Let Them Eat Tea

by Coleman Maskell

Chapter 11 - Meeting the Crocodiles

  "If we get off this island today alive," Zoe Jalissa says with quiet sincerity, brown eyes big and glistening, "I'm going to church tomorrow."

  "Me too," Annetka agrees, trembling a bit.

  "Me three," Jack and Snake add in unison.

  "You can be four if you want to be," Snake raises his voice to a louder level of quiet, with a tone of mock reprimand, "but I be three on this church train tomorrow. You don't ever even be going to church anyway."

 

  Jack smiles silently. Snake actually attends church sometimes of his own accord. Jack goes only rarely, when coerced or cajoled.

  The two scientists look at each other. Until now they haven't realized their girlfriends are religious, though they should have guessed.

  "I'll come along," Zeph offers, and draws Zoe closer, trying to comfort and calm her.

  "Sure, why not?" Baldwin adds.

  They sit on a ledge over a lagoon, legs dangling, above and below them a flat rock wall. In front of them dangles the remains of a broken rope bridge. Next to it hangs what is left of a rope ladder that was previously anchored at the top of the wall. In the lagoon beneath they see several shapes that look like floating logs but could be alligators, caiman, or even more likely, Crocodylus Acutus, the American Crocodile. As the observers watch, one of the floating logs raises up at one end and snaps at a low-flying parrot.

  "Not a log," Baldwin says.

  "Crocodylus Acutus," Zeph says decisively. "They can grow up to 20 feet in length. Common in these islands."

  "You know that, Tourist?" Snake gibes. "You seen a lot of these?"

  "No," Zeph admits. "It's only what I've read." He's completely happy to let Snake take any kind of lead he can on this. He wishes it would happen, in fact.

  "I just don't see how a breeding population could establish itself on a small island like this," Baldwin says wonderingly.

  "The go from island to island," Jack fills in the informational gap. "This lagoon connects to the ocean downriver from here."

  "So, what do they do? Swim up the waterfalls?"

  "No," Jack shakes his head. "They walk around them, same as we do."

  "Maybe we could scream for help," Annetka suggests helpfully.

  "Not a bad plan," Baldwin bobs his head side to side evaluating the idea. "I haven't seen a living human being since we left the beach, though. Snake?"

  "Nobody, mon. They must be here though. If they got a healer they must be people here to heal."

  "Reasonable," he assents to the logic. "They probably don't live this close to the crocodiles, though."

  "Somebody built the bridge," Jack observes.

  "Not recently," Baldwin points out. "Even granted that things decay quickly in the jungle, that fell apart pretty easily. It must have been there for a while."

  "What, Tourist, you didn't bring your cell phone? Maybe you can call somebody for help," Snake lashes out again. He isn't used to feeling helpless and he doesn't respond gracefully to the feeling.

  "Nobody I know around here owns a helicopter," Buddy replies reasonably.

  He considers pointing out that they aren't tourists, but there's no point really. Anybody not born in the islands is a tourist in Snake's lexicon. Also he feels indebted because Snake has done some incredible shooting to bag the specimens they came for, Specimens Zeph managed to hang onto when the bridge collapsed. Both men deserve a break, he reflects. He's glad Zeph doesn't rise to Snake's pointed remarks.

  "Although," Baldwin continues after a pause, trying to give the suggestion a fair hearing, "if my phone does by some chance work here, and we don't come up with a better plan, I could call somebody in Florida to arrange a rescue. It would take a few days though, and it would be embarrassing for you and Jack."

  Snake looks embarrassed even at the idea.

  Zoe seconds Annetka's earlier suggestion: "I like the plan of yelling for help. Could it hurt anything? Why are we talking so quietly anyway? The alligators can't make it up this rock wall, can they?"

  "Crocodiles," Jack corrects his sister reflexively, then feels insensitive and pedantic for having done so. "Sorry, Zoe," he adds.

  "Sorry they're crocodiles?" she asks lightheartedly.

  "Well, yes, that too; but I meant to say sorry for the remark," he addresses his sister sincerely.

  "What language would we use to yell help?" Zoe asks, not to be distracted from the closest thing they have to a plan.

  "To answer your earlier question first," Jack responds, "if people hear us, and the people happen to be unfriendly, maybe pirates or gun runners or drug smugglers for example, then yes, it could hurt something."

  "Things can always get worse," Snake points out what the women and the scientists might not have observed in their relatively sheltered lives.

  "Creole," Baldwin suggests. "It's most likely to be understood by indigenous inhabitants, and least likely to be understood by pirates and the like. Plus if bad guys hear us calling out in Creole, they're more likely to ignore us. However I do think it might be a better idea for you to teach Zeph and I to pronounce the call for help, and let us do the screaming. A woman's voice screaming for help in any language might attract people you don't want to attract."

  "Well, the Creole word for help is Anmwe!" she tells him. "Anmwe!"

  Jack and Snake look away in disgust. They both know the language. Neither of them is ready to accept calling for help as their best plan.

  "Anmwe," Baldwin tries to imitate her sound.

  "Anmwe" she repeats, more slowly.

  He tries again, "Anmwe."

  Both pause and look upward. They have heard the unmistakable sound of a pebble splashing into the lagoon beneath.

  From above them, a man's voice calls out something the two scientists don't understand, and the four Carib-born members of the group all quickly answer, "Wi!"

  Jalissa graciously translates words of the man above: "He wants to know if we are through resting on this ledge and would like to go on," she says.

  Baldwin and Zeph look up into the Carib man's smiling face and nod. He says something quickly and disappears. "He's going for a rope," Jalissa translates. "He probably means a thick vine."

  In less than a minute a thick vine drops over the ledge and dangles next to them. As grateful as they are to their rescuer, they don't know him. Zeph suggests, in English, that Jack or Snake climb up first. Jack smiles and ascends the ropelike vine quickly, hand over hand, feet pushing against the vertical rock wall.

  "Can you ask him to find another vine, to haul up the basket and things?" Zeph requests the girl. At the same time, another more slender vine drops down. He looks up and sees Jack holding the other end.

  "Tie on the basket," Jack calls down in English. Zeph complies.

  After the equipment goes up, Zoe follows it, and Zeph comes after.

  "Annetka?" Baldwin says, and makes sure she has a firm hold on the rope. He need not have worried. She climbs as well as a monkey. Baldwin follows, and Snake comes last.

  At the top they find themselves alone with their rescuer and their questions.

  "He's been following us since we left the beach," Zoe tells them.

  The man, smiling, says something further, and she translates again: "It is not always safe for tourists on this island. They don't know their way around. They get themselves into trouble. So if the people who live here notice tourists coming inland, into the highlands, somebody must follow, to be sure the tourists don't get hurt."

  Their rescuer says something else, and she adds, "He says there are many dangers. He says the crocodiles bite."

  "Yeah, we thought they might," Baldwin says. "Ask him if he knows about this shaman, the healer. Maybe he can takes us there."

  She enquires, and the man immediately nods and sets out in front of them. They fall in, Jack first, Snake bringing up the rear.

  Late afternoon finds them in a village not far from the top o
f the highlands. Women are cooking outdoors over open fires, in big iron pots. The visitors smell yams, and some kind of meat, or combination of meats, they can't identify by smell.

  Baldwin suddenly realizes he's hungry. He hopes it won't be considered rude to refuse to eat. He very much wants to avoid eating some unrecognizable combination of foods from an environment known to harbor deadly parasites.

  Their rescuer and guide brings them to a small house with a palm frond roof and taps on the edge of the doorway. After a few minutes an elderly man comes to greet them. The two residents of the village exchange conversation briefly, and the old man returns inside. Their guide gestures to them to follow. The only light inside comes from a few windows covered with something that looks like mosquito netting or window screen. All seat themselves on floor mats in a circle.

  "Tell him what we're looking for," Baldwin requests, and Zoe begins to speak to the old man in Creole. He listens attentively, nodding from time to time.

  When she finishes explaining, the old man speaks in English. "I am Azacca," he introduces himself. "Jomo tells me he heard you speaking a language he thinks is English."

  "Yes, English," Baldwin readily agrees, delighted with this turn of events. "I'm Baldwin, this is Zeph, Zoe, Jack, Snake, and Annetka," he introduces the party, gesturing at each in turn with an open palm, pausing to make eye contact with both the friend and the shaman with each introduction.

  "You have been taking our animals," the shaman points out.

  "We need these to study and compare with the disease that affects our people," Baldwin justifies the carnage. "We took only what we needed."

  The old man pauses. "You needed two bats?" he asks.

  Ouch, Baldwin thinks. "We were hunting the anteater the second time," he explains. The old man laughs gently and accepts the explanation.

  "The fungus that kills the antler headed ants," he rushes straight to the point. "This affects people and animals here as well? And you can cure it with some plants or some tea?"

  The old man smiles and nods. "It is possible to cure this," he agrees. "But I do not want you to take away our plants that grow for medicine here on this island. How can I trust you with this information? North Americans and Europeans, these people are like termites. They destroy everything in their path, leaving nothing. If you take the plants away, how will I make the herb tea for my own people when we are afflicted?"

  Tough question, Baldwin reflects. He exchanges glances with Zeph.

  "I got nothing," Zeph says simply.

  The old man laughs gently again.

  "Is there anything I can do to reassure you?" Baldwin asks plainly, looking the old man in the eye.

  No answer.

  "I know Europeans have a bad history," he continues after waiting. He locks eyes with the old man unwaveringly. "I know North American and European pharmaceutical companies have done terrible things," he continues. "Those people aren't me. I don't work for them. Zeph doesn't work for them. We only want to cure people of this terrible affliction. We work for the government of St. Lucy. This disease has spread throughout the islands. It is still spreading. If it is the same as the disease you can cure here, we can stop it's spread. We are not with the drug companies. We do not charge money for curing diseases. The Caribbean governments will pay for developing and distributing the cure. They will give it freely to everyone in the islands who needs it. We only want to help. Please help us to help others. So many people are being afflicted, and the number of afflicted grows."

  So saying he falls silent, but does not break eye contact with the healer in front of him.

  "So many people will require many plants," the shaman finally says.

  "I have a plan for that," Baldwin responds without hesitation. "If you can give us seeds, we can grow the plants on St. Lucy, in outdoor plots or greenhouses. We don't need to take plants from here, after the first, if we can get them to grow. Show me how to make them grow. Show me what to do."

  The old man thinks for a space of about ninety seconds. "What about the people who are dying now? Should I believe you will wait, while the plants grow?"

  "We would need a small amount of the dried herbs, for experimentation and study," Baldwin admits. "Are the plants so rare? Can you give us enough to cure just a few people, so we can study the effects? How rare are the plants?"

  The other man bobs his head side to side and makes a gesture with both hands to indicate a balancing scale.

  "If we can grow it on St. Lucy," Baldwin offers, "We can bring some back here to supply you."

  The elder man considers the idea. "Will you spend the night here?" he finally asks. "The hour is late. The coast is far. We cannot do this tonight in any case."

  "I'd be very happy to stay," Baldwin speaks for himself. He looks at the others. All nod.

  Annetka says something to the shaman in Creole, and he nods and smiles. Zoe shares the joke. Jack seems unamused. Baldwin looks at Snake as the old man walks away to arrange preparations.

  "She say you be her man, you sleep together," Snake answers the look.

  Baldwin feels his cheeks blush very slightly in the dimness, but he is delighted with the arrangement. He wonders about Zeph and Zoe, but doesn't ask.

  . . .

  The only thing that bothers him is that he doesn't have a way to refrigerate the specimens they collected. No one speaks for a while, and he sits alone with his thoughts in the dim light. After a time he looks at Annetka, but she seems lost in thought herself, gazing out the window toward the jungle. Cooking smells and sounds drift in. Music starts, an animated tropical rhythm that Baldwin doesn't recognize. Jungle birds and howler monkeys call out intermittently in the distance. As darkness comes in, the music rises in volume, overpowering the jungle sounds.

  Zoe snuggles closer to Zeph.

  "I bet they'll be dancing," Annetka guesses.

  Catching a whiff of cooked pineapple on the breeze, Baldwin is suddenly reminded of a Luau in Hawaii. The remembered Luau had been on the beach, not in the mountains, and he concedes to himself many other differences as well; but the similarity is unmistakable. Standing up, he answers his girlfriend's question. "Let's find out," he says, taking her hand and pulling her up. Together they walk out to see.

  The air in the highlands is cooler than on the beaches, and Annetka shivers slightly. He pulls her close, putting an arm around her waist as they walk. The cooking fires provide heat and flickering light. Torches on poles supplement the fires like primitive streetlights. Wild music dominates the arena. A few dancers gyrate energetically in an open area between the big open fires, washed by a bath of orange light and dancing shadows. The flames seem to flicker in time to the music. Perhaps they do, he realizes. In the still night, the movement of the musicians and the dancers patterns the air currents around them, and the flames are driven with the motion, making it seem as if the whole village is alive with the heartbeat of the music.

  When they reach a nearby fire, she disengages from his arms and stands close to it, holding out her hands near it, looking at the dancers.

 

  Baldwin breathes deeply and admires the beauty of the scene. He can be fairly sure he won't be able to match the dancing of these islanders. Maybe Annetka can. She seems to want to dance. He looks at her, uncertain how to confess his inability, wondering fleetingly if it might affect her feelings towards him.

  No, she isn't that shallow, he decides quickly. It might affect her mood, and that would be bad enough, but it wouldn't change her basic feelings for him.

  He reaches out and strokes her hair, only then noticing that she has it hanging loose around her shoulders. He's sure she had it tied up earlier in the day. He shakes his head, not remembering the change, and pulls her hair back behind her neck, touching her skin very lightly as he does. She trembles slightly and the skin on her arms prickles with goosebumps. She looks down and away, not meeting his eyes, then shakes her
head in a movement designed to make her hair return to its former disarray. Again he brushes the hair back gently, and this time she meets his eyes with hers. Her breathing is a little quicker and shallower than before, her heartbeat stronger and faster. They draw close to each other slowly.

  "Hey, Buddy," Jack calls out, and Baldwin turns reluctantly to greet the approaching companion. "You want to let me dance with your girlfriend?"

  The event seems so sudden and so odd that the scientist is bewildered for an instant. Jack can't possibly be interested in Annie that way, he conjectures. She's a close friend of his sister Zoe, so Jack has probably known her for years. He guesses Jack thinks of Annie like an honorary sister. His mind leaps instantly to the idea that maybe Jack might want to protect her from the mad scientist. It seems unlikely. Baldwin has been seeing the girl for several weeks before this, and there hasn't been any hint of an objection. Next his mind races to the possibility that maybe Jack just knows Annetka likes to dance and guesses that Baldwin won't be able to keep up. Or, he concludes his wild speculations before blinking, maybe public kissing is an enormous breach of protocol here and could get them stoned, and Jack happens to know or guess this. Baldwin blinks again and glances around. He sees no public displays of unplatonic affection. He still doesn't believe this is the answer. He goes back to the simplest thought: Maybe Jack just wants to give Annetka a chance to dance, knowing she likes dancing. He sighs involuntarily and answers, "Sure, of course," temporarily surrendering the girl. Realizing he still holds her left hand in his right, he places her hand in Jack's.

  Jack and Annetka join the dance, like sports cars merging into fast traffic. He marvels that she dances just like the islanders. It makes sense, of course. She was born in the islands. She grew up in the islands. She is in fact an island girl. Her hair and eyes are European. Her speech is European. Everything about her movements is pure Caribbean. He stares raptly as if watching a performance of the Bolshoi Ballet.