the shore here-you could almost wade out to untouched reefs. And now-'
There was no need to look; one could smell it. The effluvia of half a dozen hotels and the town behind ran out of pipes that were barely covered at low tide; on a few parrot fish, who can stand anything, remained by the hotel- side restaurants to feed on the crusts the tourists threw them from their tables. And only the very ignorant would try out-once-the dilapidated Sunfish and water-ski renters who plied the small stretches of beach between hotels.
We sat down on one of the near benches to watch a commercial trawler haul net. I had been for some time aware that my companion, while of largely British culture, was not completely Caucasian. There was a minute softness to the voice, a something not quite dusky about hair and fingernails-not so much as to be what in my youth was called 'A touch of tarbrush,' but nothing that originated in Yorkshire, either. Nor was it the obvious Hispano- Indian. I recollected Marcial's earlier speech and enlightenment came.
'Would I be correct in taking Marcial's allusions to mean that you are a British Honduran-forgive me, I mean a Belizeian, or Belizan?'
'Nothing to forgive, old chap. We haven't existed long enough to get our adjectives straight.'
'May god send you do.' I was referring to the hungry maws of Guatemala and Honduras, the little country's big neighbors, who had the worst of intentions toward her. 'I happen to be quite a fan of your country. I had some small dealings there after independence which involved getting all my worldly goods out of your customs on a national holiday, and people couldn't have been finer to me.'
'Ah yes. Belize the blessed, where sixteen nationalities live in perfect racial harmony. The odd thing is, they do.'
'My own grandmother was a Burmese-so called. I think it was the closest grandfather could come to Black. Although the mix is extraordinary.'
'My factor there was a very dark Hindu with red hair and a Scottish accent, named Robinson. I had to hire him in seven minutes. He was a miracle of efficiency. I hope he's still going.'
'Robinson… Used to work for customs?'
'Why, yes, now you recall it.'
'He's fine… Of course, we felt it when the British left. Among other things, half the WCs in the hotels broke down the first month. But there are more important things in life than plumbing.'
'That I believe… But you know, I've never been sure how much help the British would have been to you. Two years before your independence I called the British Embassy with a question about your immigration laws, and believe it or not I couldn't find one soul who even knew there was a British Honduras, let alone that they owned it. One child finally denied it flatly and hung up. And this was their main embassy in Washington, D.C. I realized then that Britain was not only sick, but crazy.'
'Actually denied our existence, eh?' My companion's voice held a depth and timbre of sadness such as I have heard only from victims of better-known world wrongs. Absently his hand went under his jacket, and he pulled out something gleaming.
'Forgive me.' It was a silver flask, exquisitely plain. He uncapped and drank, a mere swallow, but, I suspected, something of no ordinary power. He licked his lips as he recapped it, and sat up straighter while he put it away.
'Shall we move along out to the end?'
'With pleasure.'
We strolled on, passing a few late sports-boats disgorging hungry divers.
'I'm going to do some modest exploring tomorrow,' I told him. 'A guide named Jorge-' in Spanish it's pronounced Horhay- 'Jorge Chuc is taking me out to the end of the north reef. He says there's a pretty little untouched spot out there. I hope so. Today I went south, it was so badly shot over I almost wept. Cripples-and of course shark everywhere. Would you believe I found a big she-turtle, trying to live with a steel bolt through her neck? I managed to catch her, but all I could do for her was pull it out. I hope she makes it.'
'Bad… Turtles are tough, though. If it wasn't vital you may have saved her. But did you say that Jorge Chuc is taking you to the end of the north reef?'
'Yes, why? Isn't it any good?'
'Oh, there is one pretty spot. But there's some very bad stuff there too. If you don't mind my advice, don't go far from the boat. I mean, a couple of meters. And don't follow anything. And above all be very sure it is Jorge's boat.'
His voice had become quite different, with almost military authority.
'A couple of meters!' I expostulated. 'But-'
'I know, I know. What I don't know is why Chuc is taking you there at all.' He thought for a moment.
'You haven't by any chance offended him, have you? In any way?'
'Why, no-we were out for a long go yesterday, and had a nice chat on the way back. Yes… although he is a trifle changeable, isn't he? I put it down to fatigue, and gave him some extra dinero for being only one party.'
My companion made an untranslatable sound, compounded of dubiety, speculation, possible enlightenment, and strong suspicion.
'Did he tell you the name of that part of the reef? Or that it's out of sight of land?'
'Yes, he said it was far out. And that part of it was so poor it's called dead.'
'And you chatted-forgive me, but was your talk entirely in Spanish?'
I chuckled deprecatingly. 'Well, yes-I know my Spanish is pretty horrible, but he seemed to get the drift.'
'Did you mention his family?'
'Oh, yes-I could draw you the whole Chuc family tree.'
'Hmmm…' My companion's eyes had been searching the pier-side where the incoming boats were being secured for the night.
'Ah. There's Chuc now. This is none of my business, you understand-but do I have your permission for a short word with Jorge?'
'Why, yes. If you think it necessary.'
'I do, my friend. I most certainly do.'
'Carry on.'
His long-legged stride had already carried him to Chuc's big skiff, the Estrellita. Chuc was covering his motors. I had raised my hand in greeting but he was apparently too busy to respond. Now he greeted my companion briefly, but did not turn when he clambered into the boat uninvited. I could not hear the interchange. But presently the two men were standing, faces somewhat averted from each other as they conversed. My companion made rather a long speech, ending with questions. There was little response from Chuc until a sudden outburst from him took me by surprise. The odd dialogue went on for some time after that; Chuc seemed to calm down. Then the tall Belizan waved me over.
'Will you say exactly what I tell you to say?'
'Why-' But his expression stopped me. 'If you say it's important.'
'It is. Can you say in Spanish, 'I ask your pardon, Mr. Chuc. I mistook myself in your language. I did not say anything of what you thought I said. Please forgive my error. And please let us be friends again.''
'I'll try.'
I stumbled through the speech, which I will not try to reproduce here, as I repeated several phrases with what I thought was better accent, and I'm sure I threw several verbs into the conditional future. Before I was through, Chuc was beginning to grin. When I came to the 'friends' part he had relaxed, and after a short pause, said in very tolerable English, 'I see, so I accept your apology. We will indeed be friends. It was a regrettable error… And I advise you, do not again speak in Spanish.'
We shook on it.
'Good,' said my companion. 'And he'll take you out tomorrow, but not the Dead Reef. And keep your hands off your wallet tonight, but I suggest liberality tomorrow eve.'
We left Chuc to finish up, and paced down to a bench at the very end of the muelle. The last colors of evening, peaches and rose shot with unearthly green, were set off by a few low-lying clouds already in grey shadow, like sharks of the sky passing beneath a sentimental vision of bliss.
'Now what was all that about!' I demanded of my new friend. He was just tucking the flask away again, and shuddered lightly.
