Something Fishy

by Derek Hansen

  Pinky’s inhibitions dissolved instantly. The piece of tuna he put into his mouth would have choked any other mortal but Pinky disposed of it as though it were a mere titbit. Captain Pete looked on awestruck, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. He’d never seen anyone’s jaws move as fast as Pinky’s. They reminded him of one of those machines that grind up and swallow branches and other garden waste. Pinky’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a champagne cork caught in a jacuzzi. He didn’t eat his meal so much as demolish it. Even XR and Chuy looked stunned by the onslaught. Pinky had finished both fish and rice before the captain was even a quarter of the way through his meal and XR and Chuy barely halfway through theirs.

  Neither captain nor crew said a word, probably for the same reason. They didn’t want to embarrass the boy. XR and Chuy cleared their plates and waited politely while Captain Pete finished his meal. This was one of their conventions. Captain Pete finished and invited the boys to help themselves to seconds while he retired to the stern for a quiet tequila. Watching the boys demolish the remainder of a meal was not something he chose to witness twice.

  ‘XR,’ said Captain Pete. ‘Tell Pinky to help himself if he’s still hungry.’

  Pinky’s eyes lit up as XR relayed the message. He took the offer literally and, instead of helping himself to another two pieces of fish, dumped all the remaining pieces onto his plate. Captain Pete’s jaw dropped in amazement. The kid had already eaten enough for two grown men. Clearly he intended to eat enough for six. But if Pinky thought he was going to get away with this manoeuvre, XR soon put him right. Both XR and Chuy had been forced to compete with their siblings for food when there was precious little on offer.

  ‘Hey!’ said XR, and in the rattle of Spanish that followed any misunderstandings were cleared up and the pieces of fish redistributed evenly. XR served the rice to prevent any further misunderstandings. Captain Pete watched the proceedings glassy-eyed. The image he couldn’t get out of his mind was of Pinky taking all the remaining fish, all two kilos of it, and Pinky’s obvious conviction that he could eat it all plus whatever rice he could get his hands on. The captain didn’t just take a glass of tequila out onto the stern deck with him, he took the whole bottle. Some days, one drink just wasn’t enough.

  Pinky slept on the boat that night. Through occasional partings in the veil of sleep, the captain was aware of the boys’ intermittent chatting and the soft sound of their TV turned down low. He was also aware of the pitter-patter of feet on the stairs between decks and the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and closing . . .

  Peggy was an excellent traveller. She had the ability to do the red-eye flight down from San Francisco to LA, endure the two-hour stopover and the four-and-a-half-hour flight to Zihuat and arrive looking as fresh as if she’d just fallen out of the pages of Vogue. Captain Pete had no hesitation in arranging to eat out after he’d safely moored the Salthouse in the Ixtapa marina and picked Peggy up from the airport. After feeding Pinky the night before, he figured he needed professional help.

  Pinky arrived at the marina just before sunset, this time without having showered first, slicked down his hair or changed. He’d come straight from ferrying his last paying passenger from beach to boat. He probably hadn’t eaten all day and not had any time off other than the waits between fares.

  ‘So this is Pinky,’ said Peggy. She and the captain were sitting out on the stern deck, enjoying the cooler air of evening and a frozen margarita each. When she was hooked onto a fish, Peggy could look very much the tomboy in fishing shorts and shirt, no make-up and a cap chosen for protection rather than style. But she wasn’t fishing and, although she’d changed into plain linen trousers and a delicate green Italian T-shirt, she still looked very much the patrona.

  ‘Pinky,’ said Captain Pete,‘come and meet Miss Peggy.’

  But Pinky had already seen Peggy and put her in the same category as all the elegant women he ferried to and from the Azimut and Hatteras cruisers in Zihuat Bay and didn’t dare speak to. They were from another world. He busied himself mooring the tender and coiling the loose end of the rope. Tall, matchstick thin and wearing his shy smile, Pinky looked tired, vulnerable and lost.

  ‘He’s embarrassed,’ said Peggy.‘Let him shower and change before you introduce me.’Whatever Captain Pete had seen in the boy that made him open his heart and his fridge, she saw too. Without knowing how, and regardless of the consequences, she wanted to help him.‘XR, does Pinky have clothes he can change into? Does he need soap or a towel?’

  ‘Pinky has a clean shirt and shorts from last night. I will get him a towel. When we go out you won’t recognise him.’

  They went to Tia Maria’s, Aunt Mary’s, because the restaurant specialised in huachenango, which was one of the few things on his diet that Captain Pete could get genuinely enthusiastic about. Huachenango consisted of a pargo, or snapper, which had been split down both sides of its spine and all three pieces — fillets and backbone — coated in Mexican spices and barbecued. It was hot, spicy and invariably cooked to perfection so that the fish’s firm white flesh was still moist while the surfaces exposed to the flame were crisp. The only drawback was the expense. Captain Pete and Peggy decided to begin with fish soup and share a huachenango between them. The boys knew enough to order something else.

  Pinky studied the menu, which was a total mystery to him because he’d never seen a menu before, never sat in a proper restaurant before and couldn’t read anyway. He sat quietly while the boys read out the names of the different dishes. They asked if he needed help but Pinky declined, saying he understood just fine.

  His tortillas with a combination of fillings arrived at the same time as Captain Pete and Peggy’s fish soup. His seafood soup arrived with XR’s and his enchiladas at the same time as Chuy’s. Pinky finished all three courses in the time it took the others to complete one course.

  The waiter brought Pinky’s pozole, a soup with refried beans, polenta and pork garnished with jalapenos, radish, oregano and chilli powder, while Peter and Peggy waited for their huachenango and the boys for their fried chicken and rice. Pinky finished his pozole just as the fish and fried chicken arrived, which was just as well because their waiter needed the table space for Pinky’s fried chicken.

  Captain Pete had a lot of things to discuss with Peggy and hadn’t been paying much attention to what the boys ate but he became suddenly aware of the procession of dishes that had found their way to Pinky.

  ‘XR, what’s going on here? How many meals is that Pinky’s had?’

  ‘I don’t know, patrón. Do you count the first course as a meal? A first course is not a meal.’

  ‘To keep things simple, yes.’

  ‘In that case, patrón, let me see. I think five meals.’

  ‘Five!’

  ‘Oh hush, Peter,’ said Peggy. ‘He’s a growing boy. Let him finish his chicken in peace.’

  ‘Peggy,’ said Captain Pete, ‘you have no idea what you’re dealing with here.’

  Pinky finished his chicken in peace and just in time for the steak.

  ‘Who is that for?’ said Captain Pete.

  ‘Pinky,’ said XR.

  ‘Don’t you think he’s had enough?’

  ‘I don’t know, patrón. I’ll ask him.’

  Pinky actually stopped eating momentarily during the rapid exchange of Spanish that followed. XR and Chuy burst out laughing.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Pinky didn’t know he had to choose from the menu, patrón. He thought the menu was just a list of dishes they were going to bring him for dinner. He thought that is what happened in restaurants. He thought he had to eat everything on the list.’

  ‘My God,’ said Peggy.‘What if we hadn’t stopped him?’

  ‘We’d have to sell the boat to pay for dinner,’ said Captain Pete. ‘XR, get hold of the waiter and tell him no more dishes.’

  ‘Okay.’ XR spoke to the waiter and established that it was already to
o late to cancel two of the dishes, because they had already been prepared.

  ‘Okay,’ said Captain Pete.‘Two more dishes. That’s all.’

  Pinky ploughed his way through a fried fillet of fish and a dish of boiled chicken and potato. To his credit, he never hesitated with either dish and never slowed down.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Peggy. She thought Pinky was hysterical.‘He must have worms.’

  ‘Better believe it,’ said Captain Pete. The waiter had just given him the bill.‘Pinky’s eaten more than the rest of us put together.’ He turned to the kid. ‘Pinky, you’re a bandit and a pirate.’

  ‘Gracias, senor,’ said Pinky. Captain Pete could have moored all sixty-two feet of his Salthouse in Pinky’s wide, bucktoothed smile.

  Captain Pete rose shortly after dawn, pulled on his shorts, a battered T-shirt and his joggers. Both he and Peggy were keen to go out fishing but not before he’d fulfilled his obligations to his health by running a few kilometres. He ran out through Ixtapa and up the hill towards Zihuat, turning at the billboard that marked the halfway point in his run. By the time he got back to the marina the sun had well and truly risen and his shirt was drenched with sweat. As he walked the last hundred metres he noticed Pinky out past the Salthouse gazing in obvious awe at another boat. Captain Pete couldn’t resist going up to him to see what was so fascinating. His brow furrowed as he drew near.

  The boat Pinky was interested in was not the kind of boat Pinky should have anything to do with. It was long and slim like a panga, but more than twice the length, and its hull, rather than being homemade, was state-of-the-art. The boat was powered by three of the biggest outboard motors the captain had ever seen, all of which were fitted with competition props. There was a game-fishing chair fitted just forward of the motors and an array of rod holders on a chromium rollbar over the centre console. Captain Pete didn’t know who the fishing equipment was intended to fool but couldn’t imagine it fooling anyone. The boat would probably cruise at seventy-five knots and had been built for only one purpose.

  ‘Hola!’ said Pinky.

  ‘Hola, El Rapido,’ said Captain Pete.

  ‘El Rapido,’ said Pinky. He pointed to the three outboards. ‘Muy rapido!’

  ‘Si,’ said Captain Pete.

  Pinky pointed to the game chair.

  ‘Pescadore.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding. No fisherman, no pescadore.’ Captain Pete racked his brain for the words to communicate the true purpose of the boat.‘Drogas,’ he said.‘Marijuana.’

  ‘Drogas,’ said Pinky.‘Si, muy rapido.’

  Captain Pete realised that Pinky had known all along that the boat was used for running drugs, and not just marijuana but probably cocaine. What concerned him was Pinky’s fascination with the craft, a fascination bordering on lust. Offered the chance to skipper it, Pinky would not refuse, regardless of what the cargo might be.

  ‘Malo!’ Captain Pete said vehemently, the Spanish word for ‘bad’. He spat into the water to show his disgust. ‘Come, we’ve got to go.’

  Pinky dragged himself away reluctantly.

  XR wanted to power straight out to the seventy-kilometre mark where the water was deeper and the current warmer, and the captain decided to give XR his head. Peggy wanted a blue marlin and out wide was the most likely place to find one. About twenty minutes out from port, the captain made himself a weak black tea and strolled out onto the rear deck. He found Chuy and Pinky tying doubles.

  ‘Hey, Chuy,’ he said,‘when did Pinky learn to tie doubles?’

  ‘We show him last night, boss.’

  ‘You showed him last night?’ The captain was impressed. Pinky wasn’t just providing an extra set of hands but was at the business end completing the knot.‘Fast learner.’

  Later, when he went up onto the bridge, he found Pinky at the helm with XR explaining the autopilot and the video plotter. He stood back quietly and unnoticed, watching as Pinky dialled up changes of course and flipped the radar between short, medium and long range. He watched as Pinky played with the fish finder and pointed out the red patches indicating bait fish. He was even more impressed when XR passed Pinky the handheld GPS unit and the kid figured out how to use it and cross-referenced the numbers on the GPS with the position on the video plotter. The fact that Pinky had no formal education and couldn’t read or write didn’t appear to be the slightest handicap. The kid was as sharp as a boxful of hooks. Captain Pete realised then what he wanted to do and slipped quietly downstairs to discuss his idea with Peggy.

  ‘I want to send Pinky back to school,’ he said.

  ‘But you told me Pinky doesn’t like school,’ said Peggy.

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘So why would he stay in school? What’s to stop him running away again?’

  ‘No one’s ever given him an incentive to stay, certainly not an incentive that’s meaningful to him.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Peggy.

  ‘What if I promise to take him on as a permanent crew member if he stays at school for two years and learns to read and write?’

  ‘Oh, Peter, that’s a great idea. But where will he live? How will he earn money to keep himself?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea,’ said the captain. ‘But I tell you what. I guarantee there’s a Mexican solution.’

  The captain waited until they’d put out the lines and XR had come downstairs to raid the fridge before telling him his idea. Chuy and Pinky were both up on the bridge keeping a lookout for marlin.

  ‘No problem, patrón,’ said XR. ‘Pinky can stay with my wife. He can go to school at Cabo. I will build another room on my house.’

  ‘If Pinky agrees and stays with your wife, I will pay someone to build another room on your house.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ said XR.‘I was planning to build another room anyway.’

  The captain smiled. Like most adult Mexican males, XR was always almost ready to build another room. That was the way houses were built in Mexico. As soon as families saved up enough money, they put in foundations. When they saved up some more, they built a room. Then, as more money came along, they built more rooms. Mexico was full of incomplete houses, and even when the owners had as many rooms as they needed, their houses still looked incomplete, with steel reinforcing jutting up out of columns as though awaiting the construction of a second storey. This had baffled Captain Pete for a long time until XR had pointed out that the government levied a completion tax.

  ‘No one pays the completion tax,’ said XR. ‘Why pay completion tax when you can build on another room for the same money? That’s why houses are never completed.’ XR’s house was awaiting the construction of a third room but XR kept finding other uses for his money.

  ‘Do you think Pinky will like the idea?’

  ‘Maybe, patrón. Let’s ask him.’

  They found Pinky with his eyes glued to the video plotter, avidly following the progress of a dot on the screen. Either the triple-engined drug-runner had left port or another just like it. Captain Pete realised at once that Pinky also knew what the dot represented and kept glancing back to the video plotter while XR spoke to him.

  ‘Pinky is very grateful for your offer,’ said XR eventually, ‘but he says he wants to think about it.’

  ‘What’s to think about?’

  ‘He doesn’t like school.’

  ‘Did you tell him I guarantee him a job after two years?’

  ‘Yes, but two years to Pinky seems like a long time.’

  ‘Did you tell him that if he learns to read and write he could skipper a boat like this one day?’

  ‘Sure I told him that.’

  Pinky’s eyes were fixed firmly on the video plotter. The dot was closing fast.

  ‘Isn’t that what he wants?’

  ‘Sure, patrón, Pinky wants that.’

  But Captain Pete wasn’t sure that was what Pinky wanted at all. The kid now had his face glued to the window, paying rapt attention to the boat whizzing past them less than half a k
ilometre away.

  Peter and Peggy accomplished what they set out to achieve by going out to the deep water. Both caught and released blue marlin over one hundred and fifty kilos, and caught two more yellowfin to restock the larder. It was one of those rare days when everything went according to plan. XR let Pinky take the helm when they held the marlin by the bill and retrieved the lures. The kid handled the big boat like a veteran.

  On the way home, Peggy decided to take on the responsibility of persuading Pinky to return to school. While Captain Pete and Chuy took turns at the helm, she sat down with Pinky and, with XR as interpreter, showed the kid how to write his name. Pinky was in awe of Peggy and gave her all his shy attention. He wrote his name over and over, filled with amazement and delight at his prowess. Peggy showed him how to write her name and XR’s and he loved writing XR’s name more than his own. He loved the brevity and the shape of the letters. Gradually and seemingly without any pressure, she sweet-talked Pinky into accepting the captain’s offer. He agreed to go to school for two years and agreed to stay with XR’s wife at Cabo.

  Peggy was jubilant and so was XR, though privately he thought Pinky would have agreed to jump off the boat into the jaws of a shark if Peggy had asked him to. Pinky was probably more than just a tiny bit in love with her. He was overwhelmed that such a fine woman would talk to him and take an interest in him. It was something he’d never expected to happen. Of course he agreed.

  When they motored back into the marina they had to pass by the stern of the drug-runner. The look on Pinky’s face did not fill Captain Pete with optimism.

  Two weeks later, Peter and Peggy returned to their home in San Francisco, to their business and the normality of everyday life with its myriad obligations and irritations. Peter, who was only ever referred to as Captain Pete in Mexico, sent money down to XR so he could begin work on a room for Pinky. When he spoke to XR on his mobile he was concerned to learn that Pinky had run off.

  ‘Pinky has borrowed somebody’s tender and is ferrying people to and from their boats in Zihuat,’ said XR.