It took them less than a minute to get to the Coast Guard station. The gate was the cut off top of an old ship called the HMJS Cagway and there was a sign saying the base had been founded in 1963. The uniformed guard obviously knew Jules and smiled as she drove up to the guard post. “Commander here?” she asked.
“Him on Surrey,” said the guard. “But you can wait for him.” He didn’t seem to notice Lloyd.
“Awright, Phillips, thanks. Park in the usual place?” Jules didn’t wait for an answer.
They drove along a narrow road beside the Harbour. The Coast Guard base was a mix of new buildings and old—crumbling red brick and square concrete buildings. He saw a line of long wooden houses painted blue off to the left. They all had signs with the names of sea creatures—Shark, Barracuda, Dolphin.
She parked under a large willow tree. She turned to Lloyd and looked at him. “Let me do the talking, okay? What you granddaddy name again?”
“Conrad. Maas Conrad Saunders.”
They walked along a pathway toward the dock. Everything was very neat and painted, even the trunks of the coconut trees. The grass was brown and mowed. There was not a trace of litter. Lloyd could faintly hear the noise of some kind of machinery, perhaps a drill or a generator. They passed men in uniform, light blue shirts and dark blue trousers, who nodded to Jules and said, “Miss.” They passed a line of old willow trees, all leaning in one direction, making a soft sound in the sea breeze. They walked past an old concrete jetty, almost at sea level, covered with seagulls, also facing in one direction.
They walked onto the dock. The three big Coast Guard boats were moored together—the Surrey on one side of the dock, the Cornwall on the other, and the Middlesex tied up to the Cornwall. Two scuba divers were in the water at the stern of the Surrey, apparently cleaning the hull and propellers. Lloyd saw there was a stern ladder into the sea.
“We wait for him here,” Jules said and she walked to the end of the dock and sat, her legs dangling over the side, leaning back on her arms. She was wearing a clean pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and the kind of buckled sandals that you could wear in the sea and were good on boats. Her skin was dark against the white T-shirt. She stared at the Harbour and swung her legs. She seemed fine in the hot sun and Lloyd wished he was wearing shorts and an undershirt. His shoes pinched. Behind them, sailors were lined up in rows doing drills of some kind. He smelled melting asphalt. No one challenged them. Jules seemed entirely at home on the Coast Guard base.
He sat beside her, but not too close. How to talk to her? How old was she? Twenty, he thought, maybe twenty-one, but then he remembered how easily she spoke with the guard at the Coast Guard gate, and the expert way she had handled the dolphin on Lime Cay. If she was a scientist, she would have been to university. Maybe she was twenty-five. Was she from Kingston? Did she still live in the city? What was she doing with the Coast Guard and why did they know her well enough to allow her onto the base? Did she ever fish? Had she been to the Pedro Cays? Could he trust her? He had no idea how to frame his questions. He feared they might seem disrespectful and she would be offended, but he thought it would be okay to ask about the Cays. “You been to Pedro, Miss?” he said.
“Many times,” she said. “At least once a month.”
“Why? You fishing out there?” As Lloyd said it, he knew how ridiculous the idea was. A woman fishing! Women were the cleaners and sellers of fish; men were the ones who brought them out of the sea.
Jules smiled. “Sometimes, if I want to eat a fish, I catch one. But no, I’m not out there fishing. I’m taking a census of dolphins on the Bank—counting—trying to find out how many there are, what species—what kinds—of dolphins.”
“How you do that?”
“Go out in a boat. We have a big map, where we draw out squares in the sea, then we go up and down in a pattern. If we see a dolphin we take a picture of his dorsal fin, put it in a computer, so we make sure we don’t count the same one twice. Just look for them and count.”
Lloyd could not imagine the drawing of squares in the sea. “You see a lot of them?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by a lot. Not compared to the amount that was probably there in old-time days. But more than I expected to find, yes. Mostly bottlenose. Some white-sided. Seen killer whales too—you know them?”
Lloyd shook his head; he had never heard of a killer whale. They sounded dangerous, not at all like dolphins.
“You seen Free Willy?”
“No, Miss. What is Free Willy?
“A movie about a killer whale. I bet you seen a picture of one—they’re black and white, like a panda.”
Lloyd did not want to ask what a panda was but he wanted Jules to keep talking. “Why you countin up the dolphins?”
“Want to know if the population is healthy. How many animals. If they are breeding; things like that.”
“Why you don’t do it close to shore? Pedro Cays far.”
Jules nodded. “Far, yes. But not so many dolphins inshore these days, too little food for them to eat. Not enough fish. Your granddaddy probably know about that. There’s a place out at Pedro, a bare rock, deep water around, nice reefs. We see a lot of dolphins there.”
“You went to school to study about dolphins?”
“Four years,” she said. “In California.”
“Why?”
“Why did I want to study dolphins?” She shrugged again. “Grew up beside the sea in Portie. Always loved it. Saw an angry fisher spear a dolphin once, the dolphin was fooling around with his trap. I thought it was a smart animal, to try and get the fish out. So I went to college in the US to learn about them.”
Lloyd’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. He did not want to talk about dolphins. He wanted to talk about Gramps, about his fears for the old man, his fears for himself. Who would speak kindly to him if his grandfather was never seen again? Who would teach him about manhood, about life? He wished for his grandfather’s low, rough voice, telling him dolphin stories, or about how the fish-nin was good, so good, in the old days. He had thought some of his stories boring, now he wanted to hear them all, again and again.
He knew his voice would shake if he spoke and he did not want the woman to hear that. He had to be strong. He said nothing. The sun was directly overhead and he wanted to find shade but he thought of Gramps lost at sea with the sun like a hammer on his head. So he closed his eyes and saw the sun bright inside his eyelids, as Gramps would, wherever he was. And he stayed where he was, on the dock at Cagway base, keeping company with his lost grandfather.
On this rock where now I lie, the sea snails are salty but easy to pull off the rocks and crack open. I eat three every time the sun has moved the span of my hand. Then I get up and look to the horizon and think of the line drawn in my young life: the before and the after, the time before Luke went to sea and the time after.
How it go? I asked Luke after his first trip.
Hard, was all he said. Me sleep on mesh wire.
Another day he said, There was a man with two rows of teeth, like a shark.
And another day: Good. Fish was biting.
And, When you see the bluff you know you are home. Even before that you can smell the land.
After Luke went to sea, there were many mornings when I was the only boy in the house. When he and Lewis left the bed we shared, half asleep I would change my position, move from the bottom of the bed to put my head on the only pillow and stretch out my limbs. The nights were often hot and the tangle of boy limbs sweaty and full of hard angles. When the others left, I fell into a deep and undisturbed sleep. My mother would wake me and ask if I planned to sleep the day away. It was a luxury, to sleep in such comfort, but it was lonely too, and when I woke, I hardly knew what to do with myself.
I had been left at home, in the world of women. I felt a small knot of anger under my breast bone, like a dried almond, hidden in the sand. I spoke to the Arawak prince in my mind. If only I had been born a prince. I wanted to name h
im. I asked our teacher, Miss Carlton, about the Arawaks and she sent me to one of the dusty encyclopedia volumes on a shelf in the tiny, nearly empty room that was called a library. She read out loud about a chief called Hatuey from Hispaniola, who led a rebellion in Cuba and was burned alive. I named my prince after him.
The water level in the plastic bottle is going down too quickly—I must be more careful. I find a new pool with a few whelks—much bigger than the sea snails, but their thick black and white shells are harder to crack. I long for a tool, any tool. I find a cavity in the rocks that is a little smaller than a whelk and I wedge one there and hit it with the sharpest rock I can find, trying to hit the same spot with every blow. Breaking the shell takes a long time and while I hit the whelk I wonder how it made its way to this rock in the sea with deep water all around. There were many whelks in Treasure Beach when I was a boy and sometimes my mother made whelk soup. She put the broken shells along our fence line, made with wild coffee sticks, and the shiny insides of the shells glistened in the sun.
The whelk’s shell breaks. I scrape off the bits of shell with my fingernails, taking my time, and when I put it in my mouth, it feels as meaty as a good oxtail. I must ration the little colony of whelks—I will eat one per day when the sun is at its highest. But the need for fresh water is now urgent. I search the sky for rain clouds but the sky is clear. I search the sea but there are still no fishing boats.
8
They waited almost an hour. Jules seemed comfortable on the dock although she did take a baseball cap out of her backpack and put it on, apologizing because she only had one hat. Lloyd saw there was a quietness about her; a patience, a willingness to wait as long as was necessary. Maybe this came from studying the sea. Fishing needed patience too. He wondered what she would have been doing if he had not called to her from the Port Royal dock. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She sat braced against her hands, her legs moving back and forth, and he longed for her patience. All the same, it is not her grandfather lost, he thought. Maybe she would be on the Surrey already if it was her grandfather.
A ray jumped in front of them and she said, “Spotted ray. Bottom feeder. Lot of them live in the Harbour.” Lloyd thought all rays were stingrays. He wished he knew as much as she did about the sea. Did she know more than Gramps? She studied dolphins, but did she love them? Would she believe Gramps’s stories about dolphins helping people?
He gazed at the Surrey, moored to their right. The end of the dock was about two thirds of the way along the ship’s length. Jules had said he would not be allowed to go to Pedro, but maybe there was a way to get on board. The Surrey was large in comparison to a canoe, but it was not that high. He thought he could climb aboard on a rope. The weather rail that lined the deck was solid gray steel, but it had square holes with rounded edges along its length, and there was a hole at the prow of the ship where the anchor rope went through. Lloyd thought he could fit through any of the holes.
It was harder to imagine what he would do once on deck and he had no idea what was below deck. He could see an open hatch on the forward deck, into which the anchor rope disappeared. He thought about the coiled anchor rope of Water Bird, under her bow cap, and the way Gramps stowed things he did not want to get wet, right up against the V of the prow. He could still easily fit inside that small triangle. Perhaps there was a hiding place where the anchor rope of the Surrey was stored. Lloyd saw two men on the flying bridge watching them.
Behind the men, a uniformed sailor stood at a gap in the weather rail—a sentry, he assumed, there to stop people like himself from boarding. The two men on the bridge climbed down the ladder to the lower deck and approached the sentry, who saluted and pointed to where they sat. Jules stood. “That’s him,” she said, her arm held up, in the salute of the sea. One of the men walked up to her. “Jules?” he said. “Did I forget an appointment?”
“No, man,” she said, smiling. The flash of her teeth illuminated her whole face. “Just came over on spec. This is Lloyd Saunders. Lloyd, Commander Peterson.”
“Lloyd,” said Commander Peterson. He looked at his watch. “I have a meeting at fourteen hundred hours,” he said to Jules. “What’s up?”
“Lloyd’s grandfather went to Pedro last Sunday, but hasn’t come back. We were wondering if your guys could ask around out there—you going out tomorrow night as usual?”
“Yes. About midnight. Captain Blake will be in command. Sure, no problem. He can ask around, but why don’t we just radio the base on Middle Cay? What’s your grandfather’s name?” he said to Lloyd.
“Maas Conrad, sah,” Lloyd said. “Conrad Saunders.”
“Him have a pet name?
“No, Maas Conrad is what them call him.”
“Him is a regular Pedro fisher? Don’t recognize the name.”
“No, sah. Him don’t go Pedro. Him more go California Banks, Bowditch. But him go Pedro last Sunday and him don’t come back.” Lloyd gathered his courage. He did not think radioing the Pedro base would work. “Me can go with the boat, sah? Me can find him. Me can crew if you want.”
The Commander laughed. “No, Lloyd, I’m sorry, but that can’t work. But don’t worry, my men will ask around. They know everybody on Pedro and if anybody out there knows anything, they will find out.”
“When they will be back, sah?”
“Boat turns around overnight. Goes out, takes out the new crew, brings back the men out there.”
“The boat don’t stay out there?”
“No. Goes out, comes back. Only a few hours out there, anchored off Middle Cay. You can check us Wednesday, late afternoon. Depends on the weather. I will radio out there now, get the men to start asking a few questions. The weather is not looking that good midweek, so—”
“But—” Lloyd said.
Jules put her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Commander. Appreciate your help. If you hear anything, call me.”
“Your men will look out for him on the sea?” Lloyd said, despite Jules’s hand, warning him to be quiet and grateful. He knew the crew of the Surrey would be able to see much farther across the sea than the crew of a fishing canoe. Maybe they would see a boat with a dead engine in the swell and fall of the waves.
“My men always keep a good watch, son,” said Commander Peterson, and Lloyd heard the edge in his voice.
That night, he went again to the seawall after his mother was asleep. She seemed not to have noticed his disappearance all day. Boys were expected to be unruly and Lloyd knew it was enough for her that he returned home for the evening meal—that night a hearty chicken soup, made from chicken neck and back, with yam and cho cho and large solid dumplings. He had been hungry—Jules had forgotten her promise of fish at Gloria’s so his lunch had consisted of the snacks he had eaten at the Morgan’s Harbour Hotel. As they ate in silence, Lloyd knew his mother had something on her mind.
After the visit to the Coast Guard base, Jules had driven him to Gray Pond beach at his request—he had not wanted her to see where he lived. She had asked how to find him if she heard anything about Maas Conrad, and he told her that anyone at Gray Pond would know where to find him. He had watched the Jeep drive away and he felt alone. He had not even said thanks and he had not found out where to find her. She had said he should not worry about Gramps, but he felt her words were empty. Another day done and there was still no news of his grandfather.
The hot night was cloudy and the sky hung low. It was the middle of the hurricane season. There could be a storm at any time. The words any time had two meanings. His grandfather could return at any time, but also a storm could blow up any time, a storm that would sink a lost fishing canoe in the first half hour. The Coast Guard commander was right; the weather was changing. A storm was out there. He leaned against the light pole and thought about the Surrey. There must be places on board where a small boy could hide. Surely the sailors would not do anything bad to a small boy when he was found, especially if the small boy was only seeking news of his grandfather. He wis
hed he could wait for a trip when Jules would be there, but it was clear she had no plans to go to Pedro the next day.
The problem was how to get on board the ship. He was sure there would always be a sentry at the entry port. The stern ladder was very close to the dock so he knew he could swim to the ship from the Port Royal fishing beach—he could hug the coast and move through the water as silently as any large fish. But then what? Could he climb the anchor rope onto the deck and disappear into the anchor well? He thought he might be able to, and if he failed, all that would happen was he would fall into the sea. He thought of the jumping ray—he would sound like a ray hitting the water, no one would notice.
But once on deck, he would be exposed. Could he climb the stern ladder and find a hiding place there? He was sorry he had not asked the commander if he could tour the ship. He could have pretended to be a boy in love with ships, and maybe the commander would have showed him around with pride. He could have made a better plan then.
Lloyd knew the word “stowaway”—occasionally people from other countries, Haiti in particular, stowed away on the ships that came into Kingston Harbour. When they were found, they were arrested and taken away. It was risky, dangerous even, but he made his decision. He would try to be a stowaway on the Surrey. The anchor rope or the stern ladder? He stared into the night and worried over his plans.
My time to go to sea came and I wanted to be alone with my father for my first journey, but Luke was there. I complained and my father cuffed the side of my head. Watch you mout’, bwoy, he said. After that we worked in silence in the dark. I was afraid but full of anticipation too. The first trip was never to the Pedro Bank—that would come later—but would we go out so far that there would be no sign of land? How would we find our way back in the day, without the shining lighthouse?
What I can still see from that first trip: the sunrise. It had been a night of fast-moving clouds, the moon just past full. The sea shone in the moonlight. The only sound was the throb of the engine. Luke stood in the bow, I sat facing forward. Our father stood behind me with his hand on the tiller. How did he know where to go?
Gone to Drift Page 5