But the sea revealed nothing that day, nor the next, nor the day after that. We traveled aimlessly, always in sight of the other canoe with Ben and Robert in it, and I thought we should have a better plan. Our search was limited by fuel but was guided by nothing. My father looked old for the first time.
Those days were cloudless and the sea as unyielding as metal. I thought my eyes would go blind with staring into a hurtful glare, at a sweeping horizon that held nothing at all. We saw other fishing boats at sea, and each time we saw them in the distance, our spirits would lift for a short time and then would sink as we identified the boat and its occupants.
I found myself looking for the dolphins. The sea seemed empty of life; now, I doubt my memory, but I remember no man o’war bird diving from the sky, no leaping ray, no swirl of jack schooling beneath the surface. But the dolphins did not come and I knew the sea was a grave.
Luke went to drift in his boat and now I am lost at sea on a small piece of land, a rock in the sea. My brother must have been certain we, his family, would look for him. I think now about my own eyes and the eyes of my father and my brothers and all the eyes of the Treasure Beach villagers, turned to the sea, searching for Luke, and I wonder whose eyes are looking for me now.
21
All the sailors were on board the Surrey getting ready for the journey back to Port Royal and the Cagway base and there was an air of anticipation. Lloyd heard them talking. They longed to be on the mainland, back to city life. Men of the sea they might be but they were not fishers and they were glad their week on a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean sea was over. The Surrey’s engines finally started and the anchor was brought up.
Lloyd realized how weary he was. He was hungry again; and thirsty. He wondered if Captain Blake would let him sleep in one of the bunks. He felt sure he would no longer be seasick below deck. “Move from there, bwoy!” a sailor shouted at him. He got up and stood, facing the setting sun. The wake of the Surrey streamed away behind them and Middle Cay grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared.
Captain Blake sent Lloyd into his cabin below. Foster gave him several blankets and Lloyd piled them on the floor. He was drunk with the need to sleep. He had refilled his water bottle and eaten another bully beef sandwich. The Surrey wallowed and surged over the waves and Lloyd waited to feel seasick, but his stomach was steady. Foster had given him a bucket and warned him to use it. Lloyd felt proud that the bucket would be empty in the morning. He wedged himself between the captain’s desk and the hull and climbed into the nest of blankets. For a moment, he wished for darkness because the lights in the cabin were still on. Then his eyes closed and he was asleep.
“Wake up, bwoy,” someone said, shaking his shoulder. Lloyd opened his eyes. Foster stood in the cabin, holding a mug of mint tea. “We almost in,” he said. “Time to get up. Here.” He handed Lloyd the mug of tea. “You lucky, bwoy. The captain like you. Maybe you don’t end up in the lockup, where all like you belong.” Lloyd heard footsteps on the deck and the shouts of the sailors—they must be near to Port Royal.
It was still dark outside. Lloyd had wanted to see the sun rise, to take a last look across the sea for Gramps before they entered the familiar waters of the Port Royal Cays and Kingston Harbour, but he sensed in the calming of the sea that they would soon be at berth. He turned to face the bow and saw the lights of Kingston. They were very close.
Cagway base was brightly lit and a single sailor stood on the dock to receive the Surrey into port. Lloyd realized no one was watching him. He took a last drink from the hot tea and poured the rest of it overboard. He set the mug in the circle made by a coil of rope. As the gap between the ship and the dock narrowed, Lloyd took his chance. He jumped onto the dock and ran away into the night. He heard a sailor call out—“Hey!”—but then he heard the slapping sound of ropes cast and fallen, curses from the Surrey and the engines racing as the ship docked. He dodged around a small low structure built almost in the sea and headed for the low dock he remembered. He was unsteady as he ran—the land seemed to rise and fall—and the wet sand gave way under his feet.
Behind the dock, he slipped into the sea without hesitation. It was cold and he gasped. There would be no dry clothes at the end of this swim, but soon the sun would be up and he would be in Port Royal and then he would be making his way home to Bournemouth and his mother. She would be angry, but he was ready to face her.
He felt as if he had been at sea for
