if he got to have
dat
, he best stay right on de dock
leave de nets untended, mon, de log’reds bear dem away
dat de
only
trip dat he got more turtle den what we got! De only one!
speakin fair now, dat fella don’t deserve
New York, y’know. Had papers and everything. You know any of dem shippin lines up dere could use a mon?
So I went back to de seashore and kept watchin, and I seen dat de waves were runnin smaller, and I knew den dat de storm was goin
from
me, passin over to de westward
de
Wilson
, de
Goldfield
, de
Adams
, and den dis vessel, dey have a spoon bow. De
Hustler
, de
Majestic
—all dose older vessels had a figurehead, a real old-fashioned figurehead bowsprit
de
Hustler
had a one-piece bowsprit, no jib boom
by Alice-Agnes Rock—big turtle, mon. We give dem hell dere.
Hon say to me: Precious—
I see four turtle into de one net. Dass right, four turtle. And de way you do, you cotch one of dem with de paddle and den de two men
soft, mon. Soft and mallow
midday I were takin latitudes, and just at noon de sun covered up, and she never
come back out
Jamaicans? Way out dere?
Yah, mon! Desmond got a gang of pan-heads dere livin like animals,
worse
den animals, drinkin and fightin and all so forth. What dey done to Bobel Cay—
worse
den a hurricane, cause at least de hurricane is clean.
says, I can lay down any minute dat I want and picture dose sets just as natural as if I had used dem yesterday
use dat crawl to de east of you, we could crawl dese couple turtle we got here
were my chance in life and den I lost it
where we headed after Bragman’s, won’t find no pan-heads
dere
, mon! Far Tortuga!
Mon, dat half-inch chain hold her till Christ come
sailin home on de
Adams
. Don’t like de way dese turtle watchin me, no mon. I ain’t stayin aboard of here.
Goldfield?
Dey runned her ashore?
Oh, mon: I remember de year de
Goldfield
sailed away, and now she gone!
She mashed up, mon. In miscalculation dey wrecked her
a heavy beam sea when I left dere, oh God she was blowin hard. Dat wind blow de hairs out of ye
he dyin, mon. Won’t talk and he won’t eat and he won’t lay down. Just gone to sit like God on dat goddom throne dere till de wind dry him up, blow him away.
