Red Midnight (10 page)

AS I SAIL NORTH
, the shore sometimes disappears. I do not worry because I think the map shows big inlets along the Yucatán. Each day I think I sail the distance of three fingers up the map. If this is true, we will leave the Yucatán and begin crossing the Gulf of Mexico by tomorrow night.

I am very lucky I have not lost the map that is in the pocket of my shirt. Maybe next time, luck will not be so kind. The map is wet from being in the water, so I am careful when I unfold it from the plastic bag. I hold it on the hot deck to dry in the sun.

As the map dries, I stare at the shapes and try to learn every country, island, and inlet. To help me remember, I use the tip of my machete to scratch the shapes of each country into the wood deck. I trace Guatemala, Belize, the Yucatán, Cuba, and the state called Florida. I even
carve the names of each in the deck. Now, when blowing wind makes it hard to look at the map, or if waves tip the cayuco and I lose the map in a storm, still I will have something I can follow. I do not want to always ask for luck.

I give Angelina a little piece of dried fish and a carrot to eat. I smell the beans. Maybe I will let them soak one more day. I eat one banana that is very black and soft. I also break open a coconut. My stomach hurts from being hungry, and chewing on coconut makes my stomach think it is eating. I save the sugarcane for Angelina because that is something she likes.

As we sail, I always look for the floating balls from a fisherman's net. If we can eat fish again like yesterday, I think we can stay strong. Now I am glad the waves are not big because there is much to do.

Angelina helps me pull out everything we have—except the coconuts—into the sun to dry. We have little food, only the fruit, some broken stalks of sugarcane, the wet bags of beans and rice, two dried fish, and the water bottles. I look at the other things I have. There is the compass, my machete, the pail, some fishing line with no hook, three short pieces of plastic rope, the paddle, and the candy. I pull the candy from my pocket. It is melted by the water into a hard ball no bigger than the compass.

The only thing lost during the night is the plastic bowl for emptying water and the sleeve we used to clean ourselves. I cut my shirt with the machete and tear off
the other sleeve. Maybe tipping the cayuco last night has helped me. It makes me know I must be more ready when I cross the Gulf. Also the ocean water has washed away the bad smell under the deck.

With the extra plastic rope, I tie the machete and the paddle to the cayuco. It will be hard using them with small ropes tied to the deck, but I must not lose them. I have the wet bags of beans and rice hanging high on the mast to dry. The fruit I will eat only when it be comes very soft with age. I am worried that I do not have enough food to cross the Gulf. When food is wet, it does not last, and out on the ocean everything is soon wet.

When all of the food and supplies are stored back under the deck, I take the last piece of the plastic rope left from the river of garbage, and I tie it around Angelina's chest. To this loop of rope, I tie two empty water bottles. Now Angelina can pull the loop around her chest when the weather is bad. I will make her sleep with the bottles at night, too. The empty bottles will float and keep her alive if the cayuco tips over again.

When everything is ready, I try to sleep some in the hot sun. My hat is wet and crushed, and it hangs over my head like a rag. It is hard to sleep when I must sit up and also watch the ocean. I worry each moment that something bad will happen. The waves come from the west, and I lean against the paddle to keep the cayuco sailing north. Big wet blisters cover my hands.

As I sail, the shore appears and then disappears again. Late in the day, more garbage floats past the cayuco. I think it is a habit that I have—I look for anything that floats. Today there are only pieces of wood and broken plastic bottles. I find one plastic bottle I can cut and use to empty water.

The sun is almost touching the water when something small and dark floats toward the cayuco. It is nothing I can use, only a little plastic doll that is brown from the sun and water. It has no hair, one arm is missing, and the body is broken almost in half.

But then I look at Angelina staring at the floor. I turn the cayuco very fast so I can grab the doll from the water. “Here, Angelina,” I say, giving her the doll.

Angelina takes the doll and stares at it.

“I think the doll is hurt and needs a friend,” I say. “Will you help her?”

Angelina turns the doll in her hands and nods. “I think the doll is very hungry,” she says.

I open the bottle that soaks the beans, and I take out one bean. “Dolls do not eat very much,” I say.

Angelina takes the bean and pushes it into the mouth of the plastic doll. “One is okay,” she tells me with a strong voice. “She will not make the coconuts dirty.”

With the machete, I chip a small piece of candy loose. I hold out the little piece. “Does your doll like candy?” I ask.

Angelina grabs the candy and pushes it fast into her own mouth. “No, dolls do not like candy,” she says.

I see a piece of palm leaf in the water and grab it. “Maybe you should make the doll a hat,” I say.

Angelina nods and takes the palm from my hand.

I smile and try to sleep a little more. Angelina holds her doll and works to make a little hat.

The sun is now gone. I know from the map there is one more big island I will sail past during the night or tomorrow. I hope that I will find more fishnets near the island. Before Angelina lies down to sleep, I tell her, “Angelina, you must sleep with the empty bottles around your chest.”

Obediently, she pushes her feet through the loop and pulls it up around her chest. I know the bottles will not be comfortable. I watch Angelina until I think she is asleep, then I, too, let my eyes close to steal sleep from the night.

I wake often as the night begins. The moon has grown each night since we left. Once, when I open my eyes, I find Angelina awake holding the doll in her arms, rocking it and talking to it. I feed her another carrot. I do not think the beans smell very good, but still I eat some. I take one bean and give it to Angelina for her doll. “How is your doll?” I ask.

“I talked to my doll tonight,” Angelina says.

“Does your doll talk to you?” I ask.

When Angelina speaks, she whispers. “My doll tells
me her family is dead. She tells me she is very scared. Her body hurts and she is lonely.”

“She tells you all those things?” I ask.

Angelina nods.

“Does your doll have a name?”

“Maria,” she says.

“Is Maria tired?” I ask.

Angelina yawns. “It is dark and she is very tired.”

“Maybe you should sleep with her so she will not be lonely,” I say.

Angelina hugs the doll and moves the petate around on the coconuts. It is hard for her to be comfortable sleeping on coconuts with two plastic bottles around her chest. “I will sleep with Maria,” she says. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I say.

“Say good night to Maria,” Angelina tells me.

“Good night, Maria,” I say.

When Angelina closes her eyes, I begin another long night. As I sail, I watch Angelina sleep. Tonight she does not cry. The light from the shining moon lets me watch her. Both of her arms wrap around the doll, and the look on her face makes me think that her dreams are good dreams.

It is good that I have found Angelina the doll. If I want Angelina to make it to the United States of America, I will need to take very good care of that doll.

ONLY A SHORT TIME
after I eat the beans, my stomach cramps again and I must sit back over the back of the boat. I stay there a long time until my stomach does not hurt and until there are no more beans left inside me. Angelina does not wake up, but if she does I will tell her I am feeding the fish.

After I use the sleeve to clean myself, I sit back in the seat and make up my mind. I cannot eat the beans if they give me diarrhea and do not make me strong. I understand now why the women in our village cooked beans for a very long time. They did not want to kill their families. Tomorrow I will throw away the soaked beans.

Tonight the waves are only small hills that lift me gently when they pass. The breeze is weak but keeps my sail filled. I wedge the paddle in the notch and sail without holding the paddle.

When the ocean is this way, I do not feel I am moving very fast, but I know the current that hides below me always pushes to the north. Enrique told me that when I leave the Yucatán, this current will separate like two roads, one that flows east and one west. I will sail east.

I think about this to help the hours pass. I also sleep, but not hard. Thoughts drift through my head like a breeze that comes and goes. I know it is never safe to sleep long. But I must sleep, and I think it is better now when the ocean also rests.

Just before the morning comes, small lights flicker far away to my right. I see the lights long before the cayuco carries me close enough to see the land. I think this is the big island the map shows me at the north end of the Yucatán. After this island, I will soon leave all land behind me to cross the Gulf. I pull in the sail a little so the wind will take me closer to shore where I can look for fishing nets.

Again, this morning, luck rides with me in the cayuco. The sun is still below the water when I see a long line of floating balls on the ocean. I lean against the paddle and steer to one of the balls. As I pull close to the net, I watch the shore. I think a fisherman will be very angry if he learns that I steal his fish.

It is wrong for me to steal fish. Mother and Father would also be very angry to know their son, Santiago, steals something that is not his. But I know the fish will save my life. I have no money, I cannot ask permission,
and I need to feed Angelina. What else can I do?

This morning, I find three fish in the net. The big fish are still alive. One I throw in the bottom of the cayuco. I will cut it up and eat it when Angelina is awake. The other two, I tie a rope through their mouths and let them drag behind the cayuco. Maybe they will still be good to eat tomorrow.

North of me on the shore, there are the buildings and houses of a big city. Also many white sailing boats float near the island. I do not want to be seen, so I sail away from shore. When the island is only a thin shadow on the water, I let the sail swing wide and I keep sailing north. By now the morning sun is high above the water. Angelina still sleeps with the doll in her arms. She sleeps until the heat comes to the sky like air blowing from a forest that burns. When she wakes up, I try to make her laugh. “Angelina,” I say. “Do you want more beans for breakfast?”

Angelina does not speak or laugh. She sticks her tongue out and wrinkles her face until her eyes close.

I laugh. “Okay, I will throw them away,” I say. I take the beans that are soaked and throw them into the ocean.

“I hope the beans do not kill the fish,” Angelina says.

I rinse the bottle, and this time I soak rice. I hope the rice will taste better and stay in our stomachs. I do not throw away the dry beans still tied in the bag. Maybe they will help me kill pirates.

“Okay, I think we should eat something different,” I tell Angelina. “I think we will eat fresh fish.” I reach down and lift the fish from the bottom of the cayuco. “Oh, look,” I say. “Where did this fish come from?”

Angelina shrugs.

“Did you catch it during the night?”

Angelina thinks. “Maybe I did,” she says.

“Maybe it jumped into the boat when we slept because it knew that Angelina was hungry,” I say, pulling out the machete.

I know the fish will not stay good in the hot sun, so we eat the raw meat until our stomachs are round. When we finish, I make another notch in the cayuco. Now there are seven notches, and I am very proud of each one. Each is a battle that I have won. I wonder how many more notches the ocean will let me make. I pull out the map and stare for a long time, then I look around me. The big island to my right is already far away and behind me. If I am right, before dark, the mainland will also disappear for the last time to the west. This moment excites me and also scares me.

I am becoming like a grandmother. All day, I worry. What will happen tonight? Do I have enough food? Is every knot tight enough?

To stay busy, I do things on the cayuco to try to prepare for crossing the Gulf. I tie every knot tighter. Angelina pushes the food and the water farther under the deck. I wash Angelina's sore skin with fresh water.
We pull our hats tightly over our heads so the wind cannot blow them away. Angelina ties the little hat she has made to the head of her doll.

Eating the raw fish makes me stronger and lets my mind think. I know that this is the food that will keep us alive. But I have no way to catch fish. And I know a tourist will not sail up to this cayuco and ask to trade our beans for a fishhook.

Later I try to sleep more, but the ocean will not let me. The waves grow bigger, and the swells pass under the cayuco like small mountains that lift us high and then drop us into big valleys. We are so small on this big ocean. To the ocean, I think that I am only a bug. The cayuco is only a floating match, and the sail is nothing but a little leaf. But the cayuco is not afraid. I hope that I can be as brave.

As the land disappears behind me, I do not look back. Now it is time to sail the Gulf. If I look back, I will squint and tell myself that I am seeing the shore. But I will be lying to myself. Thinking I see shore will not help to keep me safe.

Late in the day, when the sun hangs like a big red ball over the water, I finally let myself look back. The shore is gone forever. There is only water as far as the sky.

“Angelina,” I say. “Now you must always have the plastic bottles around your chest.”

Angelina nods. I think she knows I am scared. Her
eyes open wide, and she holds the doll so tight she crushes the head in her little fist.

I force my lips to smile. “Now we start a very great adventure,” I say.

Again she nods, but I do not think she understands that we have no choice. The current in the Gulf is too strong to turn back now. Also she does not understand that now each day might be the last day we live. Each night might have no morning.