A Dolphins Dream

by Carlos Eyles

  They sped west under high, thin, gossamer clouds. The seas were glassed out and at full throttle they ran parallel with the island at the edge of the coral shelf, turning a prominent point that had thrust its way into sapphire depths and where verdant jungle appeared to grow out of the self-same water. They came upon a deep bay that opened wide to a long, sandy beach lined with coconut trees. Far offshore, nearly hidden in the lush foliage, stood several thatched bures. Smoke curled out from small, secluded fires and a boat was drawn high up on the sand. Moses pointed towards the settlement.

  “That was our beach,” was all he said.

  Small bays and beaches were passed but none as large or quite as beautiful as the first. Several had structures, while others were absent of any debris of man. Moses said they all belonged to outsiders, New Zealanders, Australians, and Americans.

  Another extended point was navigated that Compton assumed to be the western edge of the island but it merely curved deeply into an “L” shape. Here a wide bay held half a dozen freshly painted boats on brightly colored moorings. Beyond, on the shore, in a forest of geometrically placed coconut trees and well-groomed shrubbery, rose a high-pitched roof of thatch and wood. Across manicured grounds of flower gardens and low trees were smaller bures. “This,” said Moses, “is the resort owned by Nigel. It pays poor wages,” he added.

  The bay was protected by a barrier reef through which Moses, never diminishing his speed, found passage. He swept in close to shore where an elderly white man in a white jogging suit ran up and down a small beach as his wife watched while sitting uncomfortably on the stump of a coconut tree. Compton wondered how long it would be before the resort would consume this side of the island. A Fijian boy attending the boats on the beach waved and shouted to Moses by name. He returned the greeting as they crossed the bay and blasted through the other side of the barrier reef, entering a deep bay that was half a mile wide and cut into the island for perhaps three-quarters of a mile, providing excellent anchorage for large vessels. Directly across the bay, brightly painted boats lay on a steep sand beach and Moses pointed the skiff towards them. Beyond the beach, pitched corrugated roofs of unpainted tin caught the sun among dense groves of coconut trees.

  Moses pulled the boat onto a sand beach that was devoid of human activity, grabbed his white bag of vegetables and headed inland. Compton followed up a well-worn path, past unpainted houses, rusting fuel drums, fishing nets, decrepit, staved-in boats that would never float again. Here and there atolls of grass stood as feeble reminders of less complicated times and further accentuated the cluttered, unkempt look of the place. The only color provided by nature came by way of exotic purple flowers that sprouted out of drab bushes. Small children stood naked in open doorways while their older brothers and sisters ran to join the growing procession that skipped beside Compton.

  The entourage arrived at the home of Judith, who was waiting in the doorway holding a sickly infant in her thin brown arms. Moses presented her with the vegetables and introduced Compton to her husband, John, who had come around the corner of the house holding an oily engine part that belong to an outboard that was stripped down to its bare block and rested on wooden supports near the steps. John was very black with short, powerful arms and oversized shoulders. He led them into the house and Compton stood at the entrance, as previously instructed by Moses, to wait until offered the favored place.

  There were no tables or chairs in the single large room. Stacked in every corner was debris: assorted tools, outboard engine parts, a harpoon, a fish net, gas cans, a bag of roots, laundry, a box half filled with assorted canned goods. In the centrner of oom, lying upside down, was a live sea turtle whose shell was the size of a dinner plate.

  After a brief exchange, John returned to his outboard and Moses directed Compton to sit next to him on the hardwood floor. Moses and Judith chatted in Fijian and Moses occasionally translated the gist of the conversation that amounted to little more than village gossip. The three sullen children, all under the age of four, clung to the faded blue skirt of their mother, staring blankly out at Compton with runny, dull eyes. Judith, whose skin was perfect and the color of light chocolate and who was once quite beautiful, smiled sadly when offering her breast to the crying child in her arms. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties and later Compton learned she was twenty-three.

  Moses crawled to the center of the room and turned over the turtle that had been quietly lying on its back. After regaining its bearings it made a pathetic dash for the doorway, its flippers slipping on the slick, worn, wood in a desperate attempt to escape to the sea. Moses said that the turtle was a pet, having been found four years ago when it was a baby. It had been kept prisoner on its back in the house all of its life. He allowed it to get to the doorway before sliding it back to the center of the room. While the children found delight in its aborted attempt to breakout, Judith looked on sadly, consigned, like the turtle, to a half-life that went no further than the doorway. The thumping of a drum sounded, a signal, Compton was told, for school to be finished for the day. Soon the children were straggling by in oversized clothes, happy and barefoot, all seeming much healthier than the younger children he had seen earlier. Perhaps, he reasoned, if they can survive their first six years they would live strong, happy lives, until adulthood.

  Moses collared one of the children, spoke to him and sent him on his way. “He go find Aprosa.”

  Moses and Judith continued to catch up on the local news. In his periodic translations, Moses indicated that more young people were leaving the village and heading off to Suva to find a better life. Although he shook his head in disapproval, he allowed as how they lived so poorly in this village that such a departure was almost expected.

  Within the hour Aprosa appeared at the doorway. The gentle countenance of the man was as always and Compton broke into a smile when he saw him.

  “Hey. Aprosa, how you doing?”

  Aprosa smiled shyly. “Bula, Keli, I am doing well.” They shook hands. “You look fit and ready to dive all day, eh.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far but I’m feeling good.”

  “You brought up a wailu the other day, eh.”

  “How did you know?”

  “This is Fiji,” interrupted Moses. “Stop trying to figure everything out.” Both he and Aprosa giggled to each other as Compton gave an appeasing smile.

  “Yeah, I have finally begun to pay my way around here, as well as feed myself, thanks to you. It helped that Moses stopped bringing me food so it was either hunt or starve.”

  “The eye is sharp on an empty stomach, eh. Moses did you the favor.”

  “Yes, he is always doing me the favor whether I know it or not.” At this pronouncement there was laughter all around.

  “The big wailu, he took your gun, eh. You saw too much fish?”

  Compton felt chagrined, but saw no intent of ridicule in Aprosa and his embarrassment dissolved in an instant. “Yeah, I didn’t see the spot,” an honest reply emerged. “Have you seen that big wailu on the reef? It’s huge.”

  “I know the one. Very big. He the boss of the reef. I don’t spear it.”

  “Why is that? Too big?” said Compton in mock challenge, expecting a smile.

  However, no smile came and Aprosa remained resolute. “No, it is the friend of…” and he abruptly stopped and looked at Moses who nodded ever so slightly and Aprosa finished the sentence, “…the Sea God. Plenty other fish, eh.” The gravity with which Aprosa spoke was disconcerting and in that discomfort Compton changed the subject. “Well, I picked up another gun in Somosomo, so as you know, I’m back in business.”

  “I go to the reef in three days. We dive together for the wailu, and maybe some jacks, yes.”

  “Sure,” said Compton, “that’d be great.” Then to Moses, “Is this the same reef we’ve been diving?”

  “That’s it, all the big fish on that reef,” confirmed Moses.

  “Good,” said Aprosa, who then gently bid his goodbye’s and heade
d back to the Genuine Village.

  Judith had cooked belle and rice and served it with canned fish. The four of them ate off chipped ceramic plates while sitting in a circle on the floor. The children wedged themselves in the folds of Judith’s body and ate from her plate while the baby shrieked in high-pitched wails. Moses and John ignored the nerve-shattering cries and conversed amiably away in cordial Fijian, while Compton forced up smiles and choked down the undercooked meal.

  After supper, Moses escorted Compton on a tour through the village. The golden light of dusk could not improve upon the drab uniformity of the singularly boxed and roofed houses nor turn to jewels the engine parts, fuel drums and the abandoned leavings of uncounted projects that would never see their moment of completion. They stopped at an open structure with waist-high walls that opened to the ceiling. Inside, two dozen children watched a Rambo movie on a television set, a small generator humming outside the wall.

  “The Indian man from Taveuni come and for fifteen cents they watch the movie.”

  “Do they choose their movies?” asked Compton. “Is that Rambo movie something they like?”

  “They like anything he brings. Rambo, Ninja, Arnold who’s-his-name. Sometimes he bring the pornography for the men. It is a terrible thing to do, eh. Before the movies came the children play all day down at the beach and make the flower string for their mother’s neck. Now they kick each other and fight with sticks.”

  “Why doesn’t the village stop him from bringing in such movies? There are other, far better movies than Rambo.”

  “The Indian has the permission of the Paramount Chief. When he bring the movie to the Genuine Village the people don’t let the children come. So the Indian brings ‘em here instead.”

  “Why don’t they throw him off the island?”

  “The parents are ignorant. They believe the movie is a good thing and helps the children see the world. They have not been to Suva and have seen nothing in their lives but this village. So they are curious about everything outside, eh.”

  Compton became angry and then embarrassed by his country’s abhorrent invasion into the Fijian child, as if he somehow were responsible.

  “But why Rambo? Why pornography? There’s so much more to choose from.”

  “John went to see the white people screw. He could not understand why people would do such a thing for others to see. They had no pride in themselves. He was ashamed that he saw it.”

  “Do people still go and watch?”

  “The young men go. They like to watch the white woman moan and carry on, then they go home and want their woman to do the same. They get angry when it doesn’t happen.”

  Compton pulled at Moses’ arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They returned to Judith’s house and inside, around the glow of lantern light, sat five men. In the shadows of this gathering oozed an ominous sense of foreboding and Compton hesitated at the door. Moses reassured him with a pat on the shoulder and they entered the room. John was serving up kava from a large bowl. A place was made for Compton and Moses, who rubbed his hands together as one would do before sitting down to a favored meal. Compton sat to Moses’ left, and to his left sat a grim looking fellow named Joseph whose eyes held lethal thoughts and whose powerful arms carried mercilesds. Next to him sat a soiled, shirtless man called Cecil, whose body odor filled the room and whose humorless eyes fell dead and unfeeling upon Compton. The two others were of equal mien and had Fijian names that Compton could neither pronounce nor remember. All, including John, were a sullen group full of sickness wrought by way of a life that Compton had only witnessed when wandering the inner cities. Having encountered such open friendliness from every aspect of Fijian life, he was taken aback by this brooding circle. They drank their kava like drunks in a forgotten bar, purposefully and with a vengeance. They spoke only in Fijian and the conversation distanced Compton from the group. The kava was passed regularly and seemed to be stronger than the batch Moses had mixed.

  Early into the second hour the words, “You have money?” crept out from the hapless circle. Compton, knowing the question was directed at him, had no idea who had spoken and searched the circle for acknowledgement. He was met with silent stares from all around. Moses flicked his eyes nervously and nodded in the direction of Cecil.

  “No, not much,” replied Compton, affecting a pleasant tone to Cecil.

  “Then how you get from America wit no money?”

  “By American standards, I don’t have much money but by yours, I guess I have a lot.”

  Cecil grunted and spit out a Fijian remark that by Moses’ reaction Compton guessed was less than hospitable.

  “Do you have an interest in Americans?” asked Compton.

  “No,” grunted Cecil. “They very rich and weak. They come to our islands and try and make us servants.”

  “I’m not here to make anyone my servant.”

  “Why you here then?”

  “To see a bit of Fiji and hunt some fish.”

  Moses clapped his hands for another bowl of kava and the anger in Cecil circled back into his chest by way of hunched shoulders. The kava was drunk and the bowl was passed and the malevolent air hung in the room like smoke, dense and suffocating. Moses did his best to try and lift the spirits of the group but he quickly fatigued for the burden of its weight was too great. After a time he got up to pee and Compton followed him out the door. They walked toward the beach, out of hearing distance from the house.

  “Very mean spirit in that Cecil. He wants the money to go to Suva and find his sister who is a whore living with an American. He speaks of killing him and bringing his sister home.”

  “These are the first Fijians I’ve seen that are not filled with good will.”

  “You must be careful, the other one, who is Joseph, is Sinaca’s brother. He speaks little but he is a very mean fellow. They all want money to buy things they see on the movie. Even John, he buys that big outboard engine, one hundred horses. It goes too fast for his small boat, uses too much gas and is always broken. It is the same in every house in this village. It is a terrible thing, all this want.”

  When they finished peeing, Moses held Compton’s arm. “You stay here. Wait for me down by the boat. The tide is good, we can get over the reef. I pick up your things and say goodbye to Judith.”

  “Are you afraid for me, Moses?”

  Moses laughed, “No, but too much kava and a cane knife might put ugly ideas in Cecil. He might see his sister’s pimp instead of you. Or maybe Joseph knows about the looks you give Sinaca, eh.”

  Moses gave Compton a bag of fruit and two cans of fish when he returned. “I told Judith that you spear fish and the tin fish was not needed but she put them in the bag.”

  Once they were away they slowed their pace and the boat pushed easily against the black water that churned silver phosphorescence beneath the bow. The moonless night was star blown and the white sand beaches along the shoreline glowed blue in their light. Compton let his hand drag over the side of the boat and his fingers felt for the tongue of warm water that rose to lick them on each swell. They passed the lights of the resort, which in their glare felt harsh on their skin and obscene to the eye. They did not speak in the revealing gleam but hurried to the sanctuary of darkness around the next point.

  “Do you think drugs are bad, Keli?”

  “What kind of drugs you talking about?”

  “Pot. Do you think pot is bad?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you are an American. You know about drugs, eh. You have used ‘em?”

  The darkness shadowed Compton’s face and Moses could not read the shift in its aspect but his answer was curt and revealed himself. “Sure.”

  “Was it a bad thing?”

  “My second wife liked to smoke pot because it made sex better for her. It wasn’t my drug of choice, as they say.”

  Compton reached deeper into the sea and scooped up a handful and splashed it on his face. “You been smoking?”
>
  “An American came here last year and gave me some pot. I went down to Orchid Beach to smoke. I liked the pot but I worry, also. In Fiji they put you in jail for five years if you have pot.”

  “That’s a lot of years in jail but I imagine you’re fairly safe out here. I mean, who would know?”

  “Sometimes the police come from Taveuni and check. The sergeant, he used to bust up fights but now he is looking for the pot.”

  The boat rounded the western point and the swell increased. Compton gave himself over to the rocking motion, which the kava seemed to thrive on.

  Moses adjusted the throttle and the boat rolled gently over the swell. “The American give me seeds to plant and said he would buy the pot from me and I could smoke it when I wanted. He did this so he would not have to find it in Suva. I am thinking about the pot all the time and worry that the police will find the plants.”

  “If he needs to fly to Suva to score his pot, it sounds like he’s got a drug problem.”

  “This pot is something, eh. Make you dream all the time. Everyone in Fiji like it. People are growing it all over. It is maybe a bad thing for me. The easy money is earned in worry.”

  “Can’t you make money doing something else?”

  “Money is hard in Fiji. There is no work, only the resort and the copra fields. In the copra fields you pick up two hundred and fifty coconut, about two hundred pounds, and carry them on your back to the drying shed, sometimes a half mile away, sometimes more. Then you cut them in half and sit with the copra and dig out the meat. You must cut your own firewood to fuel the dryer and put the meat in the dryer for eighteen hours for one bag. The workers are paid by the bag, one dollar and fifty a bag. Good worker can average three bags a day.“

  “Jesus, that’s terrible. What about the resorts, what do they pay?”

  “Not so bad, twelve hours for seven dollars but I don’t like the resort. Someone always watching you. Everyone is a boss except the Fijian. That’s the way in Fiji, everyone takes advantage; plantation owners, resorts, the Indians. All because we jes’ need a little money, so that is what they pay us. We work hard but not all the time. Life is for a bit of work, a bit of fun, and for sitting, eh. Too much work make you sick.”