Chapter Twenty-Two

 

“WHAT TOOK Y’ALL SO LONG?” The captain wasted no time expressing his frustration with Adam and Martin when they came back on the vessel. “I thought you was only goin to say your farewells to your family.”

“I’m sorry, Cap’n,” said Adam. “But we—”

Martin quickly interrupted him and told the captain, “His father looked awful, and his grandmother was havin a terrible time lettin him go.”

The captain looked at Adam and grinned. “Is that so? I reckon you must’ve made quite an impression on the old woman, ’specially considering she didn’t even know she had a grandson.”

Adam looked at Martin, grateful his friend didn’t mention all of what happened. Then he directed his attention back at the captain. “Yeah, well, she was pretty emotional. She said I look just like my father when he was my age . . . and now with him so bad off and all . . . Well, you understand.”

“Yeah, I reckon I understand. It’s late, though. Y’all go on and get your mess together and go to sleep. We’re leavin shortly after sunup.”

Adam looked down, then out across the harbor before he said, “About that . . .”

Captain Phillips looked at Martin first, then Adam, as if he was wondering what kind of news he was about to be hit with. “You ain’t about to tell me that you’re stayin here, are you, Fletcher? ’Cause I’m afraid I just cannot let you do that. Emmanuel will kill me first, then your mama’ll come after me.”

Adam chuckled and shook his head. “No, Cap’n. It’s nothin like that. My grandmother just wants me to come back by the house early in the morning before we leave. She said it won’t delay us more than an hour or two. Said she needed to talk to me about something.”

“I hate to tell you this, son, but I just can’t let you do that. Every time you leave this ship, you end up gettin back late. We can’t afford that kind of delay in the morning—I told you already.”

“But she told me to give you this.” Adam pulled the pouch out of his pocket and held it out for the captain. “She said this would compensate you for your trouble.”

Captain Phillips wrinkled his brow and then took the pouch. He pulled open the string and looked inside and appeared to visually count at least part of the contents. He closed the bag back tight, and his eyes grew huge. He looked off in the distance, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen, then grinned and said, “You’re foolin with me, I can tell. Ain’t no way that woman sent this much gold just to ask me to stay in port an extra hour or two.”

Adam nodded enthusiastically. “No, she did! She said it was real important that I go by in the morning—that it wouldn’t take long. Maybe it has to do with legal things or something, because of my father’s condition and all. She was too upset to talk about it while we were there.” He looked at his friend to back him up. “Isn’t that right, Martin?”

Martin nodded. “Indeed. He’s tellin the truth, Cap’n. I’ll go back over there with him in the mornin, and I assure you I’ll have him back here no later than nine o’clock.”

Adam could see the captain considering the offer before he finally agreed.

“Alright. I’ll let you go, but I’m holding this to pay Emmanuel, in case we end up losing his other customers for being late. Lord willing, we can still outrun that weather.”

Adam and Martin nodded in agreement.

“Lord willing,” said Adam.

The captain took the pouch and put it in his pocket.

 

 

SHORTLY BEFORE SUNSET, THE CAPTAIN had sent out Jones and Willis with some money to go round up some meat, vegetables, and bread, along with a bunch of mangoes, papayas, oranges, and coconuts, so that the men could enjoy a good supper before they set sail the next morning and have some local fruits to enjoy on the return trip. It was also a good enticement to keep the crew on board, lest they get tempted to go wandering off into town in search of one more night of diversion. Captain Phillips didn’t want to take the chance of any of the men getting into trouble in town the night before they were going to leave.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on whose perspective—the most likely candidate to disappear into the Havana night had learned his lesson. In fact, Martin Smith swore off Spanish women after what had happened to him . . . at least for the time being.

While Canady was below deck browning the meat in a dutch oven—a fresh pork butt cut into chunks so that it would cook faster—the men all ate their fill from a sack of bread they were able to buy in the Plaza Vieja at half its usual price, since it was the end of the day. The hearth was almost never used while the men were at sea, so being able to enjoy a hot meal on deck instead of the salt pork and fish that made up their usual rations was a welcome change.

When the meat was nearly done cooking, Canady threw in some chopped-up chayote and carrots, sautéing them in the pork grease over the heat until they were tender. All of the men stood ready with their square wooden plates and piled on heaping servings of the unusual meal.

Once they were served, they all went up on the main deck to eat. It was far too warm and stuffy to enjoy a hot meal down below. The captain said the blessing, and then they all found places to sit and began their impromptu feast.

It was apparent that none of the men had eaten particularly well with all of the excitement of the last couple of days. Each of them was gobbling up whatever was on his plate as though he feared somebody might come along and take it.

Adam ate fast too, but he had never seen chayote before. “What is it?” he asked as he poked it around with his fork.

Martin didn’t wait for an answer but instead took a bite of it and then said, “Tastes somethin like some kind of squash or potato, or maybe a cross between the two.”

That answer was good enough for Adam. He would’ve eaten it anyway, of course, but he was curious about the strange little green fruits when he saw them earlier and was skeptical about how they’d be. He worried their flavor would be sweet, like apples, and wondered how they would taste after being cooked in pork grease. He was relieved to know they weren’t sweet, but rather they did taste very much the way Martin had described.

Considering how long it took for Canady to cook the meal, it was gone entirely too quick. Nevertheless, the men all had full bellies and were content as they stretched out and breathed in the fresh air as their food digested.

Even better, thanks to clear skies, the men were relieved to know they’d be able to enjoy their last night in Havana sleeping again on the main deck after spending a hot and muggy evening down below because of the torrential downpour of the previous night. And it was a perfect night for it. There was a gentle breeze blowing over the water, and the moon was at its fullest.

“Oy, Fletcher,” said Jones. “How are things with your dad?”

“Not so good,” Adam replied. “I’d be surprised if he made it through the night.”

Jones had been reclining against the rail, but he sat up. “That’s awful. What went wrong?”

“I’m not sure. He seemed to be doing alright when he was here—but remember, after Cap’n stitched him up he said that he shouldn’t be moved under any circumstances until morning, but—”

“Probably was an infection that set in,” interrupted the captain. “That happens right often.”

“So you don’t think it’s just because they moved him too soon?” asked Adam.

The captain tilted his head and appeared to consider the question before he answered it. “Eh . . . It’s hard to say. I reckon it could be, but remember I’m no doctor.” He too had been reclining, but then he leaned forward and began using his hands to emphasize what he said next. “All I know is that a man can be tough as nails every single day, but when it comes right down to it, his life is fragile. I mean, so many things can cause a fella’s condition to fall apart—and fast. I don’t really know that it’s all that good of an idea to be sittin around now tryin to figure out what went wrong or who’s to blame. It won’t serve to do a thing in the world but upset you.”

Adam threw his head back and looked up at the sky and let out a huge sigh, then lowered his head and looked down at his feet. “You’re probably right, but still . . .”

Canady, always one to lighten up the mood, predictably changed the subject. “So any of you fellas get any mementos to take back home?”

“I didn’t get a single thing,” said Charlie. “I ain’t got a wife or babies, so I’m savin my money so I can buy a house. I’m tired of livin with my brother and his family.” He tilted his head over towards the captain, then rolled his eyes.

Captain Phillips balled up his kerchief and threw it at his little brother. “Drime! I reckon you will buy a house and move out! That’ll be the day! You’re tight as a drum, and somehow I can’t hardly imagine you forking over money to build a house, much less maintain one.”

Charlie grinned. “You go on and keep runnin your mouth, big brother. You’ll see. Yes, I’m tight as a drum! How else do you reckon I can save money to get my own place?”

“Well, you just let me know when you’re ready for me to help you move,” the captain said, trying hard not to laugh while looking around at the other men, who were all chuckling.

“I sure will. You can be sure of it,” said Charlie.

“Alright, settle down, you lot,” said Jones. “We can only take but so much of your brotherly love.”

“That’s right, boys,” said Canady. “It’s all fun and games now, but in a minute y’all will be fightin, I know it.”

The others nodded and chuckled. It was the way with brothers—to poke at each other in a humorous way, that is until one of them pushed it too far and it got awkward for everybody.

“So how ’bout you, Willis?” Canady asked. “You find anything good while we were here?”

“Hmm . . . not much. I don’t really have anybody back home to get gifts for—well, except my dad. I did get him a pocketknife that had this real nice carved handle, and I got us both a box of cigars.”

Jones threw up his hand. “Me too. That’s what I got—some cigars and a couple bottles of some high-quality rum.”

The others were impressed. Apparently, no one else had thought of that.

“You shouldn’t have told us that, mate,” Martin teased. “I reckon we’ll have that liquor of yours polished off before we make it as far north as Florida.”

Jones gave him a cocky grin. “I’d like to see you try that one.”

“I’m aggravated now,” said Adam. “I was so busy gettin kidnapped and seein my father get shot and all, I never made it out shopping.”

“Oh, you’re ridiculous,” Jones laughed. “I reckon you were too busy to go shoppin, but on the bright side you ended up findin your dad after eighteen years. That’s got to be worth somethin.”

Adam smiled and nodded. “That’s true.”

Martin thought for a moment and then said, “Hey, if you hurry up at with your grandmother in the morning, maybe we can swing by the plaza for five or ten minutes. It’s so close to here.” He looked at Captain Phillips as if he was seeking his consent.

“Don’t look at me,” the captain said. “I agreed when you said you’d be here by nine. I don’t care what you do. You just better be here by nine. Not a moment later. If you aren’t, you’ll be in for a whole mess of trouble when you do get back.”

“You know what that means then, don’t you?” Adam asked Martin.

“What?”

“We better be back here by nine. Didn’t you just hear the captain?” Adam laughed.

The small crew continued talking about everything from the local food to the local women, to what they would do when they first got back home, and so forth. After an hour or so, some of them started excusing themselves to go turn in for the night. By eleven they were all either asleep or passed out from drink—well, mostly just Jones.