“Yeah that’s me, I’m the manager,” answered Jeff annoyed by the distraction. “What do you need?”
“Well you see, dis American lady tole me you’d give me twenty dollar if I brung you dis note.”
“What note!?” snapped Jeff as he snatched the scrap of paper from Christian’s hand.
“She said to tell you she was in de French Bastille and to bring your boat back,” continued Christian trying hard to remember everything he was supposed to say in order to be assured of his other twenty – rapping it up with one of his enormous smiles as he held up the Whaler key.
The place was suddenly in an uproar of relief at the news that Alex and Raymond were indeed on dry land, however, inconvenienced they may have been at that moment. Alex’s note briefly explained her dilemma requesting that Rob come to the Gendarmerie, as soon as he could with the ship’s papers, the dinghy receipt, and its serial numbers.
Of course, all that was easier said than done since Rob had no idea where Joey kept such things. It took Rob an hour to search the Island Fever for her papers. Joey obviously had a reason for building the secret compartment Rob finally discovered under the master berth’s floorboards where he found the ships papers, warranties, thirty thousand dollars cash, all of the needed serial numbers, and a colorful collection of passports bearing different names and dates of birth all containing Joey’s smiling face. Hidden amongst the cache were numerous charts of Colombian waters and land maps of the interior of the country known for its agricultural products which plied the drug trade throughout the Caribbean and the U.S.
Suddenly, everything was crystal clear to Rob – Joey was a drug smuggler and the Island Fever was likely known throughout the islands as a drug boat. It was no wonder Joey had no apparent source of income yet could afford this luxurious vessel – no wonder the police were so quick to incarcerate her crew.
“Oh my God,” thought Rob, “Now I’ve got to go to the French police. Forget getting Alex and Raymond out, they’ll probably just throw me in there with them and throw away the key. Surely they know. They think I’m his partner not only in the boat but in this line of work too. This time they won’t make the mistake of letting us get away. This is it, I’m destined to spend the rest of my life behind bars,” Rob reasoned with certainty – starting to sweat. “They’re going to impound the boat and everything I have left in the world, and there I’ll be, rotting away in an island jail while Joey is off scot-free spending my money.
Rob was panic stricken as he stuffed the ships papers in his pack and replaced all but a thousand dollars back under the floorboard. Frantically, he gathered up the illicit passports and Colombian charts and raced up to the galley4* to light a fire to destroy all the evidence. His hands were shaking as he lit the gas burner on the stove and set fire to the passports one by one throwing them into the sink to burn, insuring that nothing remained of Joey’s illicit dossiers. By the time he had started to add the charts to the fire, Rob realized he’d created some-what of a small barn fire. When the dish towels went up in flames, Rob decided a little water was in order. But when he went to pump the salt water foot pump, all he got was air, since of course the boat was on dry land and had no access to sea water. Nor did the freshwater pump offer any resemblance of H20 since her tanks had been drained to haul her out. What to do now that the entire galley was quickly being consumed by flames? “A bucket! I need a bucket,” screamed Rob! “Water where’s the closest water!? No! A fire extinguisher! That’s what I need is a fire extinguisher!”
Frantically, Rob looked around the deckhouse for anything resembling an extinguisher. There on the wall next to the doorway hung a dry chemical extinguisher which he ripped from the bracket then fumbled to figure out how to operate the thing, since of course he’d never had cause to use one before and never the forethought to read the instructions in case of such an emergency.
By the time he had found the pin and pulled it releasing the entire contents of five pounds of dry chemical onto the now blazing fire, it had managed to singe everything in the forward half of the galley right down to melting the plastic dishes in the cubbyholes. Looking at the thick layer of white powder which could have easily been mistaken for a kilo that Woody Allen sneezed on, Rob had to wonder which had done more damage, the fire or the extinguisher. Covered from head to toe in white dust and black soot – sporting singed hair – sans eyebrows and eyelashes, Rob emerged from the deckhouse in a stupor carrying his pack of documents and looking as if he had just survived an explosion in a talcum factory. Poor Christian, who sat waiting for him on the beach in the Whaler, thought he’d seen a ghost at the first sight of Rob who resembled, a fresh baked Beignet,5* straight from the oven.
“You all right mista?” questioned Christian as Rob stumbled to the shore and climbed into the boat without saying a word. Not daring to ask any more questions, since Rob was obviously not in the mood for talking, Christian pushed the boat off the beach, started the engine, and drove around the jetty then under the bridge to the lagoon.
By the time Rob walked into the Gendarmerie, the French police had been contacted by Jeff at the marina and told that Rob was on his way to clear up any confusion as to the ownership of the dinghy. In fact he had even sold Joey the Zodiac and its Evinrude, and he was certain that if Rob couldn’t produce the serial numbers, that surely he could find the required documents. Upon seeing Rob walk through the door, the on-duty Gendarmes took one look at his condition and a superficial glance at the documents and quickly released Alex, Raymond, and the dinghy without another question asked.
Of course, Alex couldn’t believe her eyes when she walked into the Captain’s office to find Rob in such a state of disarray. As she threw herself into his arms, Rob was so happy to see her that he barely even noticed the pain when she hugged him. “Oh my God, what happened to you,” gasped Alex.
Barely able to speak by this point, Rob somehow managed to mumble something about the fire being out and for her not to worry because he’d taken care of all the evidence. To himself, Rob was thanking God, the police, and the Universe for bringing her back to him safely. What a lucky man he truly was indeed, for not only had Alex and Raymond been returned to him, but the Dinghy Fever had found its way home as well. Now he just hoped his string of bad luck had run its course, and that maybe he’d finally erased some portion of that karmic debt he owed. Now he just had to hope that the other Dengue Fever would quickly run its course along with his bad luck.
Aside from his pain, Rob felt as if he’d hit the lottery. Little did he know however, that his outstanding debt was in fact only half paid by this point, and the lotto he’d won had only brought him five out of six wining numbers – the sixth was yet to be earned, over time. The real question was – what indeed was the grand prize – true happiness – Paradise? Or, would Rob instead be the lucky recipient of life’s booby prize? But then, that’s what the game of life is truly all about when it comes down to it – a gamble that one hopes will payoff in something other than coconuts and boobey birds. When they arrived back at the boat that afternoon with the Island Fever’s dinghy, Alex was not surprised to find the winter wonderland that Rob had left for her in the galley, not to mention the medium-well-done cabinets underneath. At least the Island Fever was still there. After all she had survived four hurricanes, surely she could survive one Rob. I can’t leave him alone for a minute, she thought to herself lovingly as she dove into the task of cleaning up the disaster.
1*ANEGADA PASSAGE – Also known as the ‘‘Oh My Godda Passage.’ Better known as one hel-lacious body of water, stretching between the eastern most Leeward Islands and The Virgins. 2**
2**VIRGINS – (a place) Not to be mistaken with female nymphets – who knows what Columbus had in mind when he named them. The Virgins are instead the western most grouping of islands in the Lesser Antilles which lay west of St. Maarten and east of Puerto Rico – the western islands – St. Thomas, St. Chroix, and St. John, are now owned by the U.S., who bought them from the Danes. They
are divided from the eastern islands – Virgin Gorda, Tortola, and Anegada, by a channel called The Narrows. The eastern islands have pretty much always been owned by the Britts.
3*RICE-KICKER – The term for food drops made by Air America, where a robust man would literally kick bails of rice to rebels from the open hatch of a DC3.
4*GALLEY – The nautical term for a ships kitchen not to be confused with a medieval ship propelled by sails and oars, although some ships’ galleys (kitchens) border on medieval with regard to their sparse appointments which are generally designed by men who don’t cook.
5*BEIGNET – A French puff pastry (in essence – a donut), which is generously dusted with powdered sugar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Paradise Peak
“There are no guarantees what will happen when you
jump off an emotional cliff. You might crash on the rocks or you might
develop wings. But you will never really know which
one it is until you jump.”
Marianne Williamson
It was eleven days to the day before Rob was finally feeling himself again, even though he was temporarily fooled into believing that he actually felt better on day eight. If nothing else, dengue fever was predictably reliable, and by day twelve Rob was back at work beside Alex doing his best to make up for his prolonged absence in the boatyard.
The strike was over and the power plant had resumed operation, providing the Dutch side once again with electricity. It was the day before the American Forth of July, which oddly enough, was a holiday more enthusiastically celebrated in the upper Dutch Antilles than in the ‘States’ itself, providing one more reason for festivities and one more official holiday on the island’s calendar.
That afternoon, Alex sent Rob over the hill to the commercial docks in Philipsburg to get a bracket welded on the new engine sled she had built. It had been weeks since Rob had followed anything resembling the news, since it had been far too painful for his eyes to watch TV due to the dengue fever. The last thing that Rob was up on was the state of current world events or even local island gossip for that matter. So, when the Yellow Submarine crested the hill affording him a clear view of Philipsburg harbor, Rob slammed on the brakes in a panic. “Oh my God, we’re at war,” stammered Rob when he saw what seemed like half the American Navy sitting anchored just outside the harbor. Six U.S. destroyers and two nuclear subs made for an imposing sight to an American expatriate living in a foreign land. Terror seized Rob at the thought of being stranded on foreign soil with unrest brewing. Luckily for him, these were his own native land’s troops surrounding the harbor.
At the next turn-off, Rob jerked the car off the road making an abrupt U-turn, and headed back as fast as the little sub would carry him to the boatyard to warn Alex and the others about the apparent invasion.
“What could they possibly want with St. Maarten” thought Rob. “Other than some bad rum and a lot of discount electronic stores, their temporary home didn’t offer much in the way of prime strategic advantage, especially since it was so close to the American Virgin Islands.”
Alex, winked at Grandma and Grandpa and almost managed to keep a straight face as Rob carried on and on about this newly developed crisis that had descended upon their quiet little island. Wasn’t it strange that the local radio hadn’t mentioned a thing about America’s military presence. Finally Alex, unable to contain herself any longer, burst into laughter, along with Grandma and Grandpa. “It’s the Fourth of July,” cried Alex, as if that should explain everything.
“So?” puzzled Rob totally baffled as to why the American holiday would have any significance whatsoever with what was happening on the other side of the hill.
“Well, they come here every year to celebrate and salute the island of St. Eustatius.1* Without them, America would have never won the Revolutionary War. It’s just a minor detail that was left out of America’s history books.”
“Oh come on, what could that little rock have possibly done to help us win the war?” questioned Rob skeptically.
So, Alex proceed to tell Rob the story of how ‘The Golden Rock’ came to unknowingly orchestrate their own demise for the cause of the great country now known as the United States of America.
You see, St. Eustatius is a small island with a large history and was actually known at one time as the trade capital of the West Indies. But since they were a trading port owned by the diplomatic Dutch, who have always put commerce ahead of political loyalties, they were neutral – feeling it their right to trade with any nation who sailed into their port. So, they had every intention of selling arms, gun powder, and provisions to Americans from New England, even if the Britts, who had made their island rich, from their business, considered it as rebellion. Although, any trace of the deed has been omitted from American history books, Statia was the first to acknowledge a passing American war brig, the Andrew Doria with a merchant salute – two guns less than a warship. They paid for it dearly when ole Admiral Rodney got wind of their betrayal. He swooped in and cleaned out the place leaving what was the richest island in the Caribbean to the goats and the land crabs. He even took most of the inhabitants to St. Kitts or to England and was latter sued in Parliament by the island’s English inhabitants who lost their property. Pretty much the only thing it’s used for today is fuel storage for this part of the Caribbean, since with its deep-water harbor, even super tankers can unload their cargo.
Rob was greatly relieved to learn that he was not on the verge of finding himself in the midst of some island military coup. Like when the Americans chose to be the heroes of the day and storm into Grenada to save a handful of American medical students from their communist intruders for a little international PR. Or, worse yet, when the American CIA did a half-ass job of trying help Cuban ex-pats liberate Cuba from Castro during the Bay of Pigs.
Confident now that it was perfectly safe to complete his mission to Philipsburg, Rob headed off to his little yellow tin can which was already about to loose its two front fenders, in order to get to the machine shop before the docks closed.
Coaxed by Grandma, who had suggested that they take a small romantic excursion to the top of Paradise Peak, Alex ran after Rob, catching up with him just as he was backing out of the yard. “How would you like to go up to the top of Paradise Peak3* to watch the sunset and the fireworks tonight?” suggested Alex shyly.
“Sounds like a great idea,” said Rob hardly needing to answer since his broad smile broadcast it all. “I’ll pick up some things for a picnic in town.”
“Great,” replied Alex happily as Rob pulled away, “I’ll break out the picnic basket! OH! And you’d better pick up some new blankets!”
Regarding fireworks, Rob was hoping that he and Alex would set off a few of their own that night since he was finally feeling his old self again, and he had yet to experience the rockets red glare and the bombs bursting in air with her in more than one sense of the meaning. Rob had much to celebrate, as did Alex, since they were both safe, out of jail, and relatively healthy at that point. Overall, it promised to be a rather celebrative evening, as opposed to a celibate one for a change. Not only was there likely to be a fireworks dis-play in Philipsburg harbor, but an American owned hotel in Long Bay, on the French side, took a diplomatic stance and alternated between the 4th and Bastille Day4* every year – this being their year to acknowledge their homeland.
It was just before sunset when the Yellow Submarine chugged its way to the top of Paradise Peak with Rob and Alex onboard. Oddly, there was only one other human at the popular spot – a local man working on his land. So, Rob and Alex parked the car and packed their dinner and blankets up to the perfect plateau of rocks to claim the best seats in the house from which to view the setting sun and the upcoming evening’s events.
Upon returning to the car to get the corkscrew, Rob noticed the sail bag in the back of the wagon moving with something crawling around inside. Cautiously, he crept around the back of the vehicle and quietly op
ened the back hatch fully expecting some sort of island creature to spring from inside the bag. Picking up the tire iron, which lay next to it, he prepared himself for the attack as he jerked the sail bag open. Instead of some furry creature, Christian popped out smiling his big, broad, endearing smile.
“What on earth are you doing here?!” cried Rob annoyed, but relieved to find his new buddy instead of some such fur covered thing as a monkey or a mongoose.5**
“Well I jus’ wanted to see de fireworks too,” said Christian with so much sincerity that there was absolutely no way that Rob could be angry with him.
“So much for the bombs bursting in air,” mumbled Rob shaking his head.
“What bombs?” said Christian looking at Rob confused.
“The one I’m going to have to drop on Alex when I tell her we’re not alone,” said Rob as he helped Christian from the back of the car and headed back to their picnic site to surprise Alex with the news of their unexpected stowaway.
In the last couple of weeks Christian had grown on Alex, and he had quickly adopted the Island Fever’s little boatyard as his new home – offering his services as Alex’s new assistant in exchange for a bunk in the forward berth and a few dollars a day for food. However, as fond as she had grown of him, now was not a time for him to be included in the festivities. But what were they to do? Here they were – the three of them. So, together, they toasted the setting sun and shared the roast poulet, aged camembert, fresh fruit, crusty baguette and a bottle of the best French wine Rob had found on the island, while overlooking the island’s most spectacular view.
West of the Quator Page 28