Far Tortuga (36 page)
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
Late afternoon. Heat-thickened wind, and big bruised clouds.
Near the mile-long pier of Bragman’s Bluff, the
Eden
casts loose the refugee boat. The refugees sit huddled, rising and falling on the swells; they do not wave.
The
Eden
anchors off the uttered shore. Great seas driven by the trades across the whole reach of the south Caribbean rumble beneath the pier and crash on the stone beach. On the low bluffs, low huts trail away inland toward low scrub jungle.
The port catboat bangs and pitches alongside as the Captain screeches; he comes running from the deckhouse, still half dressed.
Who takin me in dere? Get in de domn boat!
Will takes the tiller, Byrum is at the bow oars. Byrum wears his turquoise shirt. Jumping down, Raib grabs the tiller from Will, who moves amidships.
Lookit de mate dere! Let’s see can he row!
Row, mon? Will de island’s best!
The catboat moves across the swells toward the pier, lifting and settling in the troughs as the seas pass.
At the seaward end, the pier is high and gaunt, dripping with brine as the wave passes. Each wave raises the three ships that are tied to the pier, heaving them back; the old soft hawsers creak. All the ships are headed seaward, so that their bows may part the heavy waves.
The catboat ties up to the stern of a freighter that is taking on fruit and timber.
Byrum follows Raib to the dockmaster’s shack, halfway down the pier. Here, thin whores jeer at listless men who hang around a radio: the thin whistle and static of the radio nags at the rush of wind and sea. Byrum calls for Will to come, and the whores mimic his call: seated primly in the catboat, Will shrugs his shoulders, tries to grin, then stares away at the coast of Nicaragua.
It is near twilight when Raib and Byrum leave the Customs shed; the whores and idlers crowd forward, begging for work.
You fock me? I loaf you!
Amor!
I sailor, Cap! I fishin boy! Go turkle boat!
The turtlers push through the throng and jump down to the catboat.
You know what dem Sponnish tellin me at Customs, Will? Dey gone to close de turtle banks to Cayman vessels! Close down dis fishery dat is de historical fishery of de Cayman Islands! Yah, mon! Next year!
Close down de
turtle
banks!?
See dat, Will? Even de whores is pregnant!
… gone to charge me a fat fee for comin here, I tell you dat! Outside de port fees, I got to pay de medical officer and den de health officer, and after dat de Customs officer and den maybe de Army officer, none of which has done anything into dis motter! Dey a bunch of thieves, just like Honduras! And top of dat, we got to lay over till de mornin to get de documents back, so dat we lost another day on top of de days dat were lost at Cape Gracias. Don’t appear to be too much justice into
dat
!
Will? Customs askin us, How many life jackets you got aboard of dere? (
laughs
) And Copm say, he say, Two! Answer sharp like dat, y’know, lookin angry at de question.
Two
, de Copm say, I
think
.
I
think
. Dass about it. I thinkin about gettin one, two dem jackets.
Best get enough for de whole crew or don’t get any.
Goddom, how I hate dese Sponnish! Hate dere women for de same reason. First time I ever get de clap was here in Bragman’s. (
groans
) See dem shack dere at de pier head? Back of dat sign where dey got de bar? Well, dass where I done it, right dere on top of de ground, dere by dat hut. I never forgot to dis day how dat woman stink. Domn! It were terrible! You would have to be a dead person to smell as bad as dat! So right away I knew I was in trouble. I ate so much sulfa tablets I got sulfidized, but it done no good. From here I went over to Trinidad, and from Trinidad I went over to Haiti, and I
still
got it. (
furious
) Dass what dey call a
dose
!
Speedy, Brown and Vemon are waiting at the rail. Speedy is wearing a striped suit and shiny shoes.
You ain’t goin ashore, Vemon, I told you dat already. A mon go adrift in de lands of de Sponnish, dat de last you ever see of’m.
Got to get to a doctor, Copm Raib. A mon dat sick, he got to see a
doctor
!
You sick, okay, but ain’t no doctor in dis world can help you. Dat take self-knowledge, which you ain’t got.
Raib and Will climb aboard the
Eden
; Speedy and Brown descend into the boat.
I miss me, oh I miss
shit
miss me
At your house last night
…
How come you singin? Don’t
look
hoppy.
Es posible
I sing
por el publico, entiende
?
Buddy comes to the rail with his hair water-slicked, in a flowered tourist shirt, clean pants and hard shoes, but makes no move toward the boat.
Buddy? Come with us? We dance, boy! Sing! We hang around de bar! Den we come back to de ship!
No, thank you, Speedy.
Buddy? What you all dressed up for if you ain’t goin ashore?
No, Papa. I don’t like dem goddom Sponnish.
How do you know? (
contemptuous
) How in de hell you
know?
You just heard
me
say dat! You never even
been
dere! And prob’ly dis be your last chance in life, cause dem goddom Sponnish closin down dis Cayman fishery in de next year!
Huh? Closin it down?
Yah, mon! Waited till I got dem goddom diesels, and den closed her down!
When Raib goes astern, into the deckhouse, Vemon slips down into the boat. At the bow oar, Byrum laughs.
Look de stowaway!
Come back up, Vemon!
Nemmine, Will, we watch him. He ain’t much but he our shipmate, dat right, Vemon?
Let’s go, mon! Let’s go!
Copm
give de orders, Byrum—dat be de rule of de sea!
Just pretend like you never heard it—
you
be okay, Will.
I tellin you, he be vexed, mon! Copm Raib be fightin mad!
Let him fly up all he want—he ain’t gone to fire nobody. Not off
dis
vessel. Not on
dis
trip. Ain’t we one mon short already?
The boat moves off on the long swells. Vemon is crouched down in the bilges, so low in the boat that the crown of his striped cap barely shows over the gunwales.
Night.
The boat returns over big slow seas, parting reflections of the light from shore. The man sculling in the stern scampers forward over the seats at the last moment to keep the bow from banging the
Eden
’s hull.
A line is slung down without warning, stinging his face.
Where in de hell is Vemon?
Nemmine, Copm Raib.
Nemmine tellin me Nemmine! I say, Where de hell is Vemon? Who dat in de bilges?
Brown ain’t feelin very good. Told dem girls he sing a song for dem, and dey laugh at him cause of his teared clothes.
Sing a song of love,
amor
, and de fuckin bitches
laugh
! I take my knife, I cut dere fuckin t’roat!
Where Byrum? He drunk too?
He say he go find Vemon. He say tell you de two of dem be dere bright and early on de dock when you go get de documents.
I TAKE MY KNIFE, I CUT DERE FUCKIN T’ROAT!
The two haul Brown aboard.
Now who de fool took Vemon into de boat? Who
done
dat?
We did.
You lyin dere! It were Byrum!
You know so much, Doddy, why you askin, den?
Raib dumps Brown by the engine hatch.
Who paid de rum for dis one?
I paid. You never give him his money yet.
Dat a very good thing! See what he do with it?
Ain’t your business, Doddy. (
pause
) Keep people down too much, you got to have trouble. Modern time, mon.
A silence.
You drunk, too, I see.
No, mon. I tell you de same thing tomorrow
fuckin T’ROAT!
Wrenching free, Brown lunges for the ladder head, grasps it and swings out wide over the engine hatch; he loses his footing and falls, landing hard on the iron floor. With ragged breaths, still conscious, he lies there on his back, the sombrero a torn circle around his head. Swinging slowly with the ship’s motion, the light plays back and forth on his soiled face. His mustachio is drawn back, baring his teeth in a kind of snarl as he gasps for breath, and his wet, canine eyes look broken.
You okay dere, Brownie?
Brown spits and mutters, staring vacantly; the heads of Raib and Speedy roll across the stars.
Magdalena! Dem bitches! Cut dere fuckin t’roat!
What he tellin dere?
La Violencia
. He talkin about old
bandito
days in de province of Magdalena.
Sí
! Magdalena! Don’t b’lieve dat, old mon? Don’t b’lieve dat? Where my knife?
Raib straightens. Speedy is starting down the ladder.
Speedy? Do dat fella have a knife hid some place?
When he turn up in Roatán, he had one dem street knives with de spring in it, but he sold dat in French Harbour.
You see dat fella with a knife, you let me know.
Speedy sinks to his knees and lifts Brown’s head into his lap. Brown’s eyes fill with tears.
Brownie? How you feelin? You okay dere, Brownie?
I sing a song of love for dem.
Amor
.
Brown stares straight up at the rolling stars. The rawhide chin strap falls and rises on his stubbled throat.
I hurtin, Speedy. Oh, I hurtin.
