I woke up late Tuesday morning. I pulled back the heavy curtain blocking the light from the open window and looked out. It had clouded up during the night and there was a stiff breeze, exactly as Keko had predicted the day before. He could read the weather just by looking at the sky. Yesterday, just before sunset, as we were coming back to the Avalon in the skiff, he said there would be no fishing in the morning but in the afternoon we would go for tarpon.
“Why can’t we fish in the morning?” I asked him.
He pointed towards the northeast, towards the Cuban mainland. The sky was pale blue and perfectly clear except for what looked like an orangeish haze just above where the sky met the ocean. “It’s coming,” said Keko.
“What’s coming?”
“Wind. You see?”
What looked to me like a very light fog a hundred miles away was, he said, the wind coming from the northeast.
The boys had all gone off diving. Except for Bobby who, when I came upstairs, was sitting in a wicker chair reading his book on Modernism. I sat at the breakfast table, facing him. “You didn’t go diving?” I said.
He shook his head without looking up from his book. “My ears were feeling a little squeegy,” he said. “Plus I didn’t feel like getting up early.”
“Were you up very late last night after I left?”
“A little.” He underlined some text in his book with the pencil. It was clear he didn’t want to talk. I sat there silently, waiting for Suliet to come up from the crew’s quarters and ask me what I’d like for breakfast.
“Did you eat already?” I asked.
Bobby nodded without looking up, chewing on the pencil’s eraser.
“I really shouldn’t be hungry but I am,” I said. “Maybe I’ll go and see if I can’t find Suliet.” I rose from the table.
“I think she’s sleeping,” Bobby said.
“She can’t be. It’s after eleven.”
Bobby shrugged. “I’m not sure she’s feeling well.”
“How the hell would you know?”
Bobby didn’t answer.
I sat back down at the table and looked out at the wreck across the bay in the mangroves. I wondered if any men had been on it when it floundered, if anyone had drowned. Keko had told me our first day aboard the Avalon that he could no longer take us out night fishing.
“¿Por qué?”
There had been an accident last year, he said. Two of the skiffs, coming back through the mangroves at night, had collided head on. “Era muy malo.”
“How bad?”
The Avalon captain had died, he said. The bow of the skiff had struck the captain’s head, smashing in one side. He’d died before they could even get him back to the Avalon. “He was a good boy,” Keko said, “a nice boy.”
So now there was no night fishing, which was the best time to catch tarpon as they flowed out like watery ghosts amongst the roots of the mangroves during high tide.
I stood up from the table again and headed for the door leading to the crew’s quarters. Bobby jumped up from his wicker chair. “I’ll go get her,” he said.
“I can do it. I know where her room is.”
“I’d better do it,” Bobby said, putting his hand on my shoulder to stop me. I threw it off.
“Why don’t you just finish your goddamn book. I thought that’s why you didn’t go diving.”
“No need to get all pissy.”
“Oh, go to hell!” I opened the crew’s door. Bobby grabbed my arm and pulled me back. When he did I stumbled and fell down, hitting my head against the leg of the table. I stayed on the floor rubbing the back of my head. I hadn’t hit my head very hard but I felt groggy and my mouth was dry. Bobby stood over me.
“God, I’m sorry, Dave,” he said. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
“I’m fine,” I said. He reached down to give me a hand up. I ignored him and got up on my own.
“Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll go find Suliet and have her bring you some coffee,” he said.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”
I went downstairs to the stern of the boat. The wind was blowing and little white waves slapped against the hull. A frigate bird floated in the sky nearby. Funny thing about the frigate bird: They can’t get their wings wet. They have to scoop a fish off the top of the water or steal one from another bird. If they miscalculate and fall into the ocean, they are as good as dead. They have no oil on their feathers so become soaked and they drown. I’ve seen it.
I stripped off my shirt and took the money and keys out of my pockets and dove off the back of the boat into the ocean. The water was cool and clean and my head cleared immediately. I swam away from the Avalon. The current was much stronger than I’d imagined. Looking down on the water from the boat you noticed the small branches and leaves from the mangroves floating by and you could see the needlefish and silver baitfish moving like traffic on a congested street but you didn’t really get a sense of the strength of the current just two or three feet beneath the ocean’s surface. You didn’t realize how strong it was until you were actually in it. Even if I wanted to swim back to the Avalon now, I couldn’t. So I flipped over and floated on my back, looking back at the Avalon as it got smaller and smaller and smaller. I could see Bobby upstairs, standing by the bar, his back to me. He was talking with Suliet. She had a hand on his shoulder. I saw Bobby shake his head several times and then Suliet leaned into him and put her head on his chest, her arms around him. He kissed the top of her head.
I didn’t give a damn. Why should I?
The water was cool. I closed my eyes, my arms stretched out like Jesus, and just floated in the slip stream. I felt certain I could float like this for hours. And if I couldn’t, well what difference did it make? What difference at all?
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