They packed up at lunchtime. Without Maas Conrad’s fish, they were making much less money. “Tomorrow,” Miss Beryl said to her son. “Tomorrow this foolishness with your granddaddy is done, you hear me? You go sea. You bring home fish or money. Time for you to be a man.”
Lloyd walked to Gray Pond beach. It was late afternoon and he hoped to find Maas Benjy or Maas Rusty under the divi-divi tree. Maybe one of them would have a cell phone with credit, so he could phone Black Crab. He was anxious. He wanted to know the truth, but he was afraid of it too. The shade under the divi-divi tree was empty and there were few people on the beach.
Lloyd walked east, facing the low sun. He passed the few vendors’ shacks at the end of the beach. He saw Miss Violet from the Tun-Up rum shop leaning on the counter of one of the fish shops, chatting to the owner, Miss Selena. “Miss Violet, Miss Selena,” he greeted them.
“Wha’appen, Lloydie?” Miss Violet said. “You hear from Maas Conrad?”
“No. Nuttn.”
“Is what, a week now?”
“Eleven—no, twelve days.”
“Um-hmm.” Violet shook her head and said no words of hope.
“Miss Violet, you have credit on you phone? You think I could make a call?”
“You callin a girl, Lloydie?” Miss Violet and Miss Selena laughed. “I tell you, young bwoy these days, them good!”
Lloyd smiled as if they were right and took the phone she handed over.
“Don’t stay too long,” Miss Violet said.
He walked away from the women and sat on a rock. Maybe Black Crab would not answer, would never answer. The sun was going down and the gray waters of the harbor began to glow with its light. Another day over, pulling back like a wave. He fought back his sense of defeat, his fear. He called Black Crab’s number, and heard him say, “Yes?”
“Boss. Is me, Lloyd, from Gray Pond fishin beach. Lookin for my granddaddy, Maas Conrad. You said you gonna ask around. You gave me you number.”
“Yes-yes. Listen me, yout’. Two things. Number one: you granddaddy not comin back. Is rough, life hard, but so it go. Him gawn and that is the end of it.”
“Boss, wha . . .”
“Me say to listen. Number two: those two woman you talk to ’bout dolphin—you tell them from me is time to find some other line of work, seen? Argument done.”
“Why you never tell me this at the bar?”
Black Crab swore. “You think me know every man go a sea? You think me know every starving fisher, every hustler inna Kingston? You ask me to find out, me find out.”
“What happen to him, boss? Please, me is beggin you, just tell me what happen.”
“Yout’, you mix up inna big man business. Dangerous business. Lef’ it alone now. You hear me? Or you the next one lost at sea, seen?”
Lloyd said nothing. He was tired of hearing that. He held the phone tightly and his palm was sweaty. He was alone on the beach, facing the harbor. “Yout’?” said Black Crab. “You still there? You hear what me say?”
“Yes, boss. Me hear.”
“Tek care then, yout’. Tell the dolphin woman find sumpn else to do,” Black Crab said. “And me don’t want hear from you again. Never, you hear?”
Luke and I argued about using the dynamite as we pulled our pots and when we went home that night we carried only two juvenile yellow tails, wrapped in newspaper. Two small fish to feed four adults. I wanted to hide them from Luke and Cordella. I could cook them on the beach, get Jasmine out of the house; maybe Miss Adina would trust me two slices of hard dough bread and I would watch Jasmine eat. I thought about the Bible story of the feeding of the five thousand—five loaves and two small fishes. But there were no miracles to be had in Great Bay and I hated my willingness to take food from my brother. I had to do something—we had to do something. One time, I told myself.
The next morning Luke and I left Great Bay in the dark. It was rough and we fought our way through the waves. We were soaked as soon as we cleared the shelter offered by the curving coast. Silver swooped up and down, sometimes her engine racing when it was clear of the sea as she hung on the crest of a wave. Luke and I did not speak. We knew the fishers of Alligator Pond used dynamite. The fishers of our villages looked down on them for that because they did not commit such crimes.
When the sky lightened we were near our father’s favorite pot set, on the reef where we set reef traps as boys, where we dove for conch and spearfished for lobster.
We do this before the sun come up, Luke said.
You know what you doing? I asked.
Yeah, man, he said. The man from Alligator Pond tell me.
I stared into the water. We right over the reef, I said.
Luke did not answer. He pulled the sticks of dynamite from his pocket and tried to light them but the matches were wet. Once, twice, the matches caught, sputtered, and died. Luke cursed and threw each dead match into the sea. I counted them, six, seven. I did not know if the pack of matches was full.
You have any newspaper? he said.
No, I replied.
Luke kept on striking matches. Eleven, twelve.
The fifteenth match caught and held and he shouted at me to help him. I cupped my hands around the tiny flame. It was such a fragile thing. The smallest of breaths would have blown it out, but I held my breath. Luke held one of the wicks to the flame and the flame danced with it. And then it caught. And the dynamite fizzed and I wondered how
