Midnight.
Low murmuring. A cough.
One A.M.
Black rain squalls to eastward of the cay, black upon black. High in the dark, pale terns circle the masthead, their cries piercing the wind creak of the ship. Ashore, black figures fall across the firelight; the fire flares and dies.
By the Eden’s galley, sparks blow from a loose cigarette.
Mon, mon. What could dey be doin over dere!
Dis a bad night. See dat black water?
Yah, mon, dat tiger down dere somewhere.
Where dat Wodie get to? Gone below?
Don’t know, mon. (spits) Domn fuckin Jonah.
Wodie okay, y’know. Nice fella. He just kind of fufu.
Dogwatch.
The Captain comes, unseen.
Throw dat boat overboard! I goin ashore!
Huh? All by yourself?
I ain’t sailin without Copm Andrew’s knife!
Copm, it no good to fly up now! You askin to get dat knife back in de belly!
Lower de boat, I tellin you!
Speedy and Byrum get slowly to their feet; they do not help Buddy and Will swing the boat over the rails.
The catboat smacks onto the sea, and the short chop heaves it back against the hull with a hollow boom.
Now Byrum sways unsteadily before the Captain.
So you abondonin dis vessel without no pilot and without no kind of crew, in time of storm, with bad reefs all around dis place—s’pose dey knifin you in dere?
boom
Why den, de best thing, Byrum, de best thing to do, boy, is notify de Union! Yah, mon! Call de seaman’s union! Ask dem what to do (shouts) ON DE BLEAK OCEAN!
Speedy points at Will and Buddy. He looks sleepy.
Dem two takin you ashore? (softly) You ready to get dem two killed just cause you sick of life?
And leavin only three aboard de vessel? We never get dat anchor up!
Raib starts to speak, stops; he turns toward the rail.
Get out de way, Will. I take her in myself.
You ain’t goin dere alone.
Dass right, Papa!
Will? (gently) You a goddom idiot, know dat, Will?
Speedy has moved between Will and the rail; he puts light finger-tips on Will’s chest.
Ain’t no crew goin down into dat boat, Mist’ Will. Maybe Doddy dere got nothin to lose, but I got fifty-five acres, mon, and cows. I goin home.
Speedy! You been drinkin!
Raib watches both through squinted eyes; he is not quite smiling. When Will picks up a marlin spike, Speedy taps his knife.
Mist’ Will? I fast, mon. Very very fast.
To disobey de Coptin, dat is mutiny!
I ain’t disobeyed de Coptin. Not yet, anyways.
All wait for Raib, who is gazing at the cay.
Okay den, darlins, put dat rum away. Get set to sail.
In de night time? You sayin yourself dat Misteriosa Reefs ain’t no place to navigate in de night!
Well, speakin fair now, I de one mon left in de Cayman Islands dat would try it. But if dis crew ain’t too domn drunk, I believe I manage it.
Can’t wait till first light? Shit!
On the cay, wild shapes move back and forth across the firelight.
We could lose dis vessel between dis time and first light. I ain’t sailin before daybreak less dey force me to it, but we gots to be ready for no motter what—don’t hear dem pirates?
You always tellin us dat we are stupid! But you de one told dem domn pan-heads dat Desmond would not come! And you de one called Brown a thief just when he try to help us!
Speedy casts a spray of rum across the rail.
Dem dreadlocks tell us dey be back. No tellin when.
Dey be back soon’s dey find out from Brown dat he can run dese engines.
The men look at one another. Then Speedy steps forward, hitching his pants; one by one, the others form a line. The Captain nods.
You a fine-lookin crew of fellas. (sighs) We ready? Where’s dat Wodie?
WODIE!
When you start de motors, Copm Raib, ride forward over de hook—save time dat way.
Ain’t gone to start no motors, Will.
Huh?
No, mon. (laughs) Winchin dat chain against dis wind might get you fellas sober. (shakes his head) No, mon. Got to feel my way—can’t do dat with motors. I got to listen to de sea fall on dem reefs to get my bearins, cause I sailin by remembrance—ain’t no moon.
So you takin dis schooner through night reefs with dem short masts and patchy sails and no goddom sea room, and no moon! Mon, dat is crazy!
Raib turns toward Byrum.
Dat is crazy, okay, if us six here thinks we can hondle maybe sixteen pan-heads like dem ones we seen tonight. (pause) Nothin more to say? Okay den, boy, de talkin time is done.
He walks up and down the deck.
Now maybe dey too drunk to come out after us, or maybe dey just drunk enough to try. But I believe dat dey will try, because dey desperate. Probably dey slip out here without dem outboards, take us by surprise, so I wants two men on watch.
DE TALKIN TIME IS DONE! (resumes walking) First thing, we winch dat chain right to de place where de anchor barely holdin, and de two on watch can slack her off a little if de vessel start to drag; den we unlash dem sails and clear de lines. After dat, we waits for daybreak light.
The fire ashore casts a glint on the black water.
Soon’s de hook is up, she gone to fall off by de head, but even with dis goddom wind, dere is plenty of reach before we would strike into de reefs, and in dat time we h’ist de sail and bear away to de sout’westward. (pause) I be up on de mast. Speedy take de helm, and mind you holler back loud whenever I yell de change of course. Will and Byrum managin de sheets—till you hears me sing out, let her run before de wind.
Wodie emerges from the fo’c’s’le; he stands entranced.
You okay, Wodie? You still with us? Cause I wants you to keep dat stove wood burnin so dey sees it good, right until dat hook is clear; den damp her down quick as if some mon had shut de galley door, so dey don’t see dat fire movin. Got dat? I say, Got dat?
Got dat, Jonah?
When Byrum smacks Wodie hard across the back, Speedy steps between them. Byrum is cursing.
Tonight you men are crewin on a sailin boat dat finds herself in a very ugly corner of de reefs. If dey any mon here dat don’t understand his job, den speak up now.
Speak up, den, you fuckin Jonah!
Papa? Where you want me, Papa?
Copm? How about dat boat? We take her back aboard?
No, mon. Leave her astern, and rig de other to de block and fall so’s we can throw her over quick, if de ship strike.
Raib looks once at each tense face.
I believe we make it okay, but it never hurt to have things ready. Soon’s de vessel under way, den Wodie and Buddy prepares stores and water for both dem boats. Okay? I make a crew out of you yet!
4 A.M.
The crew is huddled by the galley. No man sleeps.
See dere, Copm Raib? Down by de point? Dey up to something.
Yah. Takin dem outboards off—dass dere mistake!
We lift de hook, den?
No, mon. Let dem come a little way downwind. Once dey see us underway, dey got to row back into dat breeze to get dem motors, and den dey ain’t no way dey can come up with us.
Okay. Dey comin. In two boats. You ready?
Yessir.
I goin aloft. You fellas raise dat hook when I raise my hand.
Black wind.
The ship heels as the wind takes her, and the sea quickens; across the wind fly shards of human voice.
The skiffs turn back toward the cay.
LET HER RUN FREE!
Black clouds in a black sky, and the reef booming.
At the blind helm, Speedy is alone: he can see no man but the Captain, who swings to all four quarters on the masthead, holding a shroud with one hand and cupping his ear with the other.
SOU’WEST BY SOUTH!
SOU’WEST BY SOUTH!
dancin on dat masthead like a child!
de wind in reefs like dis! He crazy, Will, he crazy! Hear dat surf? We never—COPM RAIB! WE SAILIN TOO FREE, COPM RAIB!
He got to keep steerage way
BYRUM!
laughin up dere! We in de mouth of hell, and dat mon laughin!
BYRUM? CALL DE SEAMAN’S UNION, BYRUM! TELL DEM I SAILED TOO FREE ON DE BLEAK OCEAN!
YOU A CRAZY MON, KNOW DAT?
Hush, Byrum, hush! Dat mon de Coptin!
YOU HEAR ME, RAIB, YOU HEAR ME?
GET DE HELL BACK ON DAT LINE! HAUL HER UP CLOSE!
CRAZY OLD WIND COPTIN SONOFABITCH!
HAUL HER UP CLOSE, I SAY!
Wodie and Buddy crouch in the galley door. They stare at the deck, not daring to look outboard.
SHE NOT FAR FROM DE OPEN WATER, BOYS! NOW FALL OFF A LITTLE TOWARD DE SOUTHWARD!
SOUTHWARD!
Byrum and Will, exhausted, stare into the blackness. The ship is encircled by white wraiths of reef.
Oh Jesus, Will—!
Hush, mon, hush! We got to trust him!
WEST-SOU’WEST!
WEST-SOU’WEST!
HOLD HER ON DAT POINT! SHE GONE TO MAKE IT!
Black clouds rush past the mast; the sail is ghostly. On the cross-trees, the Captain flings his free arm wide, exalted.
SHE CLEAR, SHE CLEAR! WE IN DE CLEAR!
The gear in the galley crashes, and bound turtles slide overboard.
Shuddering, the Eden rights herself, and in a din of flopping canvas, screeching blocks, drifts downwind from the reefs.
Black wind and rush of water. Figures running.
—Christ A’mighty!
Hear dat water? Shit! Get dat boat overboard!
Got him, Speedy?
We got most of him.
Got enough to start dese engines? Shit! I told him! Domn old rotten riggin! Shit!
Never mind dem engines, Byrum, mon! Dey flooded out!
A gathering of oceans.
The Eden drifts downwind in the black seas.
The crewmen hunch in a circle around the Captain, who lies on deck beneath a soiled gray blanket. They eat rapidly and gulp down water.
What you think, Will?
Maybe she got till daylight. Maybe not.
The Captain’s eyes are wide, but they see nothing. His mouth opens.
Copm Raib? You hearin us?
Ain’t no rock dere. Ain’t no coral in dat reach at all. We in de clear now, boys, we in de open water.
Lie easy, Copm Raib—don’t stress yourself.
He right, y’know. I knocked down dere by de rails, nearly went overboard when she heeled over, and I look down to see what she had struck on, and all I seen was darkness. And de next moment she had righted herself in good deep water—
It were dark, mon, with no moon! How in de hell—
Mon, mon, don’t matter how she mashed up. I knew she were gone soon’s I heard dat water rushin.
She goin now—dere go de stern. Dem diesels gone to corry her down fast—
Dere! She slidin! Oh! She gone! De Eden gone!
Drifting.
Far Tortuga, in the east, is a shimmering black burning in the sunrise.
The catboats bump together in the seas.
In the starboard boat, Byrum grips the tiller, his big face shocked by pain. Wodie hunches on the seat amidships, Speedy is in the bow. In the port boat, the Captain lies eyes wide to the fired sky, his head in his son’s lap. Will Parchment bails doggedly with a half coconut. In the bilges of each boat lies a green turtle.
Will? Goddom it, Will, it’s a pity you never changed dat boat for de one dat Conwell left at Half Moon Cay!
Will looks up at Byrum, then resumes bailing.
He breathin peaceful, Speedy, dass about it.
Know something? With de high old masts dat was on dat vessel when she come dere to French Harbour, he would have cleared dat rail!
Yah, mon! See him strike? Back must be broke, de way he lie so still.
Between the boats a dark-haired face swims round and round in the gray sea; salt water slops across hard bright black eyes.
Look dere! A rat!
Just de one? Old hulk like dat, I s’prise de sea ain’t littered with’m.
From Buddy rises a low whine of dread; Will pats his knee.
Well now, Jim Eden, your doddy done what he said he would do; he could not have known about dat one wild rock. We de first ones ever sailed out of Misteriosa Reefs in de night time and lived to tell de tale.
Jumping up, Byrum drives the rat down with an oar blade, scattering water across the other boat.
Tell de tale to who? Goddom wild mon! He never cared if he sailed us straight to hell!
With his shirttail, Buddy mops his father’s face.
Wodie straightens; the new sun glints on the mirror shard on his black chest.
I hearin dem wonderin at East End! Dey wonderin what was de fate of Wodie Greaves!
Hush up, Wodie.
Oh my! It seem like de thing for me to do was to sail away down to de cays, and now I dyin!
Ain’t nothin de motter with you, Wodie.
Nothin de motter, no! Just crazy!
Hush up, Byrum.
The boats drift steadily downwind. The sea increases.
Well, den, best take advantage of dis wind, start for de coast.
Dis all de water, boy?
Each boat got dis one big bottle, Byrum. One bottle and one turtle and one box of breads, and fishhooks.
Shit! I a big mon, and I needs water!
Dere weren’t no kegs!
No kegs, no! And no fire equipment, no life jackets, no nothin!
The rat swims back and forth between the boats.
Will? Call dat fair? Dey three men in dis boat!
Water laps around Will’s ankles. He stops bailing.
Three here, too.
Can’t count dat old mon dere! He dyin!
Raib’s iron hair strays on his forehead. His mouth is gaunt.
Not … yet!
The brief choked laugh turns to a cough of pain, and the eyes water.
Lie easy, Copm Raib, mon—you gone hurt youself.
Raib’s voice comes in a series of harsh breaths.
Raib’s hand gropes in the air, and Buddy takes it.
No, Papa, dis is Buddy. Dis is Jim Eden.
Sonny and dem other boys would never sail no more down to de cays … Jim Eden? Best pick up Vemon, den, Jim Eden, and set sail for home, cause de season has got away from us, and de turtles have all gone to Turtle Bogue.
A silence. Raib looks straight up at the sun. Tears glisten in his eyes.
Too late now, ain’t it. It’s too late.
Papa? Lie easy, Papa.
Oh, dat sun wild. Oh, dat sun wild.
Far Tortuga sinks beneath the sea.
We got de good boat, Byrum. Dass enough.
The two boats drift apart. Speedy steps the mast.
Now don’t be fearful, Buddy! We be lookin out for you! Good luck, Mist’ Will! Take care of dat old wind coptin you got dere!
Will nods. The soot on Buddy’s face is streaked.
The starboard boat falls rapidly downwind. In the port boat, the two stiff figures are black sticks on the white sky.
Late afternoon.
On the horizon, the sail of the port boat rises and falls, tilting and luffing in the gathering seas.
Ain’t ridin right. She wallerin.
She shippin too much water, Byrum. Best take dem fellas with us in dis boat, before de night fall.
Never heard what de mate said? Long’s dat old log’red still alive, dem two never leave him, and dey ain’t no room here for de three.
Best take dem in before de sea do.
You de one in charge of dis boat boat now? (grunts) Dat mon be dead before de mornin, maybe we take dem fellas with us den. (groans) Christ! Dis shoulder killin me!
Sundown.
Never took time to set dem turtles free. Never took time.
Domn one-eye Jonah! Just when we needin every hand we got, you runnin around cuttin de lashins on dem turtle—!
Sea turtle must go back into de sea …
De most of dem went down with de vessel! Dem turtles drowned!
Searching the rough seas to the eastward, Speedy speaks across his tattered shoulder.
Captain Raib Avers.
night rain
the wind rises
the wind dies
squall
In sleep, Wodie whimpers once and sleeps again.
William Parchment.
The sea is still. In the starboard boat two figures hunch, awaiting sun; the third is curled under the seats.
No sign of dem.
We should have took dem in with us—dat what you sayin?
Easy, mon. Maybe dey off dere to de sout’ward.
Wodie rises and, in singsong, speaks.
Copm Raib die in de twilight time, de boy and de mate drown in de night.
SHUT UP DAT FUCKIN MOUTH!
Chin rested on the silvered splinters of the gunwale, Wodie stares sightlessly into the east.
Last night I dreamin dat I see Will Parchment’s grave. And in de dream I smellin graveyard jasmie. Not de wild jasmie dat grow so sweet—
SHUT UP DAT MOUTH, OR YOU GOIN OVER DE SIDE!
Nemmine now, Byrum—he just wanderin. Wanderin and wonderin.
Noon.
The catboat lifts and falls on long smooth swells.
Resting on his oars, Byrum glares around the mute horizon.
See dat? Empty! Howlin dis last fortnight like de winds of hell, and now when we needs dat wind to make de coast, dere is dead calm!
Wodie giggles.
Oh, wind die, too. De wind die, too. De sun just a pure ball of light, and dat mean dry dry weather.
Speedy pours one mouthful from the bottle.
Dere’s your portion, Wodie. Don’t go spillin.
Midafternoon.
A noddy lights upon the tiller. It cocks its silvered head.
See dere? It waitin.
How you know dat? How you know?
I see birds flyin in de corners of de sky, dey towardin de last light to de west, and I get feelins, and I know!
The bird raises its wings, and the wind lifts it; it flies away westward, into bright wastes of ocean afternoon.
Dusk.
One day I was in de bushes nearby what dey calls de Shadow Pond cause dey ain’t but de shadow of water in it, and dat day I found dis old coconut tree dat I knew never belonged dere, and beside it dis nut with a young sprout comin out, so I say to myself, De old people put dis coconut tree down so a mon could get a drink, and I gone to do de same. So I plont dat tree, and so de story end.
Tell him stop talkin about WATER!—
Dass good, Wodie. I plont some young trees when I get home, small plonts. On my own ground. In de Bay Islands.
Oh, I know everything dat grows, cause I were reared up in de Island, and by dat I come to know things. De old people tellin dat fore de hurricane of ’32, all de sea front dere in Bodden Town were Jennifer and sea grape and coco-plum and lavender. Oh, coco-plum! Dey tastes so nice, boys! Cocoes!
When Wodie sits up straight and claps, Byrum slaps his big hand on the tiller, then cries out, clutching his shoulder.
Pig food! Maybe de niggers eats dat at East End, but back home in West Bay we calls dat pig food!
Noon.
My grandmother dat were a slave woman dat a white mon got by his cook over dere by Prospect, she seen dis pirate standin in de Gun Bay road dat had no head—
Give me dat water for you knock it over!
Let him do what he want with it, Byrum.
Never heard Will say dat I in charge of dis boat? Never heard dat?
Speedy does not answer. They gauge each other, red-eyed, dry lips parted. Byrum’s big face is loose, on the point of tears.
Dis Jonah say he dyin! He admit it! He givin up on life!
Maybe two more days of no wind and dis heat, you find a reason to take my water too. Ain’t hard to find a reason when you thirsty.
Well, givin dis one water is a waste! He spillin it!
Ain’t we in friendship, Speedy-mon? I needin it!
Darkness.
You too quick dere with dat knife.
Best back up, Byrum. Best sit right up dere in de bow where we can see you.
I ONLY SAYIN DAT HE SHOULD NOT GO TALKIN ABOUT DYIN WHEN HE DO NOT KNOW!
Maybe he know. Maybe you so wild cause you b’lieve him.
Oh, yes! I seen de night birds flyin to de moon.
Noon.
Wodie’s hand lies on the turtle’s belly, black fingers taut on the pale calipee.
Where one old wreck struck on de reef was de flat we calls Old Anchor Flat, but dat growin up again long years ahead of me. Oh, yes! De corals is fillin it in.
Don’t spill dat, Wodie. Wodie? Dat little cup is all you gets today.
Course dere is duppies dat is facey enough to show dereselves—one dem rusty cats or a ruffly hen, sometimes a goat—and dere is times you will see one if you look back quick over your left shoulder, or rub your eyes with de eye water of a dog …
Shit! (spits) Ain’t gone to eat dis turtle?
Got to eat her raw. You ready to do dat?
Speedy splashes sea water on the turtle.
When we ready to eat her raw, why, den we eat her.
Noon.
In the parching sun, Byrum’s caked lips are caught on his dry teeth.
The water bottle stands in the shade of Speedy’s seat. Speedy whispers.
You touch dat bottle once more, mon, just once, I gone to move, mon, very very fast. So you got your own self to deal with, Byrum.
On the cracked blue paint of the thwart, Speedy lays down his knife with a hard rap.
I goin home, mon. Dat land in Roatán waitin for Speedy, fifty-five acres, mon, and cows. I take anybody with me dat don’t get in my way. If Wodie die, den I am sorry. If Byrum die, den I am sorry. But Speedy goin home.
Noon.
Dis de bad time of de day. Oh, yes.
Huh?
Oh, yes. Mon got no shadder. Very dangerous time. Cause de shadders of de dead is flyin round, lookin for people dat don’t have no shadder.
Afternoon.
De old people, dey taught me. I was just a boy dat loved to keep old people company. I loved to know something about de old people and de old ways. I loved …
Wodie sits up smiling, starts to speak again, sees Byrum, stops. He lies back again beside the turtle.
I dyin, Speedy.
Not Speedy, mon. Not dis year, anyways. I goin home.
Speedy winks at Byrum, but Byrum turns away.
Yah, mon. Been goin home all of my life, seem like, and dis time I meanin to remain.
Dark.
Byrum?
Course in de night, if you cotch a spider web across de face, or if you might hear an old cow lowin where no cow belongin, den you know dat dey are dere …
Face forward into de bow, Byrum. And stay dat way.
Fuckin black Honduran!
Dass me, okay. I nigger to de bone. (sighs) Wodie mon? Shut up, okay? I got to sleep a little, so lay down all across de thwart, tween me and Byrum.
Maybe he get me in de night!
No, mon. He get you, den he know I get him. De only way he gone get you is if he get me first.
Wodie lies flat on his back on the middle thwart, fingertips trailing in the bilges, bund eye rolled upward to the dying stars.
In the bow Byrum shifts a little, settles down again, body twisted aft. Soon one eye opens, and when he draws a breath and holds it, Speedy’s eyelid trembles. The knife lies by Speedy’s hand, wet with sea dew.
The universe is still.
Byrum Watler.
White sky.
Two figures in a boat. The world is empty.
I hearin birdsong but dere be no bird. Seem like I dreamin.
No, mon.
Speedy—?
No, mon. Ain’t no goin back.
You a hard mon, Speedy.
No, mon. I go ahead every day, do what I got to do.
Oh! I dyin here dis day! Gone to foller Byrum Watler into de sea!
Go den, Wodie. I can’t keep you.
Daybreak. High in the west, a lone cloud following the night is caught by the sun still under the horizon. The cloud turns pink.
Shark got him! Drawn to de blood! I feels it!
I never walked de left-hand path, danced widdershins, nor worked nobody woe. But dey will say dat Wodie Greaves took de life of Byrum Watler out in de cays!
The hard line of the sky, surrounding.
It was a holiday in de month of May … oh, yes! Call dat de maypole, and de gumbo limbo, dat is called red birch. Oh, I was raised up in de island, and know everything dat grows dere, cause dat Old Rock is my home.
Wodie follows Speedy’s gaze to the wind banks in the eastern sky. His eye is staring.
Oh, yes! De corals is fillin it in!
I hoppy to see you hoppy again, Wodie.
Oh, we be hoppy in de bushes, too.
Best drink dis little water, mon. Cause we get wind out of dat sky, we gone to make it, hear me, mon?
One mon in a blue boat and de child face down in de mornin sea. One mon in a blue boat dat say goodbye, settin dere at de tiller in de manner dat you doin and lookin at me like de way you lookin. (weeps) Remember de way dat his eyes shine? I knew right away den, I had sign.
What you sayin, Wodie? Just drink dis little water.
Dat is a sad song, Wodie, but you got a pretty voice.
Dat mon in de blue boat, dat mon is you.
The last light glances from the wings of a white tropic bird high in the south.
Night falling.
wild stars
horizon
night-blue sea
Wodie Greaves.
Noon.
White sun, white sky.
slap
slap
Parting the water, the great mantas catapult into the sky, spinning white bellies to the sun—black, white, white, black. Slowly they fall into the sea. In the windlessness the falls resound from the horizons.
Near the silent boat, a solitary ray rolls over and over in backward arcs, wings rippling, white belly with its eye-like gills revolving slowly just beneath the surface.
Nemmine, Speedy-mon. (sighs) My oh my.
Twin wing tips part the leaden surface, holding a moment as if listening. Then water rushes softly and is still.
Noon.
A man in a blue boat. Blue sky and breeze.
A loggerhead, rude shell awash, holds its ancient head at a hard angle; its eye reflects the sun as the blue boat passes.
Gone.
morning star
The sun, coming hard around the world.
Green seas of the continental shelf roll west toward the mainland.
At first light the trade wind freshens and the solitary man raises his head. Mangrove radicels, copra husks and half-sunk fronds of palm float in a milky sea.
black triangle—a fin
dark west horizon
The man balances the turtle on the gunwales. He rests a little, then cuts the flipper thongs and eases the turtle over the side.
Don’t cry, girl. Swim. Dass very very fine.
Still upside down, the turtle sinks, the blank face of its calipee pale in the deep. When it rights itself, the pale face vanishes.
