'Morning, Cop'um. You stirring mighty early.' The sun moved over his motionless face as over a portrait, one with an expression of impersonal courtesy.
'How's the coffee?'
'A cup with your name on it inside.'
'If it won't be too much of a bother.'
We sat and drank the coffee together in silence. The sun rose, bringing an oppressive heat. Joseph knew something was on my mind, but was too smart to ask.
'Met up with Mako last night.'
'I heard.' He leaned back loosely, in a manner of lazy relaxation, both legs extended, arms resting in two parallels on the steps, like someone who permitted himself to be at ease. 'Not much happens on this sand spit that I don't know about. Rumor is you hurt him pretty bad.'
'Minor disagreement over manners. I need to get to Nassau, Joseph. Can you run me over in one of the Compound's boats?'
'That's a seven hour run.' His black eyes looked deep into mine, searching for some secret that I didn't even know. 'Guess you wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.'
I didn't say anything, let him mull it over.
'Mr. Lauder is supposed to call today and I got to be here. You take the boat. Can you get it back tomorrow?'
'No, I need someone to go with me and bring it back.'
'Let's take a walk.'
Joseph didn't inquire as to why I needed to get to Nassau, didn't tell me Chalk had a flight tomorrow afternoon, and he didn't hesitate to loan me one of the Compound's two million dollar fishing boats. He and I hunted the giant tuna and marlin together many times. He knew I could run the boat, but his trust in me was still warming after all these years.
He pointed to a new blockhouse painted pink. 'My long lived one stay here. He just got married.'
It is tradition that a young man has a house ready for his new bride to move into. This one was not the Ritz, but it was functional and paid for.
Joseph's oldest boy should be eighteen or nineteen years old. He was named after the Great Issach Light, a lighthouse north of Bimini, and was a natural-born athlete. When we played baseball with the kids, Issach was always the best at every aspect of the game.
Joseph knocked on the door and grew impatient when no one answered. 'That stuff going to whip that boy down, Cop'um. Guess it better to let them get it out of their system. They soon see there's other things in life than laying up pooching all day.'
'Pooching?'
'Ah, Cop'um, you know. Making babies. Like the little dog poochies do when the female comes in heat. They be pooching.'
A bleary-eyed young man finally opened the door.
'Get your britches on, boy. Cop'um Leicester's here and needs your help.'
'Oh, yeah, I remember you. Played baseball with us and took everyone riding in your airplane. What you need, Cop'um?' He did not look like his father, but possessed all of the features of his dead mother. Six feet tall with thick brown hair and a European nose, Issach was the picture of youthful health. His eyes danced with intelligence and a love of life.
'Don't matter what. He needs your help. Now let's go.'
'Issach, I need you to run over to Nassau with me and bring back the Hatteras. You can beat nightfall if we leave now.'
'Sure. Will it be okay if my new bride comes along? She'd be good company on the trip back.'
'That's fine.'
'Make haste, boy. The day's awasting and the man's in a hurry.'
While Issach and Joseph checked the engines and loaded supplies aboard in case of mechanical trouble, I fueled the boat. It was a fifty-three foot Hatteras sportfisherman. She had a sixteen-foot beam, twin G.M. 12v71 TI diesel engines, and would run all day at twenty knots.
The Compound's boats were rigged the same way, professionally outfitted for fishing, but still luxurious down below. This vessel was christened the Lady Lorraine.
Issach's wife, Mary, arrived at the boat a short time later and helped load the supplies. No more than five feet tall, she was a strikingly beautiful girl with olive skin and the broad, flat lips and nose of the Bahamian natives. She seemed to adore the ground her husband walked on, but was shy and kept her head bowed while around me. She wore a loose-fitting, one-piece, flowered dress that came to just below her knees. Muscled calves and wide, callused, bare feet let one know that she was a product of the hard life of island and sea.
We said our good-byes to Joseph, eased out of the channel between North and South Bimini, and turned north toward Great Issach Light. When we passed the Moselle banks, I turned to a heading of zero nine zero degrees, heading direct for Great Stirrup Cay. It was seventy-three nautical miles to our next navigational checkpoint, Little Stirrup Cay. We settled in for a three and a half-hour run with nothing to do but enjoy the beauty of the Great Bahama Bank.
All three of us were up in the tuna tower, running on flat, calm seas. The sun was two hours old. It was going to be a clear day. Looking into the sun, one could see nothing but glare from the water. Astern, the colors of the sea changed as the depths increased. Colors so blue and green they seemed to blur into a brilliant turquoise. It made your heart pound and you felt so good you thought that if you had to die, you would regret it, but it would be a good day to go.
The sun was warm on my face, the salt air bracing. It had been too long since I'd been to sea. The Man-O- War birds were soaring high above; their wing spans over six feet across. Flying fish leaped and soared ahead of the bow. We searched the sea for porpoise, but none appeared. The sky had turned a powder blue and melted with the sea so that there was no break on the horizon, the boat seemingly lost in a void between water and sky. The two diesel engines, once synchronized, ran quiet and smooth.
The death of Rene Renoir stealthily invaded my thoughts, ruining the mood. Picturing her lying on that cold metal tray, I kept seeing Lynn's deep hurt at her sister's senseless death.
After an hour, Issach and Mary said they were going below and fix breakfast. Coffee would be coming up in a moment, they promised. Much later, both of them climbed back up to the tuna tower. Issach handed me a cup of coffee, a reddening smile on his face. Ah, youth.
We rounded Great Stirrup Cay and took up a heading of one hundred and fifty degrees, staying just east of the Berry Islands. It was another three hours to Nassau.
Clearing in with Nassau Harbor Customs, we slowly passed down through the channel between Paradise Island and the mainland. Easing under Potter's Cay Bridge, we pulled in at the Nassau Yacht Club. The harbormaster was an old friend of over twenty years. A true man of the sea, Gustave Fuentes was born in the Canary Islands aboard a fishing schooner, and had spent his life either on or near a boat.
As we began mooring the Lady Lorraine to the pier, Gus came out to collect the docking fee and recognized me. 'Well I'll be a son of a sea dog if it ain't Jay Leicester. I thought you had drowned or crashed one of them planes by now.'
He was a small man with a face that looked as if it had once been punched in and never rebounded. Watery, blurry eyes pointed to a life dedicated more to the gin bottle than the sea.
'Hello, Gus. How you doing?'
'Couldn't be better, boy.' He chewed on a cigar. 'Salt air is a tonic for my soul. Throw a line, I'll help you tie up. Who's your mates?'
Gus had his dock crew working over the boat immediately, cleaning, adding spring-lines, and coiling ropes.
Introducing Issach and Mary, Gus scratched his gray beard. 'I know this boat. You Joseph's boy, from over at Bimini. Well, I'll be. You sure favor your Ma, son. I remember one time…'
'Gus, they need to get back, and I'm in a bit of a hurry.'
He looked at me with wise old eyes. A grin crossed his face. 'Well, it's a long story. I'll tell you about your Pa and me another time. You tell him hello from old Gus, boy. You do that, now.'
