Chapter 5

Max was given the honor of sitting in the front seat next to Anna. Salsa music, similar to that in the bar, played on the radio. Anna drove the old red Chevy Impala like a longtime native cabby in the traffic to the Hilton, where they collected Max’s suitcase. Then they returned, through downtown, to the docks.

“My father owned the boat,” Anna said to Max as she swerved through the traffic, “but this car is mine. I bought it—used, of course—with my pay from the boat and mostly from my job at the bar.”

“I wouldn’t expect you won it in a poker game.” Max laughed.

“Nope.” Anna remained serious. “I’ve never played, and I don’t expect I ever will.”

“I can tell you’re definite on that point,” Max said. “I was over in Europe for a while. They have casinos over there. I learned to play blackjack from some really good players. It taught me how to figure out the odds. Believe me, over there, you learn real fast what you’re doing before you bet the farm, even if you don’t have a farm to bet.”

“Oh, God,” Captain Bob said from the back seat. “We should have known…”

“Known?” Max asked. His mind was still a little fuzzy from the drinks. Another driver honked angrily from behind, and he didn’t catch an answer.

Anna drove into a section that was obviously the working part of the harbor. She turned onto a street that ran along the water. Max thought briefly of the roads around the yacht club on Prout’s Neck in Maine. Even with all the rum he was thinking that he certainly was in a different world. Then Anna found a parking place, and they walked to a set of stairs that led down to some docks where fishing and other small work boats were tied up. The smell of dead fish was quite prominent in the otherwise clear air. Captain Jim insisted on carrying Max’s suitcase for him.

Anna led the way. Then she stopped and pointed. “There she is,” she said.

Señorita Anna was lettered on the bow of the boat they stood by. It was a fifty-foot fishing vessel with some modifications that made it also work for small cargo runs and an occasional group fishing expedition. Max could see she needed a good paint job, and there were likely many more needed repairs.

“She’s a little bigger than the lobster boat I worked on,” Max said.

“She’d make a good shrimper on the Gulf Coast,” Captain Bob said. “That’s where Anna and I are from, Redneck Riviera, you know…”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Max said. Then he was silent for a moment.

The others stood waiting for him to say something more.

“Okay, crew.” Max smiled. “She’ll do just fine. I’ll use her as my base of operations while I do this job my family sent me here to do, and then I’ll figure out what more I should do with her. Consider your jobs and home safe for a while.”

“Thank you, Max,” Captain Jim said again. “You are a good captain.”

Anna hitched up her backpack and made a sort of short jump onto the deck. Max, still a little unsteady, followed successfully to land on the deck and remain standing. Captain Bob then got aboard, and Captain Jim handed him Max’s suitcase and followed him on board.

Max couldn’t help noticing the five or six chickens—or more—running around loose on the deck.

“Do you have pet chickens or something?” he asked.

“Well, they’re not exactly pets,” Anna answered. “Lots of people in Puerto Rico have chickens. We eat the eggs, so they’re useful. We let them run free.”

“And,” Max added, “I bet they often provide a good chicken dinner.”

“No.” Anna looked upset. “They’re enough like pets that we don’t eat them.”

“Ah.” Max started pointing to one after another. “There’s Cacciatore, she’s Italian, and Tandori from India. That one’s the Chinese Lo Mein. That one’s Southern Fried, and there’s Marsala. That one is Japanese Teriyaki. And Fricassée, she’s either French or Italian, I’m not sure. What’s Spanish? Arroz con pollo? Ah, and Cordon Bleu and Coq au Vin, zee French ladies. Yes, zee French ladies are so sassy…”

“Max,” Anna said. “I think you’re drunker than you look. I’d better make dinner and get some food into you.”

“That rum especially was really strong,” Max admitted. “Glad I stuck to beer for the card game. Are we having one of the chickens for dinner?”

“Absolutely not,” Anna refused. “I just told you they’re sort of pets…”

“Oh, yeah, right…”

“And now you’ve gone and named them. We never had names for them. I certainly can’t eat a chicken that has a name, even if your names are all chicken dishes. I’d have named them Rosa, Maria, Carolina, good Spanish names.”

“I’m the captain,” Max said. “I can name our chickens anything I want.”

“Si, el gringo es loco.” Captain Jim laughed. “I think we should all have a beer. Captain Max, it will help us all sober up.”

“I’m making good ol’ arroz con frijoles,” Anna said. “Rice and beans.”

“No tuna?” Max asked. “I suppose when I worked on the lobster boat we didn’t often eat lobster. We sold all the lobsters we could. But this is a tuna boat. No tuna, maybe, but chickens aren’t what you’re fishing for.”

“My father thinks they’re a nuisance being on board,” Anna said, “but he sure likes it when I do scrambled eggs, omelets, or even pancakes. If we eat the chickens, we have no eggs.”

“I should make you all some clam chowder.” Max smiled. “Well, maybe you don’t have clams here, either, but I make a real mean white bean dip. None of you are Republicans like my family, are you?”

“What’s that got to do with beans?” Anna asked. “White beans? Puerto Rican food has dark beans. Let’s leave the chickens here and go down to the galley. I’ll show you what we have.”

Max started to cross the deck. Then he stopped. “Wait, don’t those Santería and voodoo practices have something to do with sacrificing chickens?”

“Captain Max,” Captain Jim spoke up again. “There you go with all that weird stuff again, like you asked about the cards. You cannot learn all the secrets of our island the day you arrive, and we can only tell you while we are drinking beer.”

“Too many damn traditions here.” Max shook his head.

Anna again headed toward the hatch that led down to the galley.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten lobster,” Captain Bob said. “It’s always too expensive.”

“Stick with our arroz con frijoles.” Captain Jim smiled. He hefted Max’s suitcase, and they followed along. “Besides, I think you’re supposed to eat lobster with fine wine, not our simple beer.”

They all went down a short set of steps on a ladder into the small galley/dining area that was the center of the below-deck cabins. Portholes just above the deckline on both sides let in the still bright late afternoon light.

“This is a decent little galley,” Max said, giving his approval. “It’s just a shame you don’t have some of that good salsa music you had at the bar playing here.”

“Max!” Anna rolled her eyes. “This is a tuna boat, not a cruise ship…but I do have a CD player in my cabin. Later, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” Max smiled. “I was once a musician…”

Captain Bob said, “We should have a bottle of fine red wine to welcome our new captain aboard.”

“That’s okay.” Max waved his hand to dismiss the idea. “You didn’t know I was coming. You know, I’m really hungry now. Perhaps a coffee first, though.”

“That I can do.” Anna took a pot from the stove to fill for boiling water.

“We had some tequila, but I think that’s all gone now. I do have a bottle of rum,” Captain Bob said, but none of the others seemed interested.

Captain Jim shrugged and opened the fridge, and he and Captain Bob each took a beer, and the three men sat down at the small table in the center of the room.

Anna took a frying pan down from a hook over the stove. “Arroz con frijoles coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Max said. “Maybe tomorrow night I could make us all some good chowder. I suppose I could do it with tuna.”

“We get tired of tuna.” Captain Bob dismissed the idea. “If Anna wasn’t so protective of her chickens, you might make us one of those dishes you named up on deck just now. They sure sounded good.”

“Those aren’t dishes,” Anna said without turning around. “Those are the names of our chickens. Our new captain named them fair and square.”

Captain Bob’s face took on a “What can I do?” look. “We leave the chickens and the dinners to her.”

Anna turned from the stove. “What was that you said up on deck about white bean dip and Republicans?”

“Oh, I always take white bean dip to family gatherings,” Max explained. “I try to make all my stuck-up relatives fart.”

The other two captains guffawed, amused by the New Englander’s juvenile humor.

Anna remained serious. “I’ll ignore that joke. You know, I wasn’t sure what kind of person your family was going to send down here. And I certainly had no idea you were going to come live on this boat…but, you know, anyone who’s respectful enough to give my chickens names has to be okay with me. Yeah, you know, I kind of like you. Maybe all this is going to turn out okay after all.”

Captains Bob and Jim raised their beers to Max again.

Then Anna set a freshly brewed coffee in front of him. “Buen provecho,” she said.

“Wait…” Max smiled. “I know. That’s bon appétit in Spanish.”

“Muy bien.” Anna laughed. “Very good.”