by Jack Treby
‘We wanted to catch the early boat.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Coming from Guatemala City?’
‘That’s right.’ We were now on the main road between the two towns.
‘What time’s your boat?’ the policeman asked, checking his wristwatch.
Hell. I had no idea. It wasn’t as if we had booked a ticket in advance. ‘Er...nine o’clock, I think.’
He frowned. ‘You mean nine thirty?’
‘Er...yes, that’s right,’ I agreed, a little too quickly.
The officer peered at me again. I felt sure I had aroused his suspicion. Perhaps he was playing with us. Had the general somehow escaped from the generator room and telegraphed ahead? An agonising pause followed and then the policeman gave a slight nod and handed Maurice back the passports. ‘All right, on you go,’ he said. I climbed back into the sidecar, my heart pounding, and watched as the officer moved aside the plank of wood and allowed us through.
‘That was too close for comfort,’ I muttered, as the vehicle chugged slowly away.
We arrived at the port shortly after that. It was a squalid, bustling place, dirty and over populated. We found a quiet corner to abandon the motor-bicycle – shoving the keys into a letter box belonging to a business associate of Gunther Weimans – and then joined a surprisingly long early morning queue for tickets. The customs man nodded us through with barely a moment’s thought.
And so here we were at last, on the jetty, surrounded by crates, preparing to board a banana boat for the Port of Belize and safety.
‘Almost there,’ I whispered, as loudly as I dared. The gang plank had been lowered and a small bundle of passengers were preparing to board the decrepit, rust bucket of a steamer. Maurice regarded the vessel in horror. The boat was alarmingly low in the water. ‘It’ll be perfectly safe,’ I assured him, with dubious authority. ‘That’s our ticket out of here.’
The valet nodded and stiffened himself. I would get the fellow below decks as quickly as I could. We would be sharing a cabin, unfortunately, as we had on the Zeppelin out to America. There had been no option but to book a double berth, since we were supposed to be married. In fact, that had been the only ticket we could get, at this late hour. Joseph Green would have to bunk with a stranger.
The labourer was standing to our left, awestruck, not by the boat but by the future it represented to all of us. ‘A new life,’ he breathed.
‘Got quite a Caribbean feel to the place, British Honduras,’ I said, ‘so Freddie tells me. We’ll be on the coast too, the Port of Belize. You’ll fit in well there, I’m sure.’ There would be no secret police, no government corruption and no damned coffee. Just happy, well-treated natives, efficient British civil servants and the occasional pot of tea. An oasis of calm in an unstable region, that’s how somebody had once described it. ‘Just the place to settle down for a few months,’ I told Maurice, as we stepped towards the gangplank.
For once, my heart felt light.
NEWS IN BRIEF
ACCIDENTAL DEATH IN GUATEMALA
From Our Own Correspondent
The wife of a German coffee plantation owner in Guatemala has died after taking an overdose of barbiturates. The Englishwoman, Mrs. Susan Weiman, 41, who was born in Havana, Cuba, is believed to have been receiving treatment for a nervous disorder. It is the second tragedy to strike the Finca Weiman plantation in recent months. In July, a crazed worker attacked and killed the estate manager, Mr. Steven Catesby, a relative of Mrs. Weiman. Two house guests, Mr. & Mrs. Arthur Montana, from the United States, were also killed. The attacker, Mr. Joseph Green, a coloured man, was reportedly shot and wounded by police as he fled the scene.
HURRICANE IN WEST INDIES
From Our Own Correspondent
A telegram from Tampa, Florida, the headquarters of Pan-American Airways, reports that a hurricane and great wave devastated Belize, British Honduras, yesterday afternoon...
– The Times, September 1931
Acknowledgements
The Devil’s Brew is a light mystery novel, not a serious work of historical fiction. I have nevertheless endeavoured to portray the times as accurately as I can, particularly with regards to the social attitudes of the period. The following books have been particularly helpful: The Business Of Empire – United Fruit, Race and US Expansion in Central America by Jason M Colby (Cornell University Press 2011); Guatemalan Caudillo – The Regime of Jorge Ubico by Kenneth J Grieb (Ohio University Press 1979); Bananas – How the United Fruit Company Shaped The World by Peter Chapman (Canongate Books 2007). Thanks to my beta-readers for their keen eyes and constructive criticism; and to my family for their continued support and encouragement.
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