Lloyd knelt in the shade and turned on the pipe. There was a good chance it would not work. But fresh water gushed out and he groaned. He cupped his hands and washed them over and over, wiping them on a patch of long grass, and then washing them again and again, scraping under his nails, until he could no longer smell doo-doo. Then he drank, and splashed water on his head and face. He sat with his back against the building and closed his eyes. He realized he would have to wash his hands all over again after he had dealt with the twine, but they had all afternoon.
“You tired, Lloydie?” said Dwight.
“Yeah man.”
“You have food?”
“Only some bulla. Have to keep it for in the night.”
“Watch me now. You stay here. Me going wash the twine in the sea. Don’t make sense do it under the pipe; take too long. Then me going into Port Royal, find sumpn to eat, look around. Maybe swim round the point and look at the boat. See how far it is.”
Lloyd heard the concern in his friend’s voice and he wanted to cry. He kept his eyes closed. Tears always brought laughter and teasing. “Look for a piece of Styrofoam,” he said to Dwight.
“What kinda Styrofoam?”
“Any kind. Not a lunch box. Biggish. Want float my bag over to the boat. Me tie the bag to the string. If me get up on deck, then me pull up the bag.”
“You smart! Okay. No problem.”
“You a star, man,” Lloyd said, and his voice was thick.
“Soon come,” Dwight said. “Me bring you some food. And the Styrofoam.”
I remember that by the time Luke went to Pedro that first time, he and I had abandoned Birdie. By then we were crew for other fishers. By then I went to school only occasionally and sometimes Miss Carlton came to our front door to speak to my mother about this.
The days while Luke was gone were long. It was hurricane season, late September, which caused my mother to keep the radio on day and night. But there were no storms that month, in fact, I remember it as a calm September with a clear liquid daylong light. Is this a trick of memory? I do not know. But I do remember being annoyed at the good weather; all the more reason I could have gone with Luke, for the risk was low. I was bored. The inshore waters of Great Bay were now too small.
While Luke was gone, Sheldon’s Bar got a small black and white TV. By then, some places in Treasure Beach had electricity. The TV programs started at six in the evening, but even in the day we asked Sheldon to turn it on so we could look at the striped test screen in awe, laughing when it flickered. We were amazed by the talking people and moving images in a box. People reading the news. Cartoons. I loved Mr. Magoo and Road Runner. Beep-beep, the boys said when they saw each other in the lanes. Sheldon’s business thrived and he became a big man in Great Bay. He bought a fishing boat.
Luke returned. Like my brothers before him, his eyes were flat and tired, his skin salt encrusted. He slept. He ate. He shrugged when I asked him how it was. Your time soon come, he said.
We got television while you were gone, I said.
12
Lloyd woke. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his neck hurt. He had fallen asleep against the building—his sleepless nights had finally caught up with him. Where was his backpack? Had it been stolen? He saw it was right beside him. The shadow of the coconut tree was longer and the afternoon was ending. He must have slept for at least two hours. Where was Dwight?
He stood up, feeling cramped and sluggish. He washed his face and hands again and the fresh water was a gift. He picked up his bag and walked over to the beach. It was cooler but the breeze still blew and the sea was up. If he managed to climb onto the Surrey, if he found a hiding place and remained hidden for the long hours to the Pedro Bank, would he get seasick?
He had never been seasick in his life, but he had only ever been to sea in an open canoe—he knew it was different below decks in a big ship, where it was airless and there was no steady horizon to look at. Gramps had taught him how to do that. When the sea heaved and threw a small boat around, when the waves fell away, leaving the boat hanging in midair for a stomach-churning moment before it crashed into the trough that followed every wave—a fisher must stare at the horizon, even when it was lost in cloud or rain, must stare at the one steady straight line in a rough world of weather and salt water.
Lloyd sat on one of the larger stones and looked out past Lime Cay to the horizon. He knew Pedro was out there, somewhere to the south and west. He saw the much cleaner twine stretched out on the beach, anchored by stones along its length, where Dwight had left it. He turned his face to the setting sun. He was very hungry, but he was calm. Perhaps it would be a good thing to go to sea in the belly of the Surrey with an empty stomach. He would either make it, or he wouldn’t. But he was going to try.
He heard footsteps behind him and he turned. Dwight walked into the site, carrying an old ice chest. He waved and broke into a slow jog. “Look what me find!” he said. “This better than Styrofoam, don’t it?”
