Me? I said. Where Dada is?
Him gone to Black River. Him don’t know yet.
I remember the next half an hour because the loss of my brother was both true and not true. It could remain a rumor until I told my mother. Once she knew, it would be so. Where were my elder brothers? This should be their task. For so long elder had meant benefits. But I did not know where they were. At sea, Maas Jacob said vaguely.
Why you think Luke gone to drift? I asked Maas Jacob.
Old Percy did see them leave Top Cay, Maas Jacob said. Old Percy come back.
Mebbe they go Shannon Reef, I said.
Maas Jacob shrugged. Mebbe.
Maas Jacob left me and I sat on the knotted trunk of the buttonwood tree. I was not yet afraid. The words of my Christian schooling came to my mind—let this cup pass from me. I had never understood the imagery—for me, a cup held good things, fish tea and cocoa tea and mint tea. For as long as I sat on the trunk of the buttonwood tree and stared out to sea, my brother would come home.
16
Lloyd realized he could see the rough gray skin of the underside of the dinghy. Dawn was coming. Somehow the night of spray and pounding sea had passed and there was no way he could now be returned to Port Royal before they reached the Pedro Cays. Maybe the shallower water of the Pedro Bank would soon appear? He wanted to see it. His head pounded and his muscles cramped—he had to stand up. He was thirsty enough to lick the deck, but Gramps had drilled it into him: never ever drink seawater, Lloydie. He had stopped vomiting sometime in the night and his body wanted food and water.
Sunlight warmed the deck. Lloyd heard doors opening, the sound of feet on ladders and he smelled coffee. His mouth watered. It was morning and the sea was calming and he could not stand his hiding place a minute more. He slid out from under the dinghy and tried to stand, but his legs buckled. The light of the sun was dazzling. He lay where he had fallen, in plain sight, eyes closed, soaked, shivering, bruised and bloody from the slamming his small body had suffered. He waited to be discovered.
It did not take long. He heard someone say, “But see here now? CAPTAIN!” He opened his eyes and saw two sailors standing over him, wearing blue uniforms and orange life jackets. One held a steaming mug in his hand and Lloyd stared at it. “Captain Blake!” the shorter of the two shouted again. The taller sailor grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “How the hell you get here, bwoy?” Lloyd looked down and said nothing. He would explain himself to the captain.
Soon he was surrounded by a group of sailors, all speaking at the same time. Him look terrible, eeh? Him is a Haitian? Get him some water. Where him was hidin? Anybody know where him come from? Him say anything? Bwoy! What is your name? Mebbe him don’t speak English. You in big-big trouble, bwoy! Lloyd’s fear was gone; he had stowed away on a Coast Guard boat and what happened next was up to the captain. “Water,” he whispered to the man who held him. “Please, sah, me could have some water?”
An older man pushed his way through the sailors. “Sah!” they said and stepped back. “We found this boy on deck,” said the tall man. “A stowaway, Captain.”
“Have you searched him, McKenzie?” snapped the Captain. He did not sound kind. McKenzie patted Lloyd down and found his pocket knife. “This is all he has, Captain.” He held the knife out to the captain, who took it.
“Has he said anything?”
“Him just ask for water, sah.”
“Get him some water. And a blanket. Clean him up and take him to my cabin. Get Miller to check him out there. Then bring him to the control room.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The sailor called McKenzie hustled him through a hatch inside the ship. Lloyd gasped when he felt the freezing air—the ship was air conditioned. His shivering became uncontrollable. They were in a brightly lit passage with closed doors on either side and the ship still heaved. Lloyd felt sick. McKenzie pushed him along until they came to an open area with a table and a bank of seating. Another sailor brought a folded blanket and held it out to him. Lloyd was shivering so hard he dropped it. McKenzie grabbed the blanket, shook it out, and roughly draped it over his shoulders. It was heavy and Lloyd staggered. His head swam. “Please, sah,” he said again, “some water?” He fell to his knees, hunched over, dry retching. “Him going mess up the place,” said the other sailor.
“Bring a bucket,” barked McKenzie. “And some water. Never seen anything like this yet.”
That day I sat on the buttonwood tree too long and Miss Adina told my mother that Luke was missing. When I walked up to our front door I heard her wailing. She sat with her apron over her head and Miss Adina tried to embrace her, but my mother avoided her offered comfort. Miss Adina counseled prayer. Pastor Peter would call a special service. She looked up and saw me. Conrad, she said. Go find your father. My mother did not lift her head. I turned and went outside to where Maas Lenny and his taxi waited for passengers.
During the drive to Black River I thought about my brothers. Which one of us was my mother’s favorite? If she had to pick the one to lose, who would she sacrifice? I was sure it would be me, the last one, the smallest one, the one measuring the least investment of time.
The road to Black River was just a track back then, with a few marled areas
