A Dolphins Dream

by Carlos Eyles

  In the afternoon of the third day, Moses returned from ni. Compton saw him from afar, rowing the boat, not a good indication that matters had changed for the better in Suva or elsewhere.

  Moses sat at the table, his eyes as troubled as Compton had ever seen them. "It is not good," he reported. "There is no fuel for the outboard. A small bit for the bus to run twice a day but that is diesel. The food in the stores is gone."

  "You've got your garden," consoled Compton. "You'll be fine."

  "Yes, but it is the others that worry me. They soon will be coming from the villages for food. We do not refuse friends."

  "There's plenty of fish in the sea," said Compton. "No one's going to starve."

  Moses maintained his morose outlook and Compton commented on it.

  "What's troubling you? You look as depressed as I feel."

  Moses’ eyes flicked to the sea, then back down at his hands.

  "There is talk about Sambuka. They say his men are leaving and the economy is on collapse and that he has no plan for the future. Also, the Chinese are coming to take over Fiji with money and people.” "Those are rumors. When things are not in supply the rumors begin. If there's fuel tomorrow the rumors will end. Frankly, I'm more concerned that I've got no onions to eat. It's hard to imagine an onion has become a luxury."

  "You are right about this, Keli, you are becoming a true Fiji man. All you need is a hurricane to take away everything else and then you will know what it is to have nothing."

  “And when I have nothing will the man Abraham said would come appear?”

  The comment was unexpected and Moses, as was his custom in such situations, licked his lips as if to form an answer. “That man will come soon. Then we will see in which direction your journey will go.”

  “Is his power so great that he will alter my life?”

  “Your life is already changed, Keli.” Moses rose from the table. "And I must get to the garden. Mariah and Adi are waiting for the news from Taveuni."

  Compton accompanied him to the boat.

  "I'm ready to try the deep reef again. I've been hitting the kill spot on the fish. I'm ready for the big wailu."

  "Two days, Keli. I know Mariah has plenty work for me in the garden. I'll come by in that morning. You be the captain this time." The following morning clouds the color of fresh snow passed overhead on an easterly. As Compton was about to enter the water, the whispered voice came to him as soft as the clouds and as sure as the easterly. Acknowledging the foreshadow, he inspected the bands of rubber on the gun and found a split where the rubber was tied to the wishbone. When he stretched it for further examination, the split widened. It would have broken during the dive. He cut the band and retied it. In his inspection of the other bands a second split was discovered and repaired. The voice of intuition was clear and firm and in following it there came the realization that, if trusted, he would always know the right step to take. This sense of right knowing had been the object of an unconscious search all of his life and, like the skills of spear fishing, had been waiting to be revealed. It was similar to discovering a wisdom that existed beyond his mind, a true wisdom that was held in the gut waiting to be exercised and expressed in a heart that only hears and speaks the truth.

  Entering the water he wandered the reefs without striving in the stalk. Alert and relaxed, he patiently waited for the fish to present itself and when it did, he speared it skillfully. After filleting it out and eating half for lunch, he brought the note pad to the beach and wrote:

  Gray clouds dissolve into a silver sea that stretches the afternoon wide and far into the nightlight of eternity. I rest on the beach halfway between the jungle and the sea where the tide moves neither forward nor retreats. Time has stopped. In this place I can live forever in a single day.

  The clouds have moved across the sun and dimmed the rth in their passing, leaving a single thread of light glistening on a faraway sea. A silver line divides the panorama as the sea below and the sky above. But this is an illusion. There is no division, the sea and the sky and the silver thread are all one thing and the time that holds them together does not exist.

  The clouds pass and the sun reappears, throwing its diamonds across the sea; the tide is higher, I am older and all has changed.

  38

  Moses came the following morning under a clear sky and light wind. Compton was made captain and given the oars. He had zigzagged his way through the first mile when Moses, realizing that they might not arrive before noon at that rate, covered two miles in as much time.

  In mild reproach Moses inquired, "With no motor for the boat, how would you ever get to Taveuni? What would happen in America if you didn't have your machines to do your work?"

  "Probably wander around aimlessly," conceded Compton, "and then die of starvation because we'd be without an electric can opener."

  Moses laughed and shook his head at the deplorable state of civilized man.

  "Isn’t there any wealthy, helpless, Fijians in this country?" asked Compton, more in weak defense of his culture's sorry state than curiosity.

  "I have seen wealthy Fijians in Suva. They are no different than the poor man, eh. They sit at the kava circle and either they are men or not, what they have does not make them men. Fijians don't care what a person has in the pocket, only if he is genuine. The falseness of a man is an easy thing to see, eh."

  "Then what do you see in me, Moses?"

  "I see a war between the false man and the true man. Every man has such a war, eh. I know that if you speak to the truth in the man, the falseness of him will leave."

  "I have no doubt of that Moses. Every day it feels like a little more falseness slips away."

  When they came to the reef, Compton went over the side. A light current was running but the visibility was clear and breathtaking. He cocked the spear and moved lightly across the surface. Almost immediately a great luminescent fish appeared out of the north edge. When it drew to within forty feet of him he could see the ugly wound that marked the Silver Fish. He felt along the spear gun with his hand, as if to remind himself that there were no alternatives short of a single true shot. He hyperventilated deep, long breaths then dropped down as a knife might fall into a bottomless pool. He leveled off at twenty feet to neutral buoyancy and waited motionless, the spear extended and pointed. There would be no movement other than his finger on the trigger. The Silver Fish closed the distance to fifteen feet where each had a clear look at the other. In that contact, the fish veered off its course and slid deliberately to the depths, making a half turn once as if to verify its decision before disappearing over the reef.

  It recognized me, thought Compton rising to the surface, as if it were logical that a fish could differentiate between him and somebody or something else. It'll never allow me to get close again. Aprosa was right. It has too much magic, certainly too much for the likes of me.

  Another mackerel had followed the Silver Fish in from the edge of the reef and while Compton recaptured his breath, it drifted east until it was directly below him. He dropped down and glided slightly away from the twenty kilo fish, feigning ignorance of its presence. Unthreatened by the slow moving object that came from the ceiling, the fish turned to follow. At thirty feet, Compton couldn't see or turn to look for the fish but leaned into a long slow arc that, when completed, faced the fish exactly broadside eight feet away. So smoothly did he execute the maneuver that the fish scarcely recognized one had been made. He looked for the pinpoint of light that reflected off the center of a single scale behind the gill plate, pulled the trigger and th rusty spear lashed out and hit the fish, killing it instantly. With a single kick, he drifted over and put a hand in the fish's gill and swam it to the surface. Other than his kicks, the reef and its inhabitants were undisturbed.

  Moses nodded in approval, smiling a grand, gap-toothed smile.

  "You're a Fiji diver, Keli. I have pride in your deed. You have done what no white man has done, eh. When Aprosa hears, he will also have pride."

&
nbsp; Compton was pleased but not ecstatic. The results were expected and he felt neither elation nor triumph. Instead, his thoughts were on the Silver Fish and the undeniable knowledge that it had recognized him. There also came the relief of the burden of obsession that had blinded him to the power and beauty of the fish. He was pleased he hadn't speared it, nor would he ever spear it, for that would have been a regrettable act, one that could not be forgiven. When he spoke it was with a voice that was deep, almost tired, with understanding.

  "I saw the Silver Fish today. It recognized me and turned away. We have to find another reef that holds big fish."

  "This is the only one with the big fish. We would be rowing for no purpose trying to find a reef with fish like this."

  "What about that reef the old fisherman talked about, what was his name? Peter? The one fourteen miles southeast of the island. He said it was filled with fish as big as the Silver Fish."

  "That is too dangerous for this small boat. We have no fuel and we could not row that far, even on a perfect day. The currents are terrible out there. They would take us to the middle of the ocean and leave us there."

  "If we get fuel, it'd be worth a try."

  "No, Keli. I don't know where is that reef. We would be looking in the open sea until our eyes bled."

  "We'll have to find Peter or someone who has been on it. Get bearings and pick the right day."

  "You forget one thing, brother. There is no fuel. We would need plenty of fuel even if I decided it was safe, which it's not."

  "How does the resort always manage to operate? They're running boats all the time. Where do they get fuel?

  "They have a storage in fifty-five gallon drums."

  "Will they sell it to you?"

  "They do not favor anyone."

  "Then we'll have to steal it."

  Moses began to work the muscles in his jaw. "No, Keli, you must not steal for this. You will not get the fish if you steal for it, eh. We find Peter and get the bearings. Then if the fuel comes to us easily without wrong doing, I take you."

  "Okay," agreed Compton. "That's fair enough."

  "I take this fish to Taveuni tomorrow and sell it to the Indian store. The Indian might know who is the fisherman, Peter."

  "I'd like to come with you. Maybe we can find some fuel."

  "The boat is much faster with one, unless you want to be captain.

  "I'll stay on Qamea," replied Compton without hesitation.

  They arrived at Orchid Beach near noon. Moses cut the head of the fish off at the neck and with the cane knife split it between the eyes, opening it down the middle.

  "The meat in the cheeks and jaws is sweetest," he explained. "The head is the favored gift. Every Fiji takes the head before the thick meat of the side and tail. You make soup with the head afterwards. Never have a terrible waste, catch it all, and eat it all, eh."

  Compton cooked the pieces of meat that were carved out of the head over a hot flame in the frying pan. They were indeed sweet and delicious.

  During lunch he commented on Moses’ cane knife, which was similar to a machete but with a narrower blade.

  "Every Fiji man make his own knife," he said. "They do a good job of it because it must do all the work. I carved this handle to fit my hand and I make the snake to show it's mine."

  "That's about the only tool they use to shape the wood for the bure, isn't it? Black and Decker would have a field day in these parts."

  "Who is Black and Decker?"

  "It's a power tool company. They make saws and drills, just plug it in and cut."

  "No plug in this jungle, brother. You wish to see the proper timber we use to build Steven Morris' bure?"

  "Sure, I’m always interested in timber," said Compton, the architect making an unexpected appearance.

  They headed up the steep incline to the jungle. Moses lightly skipped through the undergrowth while Compton stumbled and trotted behind, laboring to keep pace.

  "We build Steven Morris’ bure same as the others, eighteen feet by fourteen feet. Tie ‘em together with strips of bark from the vau tree, except where we nail the main timbers. Only the timbers from the vesi tree and the cibi tree will do. For two weeks we lay them under the roots of the mangroves so they won’t float away and the salt water stops the bore worms from eating them to dust."

  Every few minutes Moses stopped and carefully examined a particular tree for cutting. He measured its width by hand lengths and eyeballed it for straightness. When a tree was found to his liking, he cut it down and trimmed off the branches.

  Compton slid the stripped trees down the steep incline near the bure site on the East Point. In two hours, Moses had cut six posts ten feet high. They hauled them to the clearing where he stripped the bark with his cane knife and left the timber there to dry out before placing them in salt water. "Tomorrow maybe we cut twelve straight timbers from the cibi tree for the frame."

  On their way back to Orchid Beach Moses asked, "You are thirsty, Keli?"

  Compton acknowledged that he was and Moses cut a hanging vine that gushed with clear water.

  "Drink this. It is the sweet water, plenty around. We use this when the hurricane mucks up the wells and the streams."

  Compton drank from the vine and it was clean and sweet as promised. Along the path Moses dug out wild yams and carried them in his shirt. "The jungle is like the sea, eh. Full of secrets. When a man knows the secrets, his life becomes easy."

  When they arrived back at the beach, Moses went immediately to his boat.

  "Keep the fish in the refrigerator and I'll pick it up early in the morning so I get across the strait before the heat of the day."

  Moses came with the sun and dropped off an armload of pawpaw then continued out across the strait in a forest of light beams that pierced the overcast sky like God’s favored pincushion. In these days of coarse food, the pawpaw was a luxury and he savored the sweet juice, grateful for a fruit that all but grew wild in the bush. There was fish for breakfast and ground up taro root that, without the onions to give it flavor, was bland and starchy. He was eating fish twice a day and hunted nearly every day. Lately he had found himself giving thanks for his bounty from the sea. To cover his spiritual bases, he acknowledged the Christian God for breakfast and the Sea God for supper.

  Like the orchids on the tree something unique was revealing itself within Compton, a sense of completeness, a simplicity of knowing each and every act of daily living in its entirety. When he ate a meal that was all he did and when he washed dishes in a sandy tide pool that was all he did. Every act was separate and fulfilling, perfect in its place, each following the other with no thought given to future events or to the world outside Orchid Beach. The sea and the wind and the smells of the beach poured through him as the sea filters through the gills of a fish, extracting from it the essential elements of life. This existence had infused a certain calm readiness, an odd combination of always being a bit fatigued but never sleepy, relaxed, yet alert, never full in the belly but satisfied. He had actually lost weight but was stronger. His days were lived in the immediate present. That is, until he thought of Sinaca.

  Then the wound reopened and spilled out in cascades of self-reproach. Why did things always go so wrong? Was it all my own doing, my own foolishness? No, it was love, not foolishness but Moses would say they are the same thing.

  The sea was his escape from the self-recriminations and once they began, he would dress for the water and spend the entire morning and much of the afternoon adrift.

  Seawater is very nearly equal in its components to human blood and it was in this vein of Fijian water that he flowed as a corpuscle in the body of the greater being towards the East Point. All was familiar, yet new. There were the same schools of emperor fish and the wary snappers and curious coral trout but there were also fish he had never seen and caves yet unexplored and he drifted as if out of his body, yet within himself. Stalking prey not in the manner of one seeking but in the manner of one waiting in readiness. He knew his
meals to be gifts presented and would come as long as he remained alert and these days he could not be otherwise.

  Diving and soaring to the hundred-foot bottom, he was unaware of depth and gave no thought to his breath. He ascended as a seal ascends, still attached to the bottom by sight and sense but moving, unaware of the action, as if responding to another force that could not be known. It was thus he drifted, attached to the water but unaware of his attachment, as a fish is unaware its atmosphere is liquid or that the element also harbors its catalytic power. In such a state, everything that can be observed is observed including those movements that are subtle and hidden.

  Such a movement occurred on his seaside periphery causing him to turn partially and sustain the full visual impact of the creature that bore down on him from out of the blue, freezing him in his tracks. The dolphin came directly toward him and then dove, turning to its side, its clear, brown eye observing. Compton gathered himself, sucked in a breath and slowly dove to twenty feet, hanging perfectly still. The dolphin came round again and glided by less than six feet away. When he rose for a breath the dolphin ascended as well and they exhaled simultaneously. He uncocked the gun and let it fall near the reef and dove again where the dolphin waited for him. It appeared to be the same dolphin he had seen months ago. It was nearly eight feet long and gray with white spots on its chest and a white belly in the shape of an hourglass. Its smile was perpetual and it brought warmth to him, as in the reunion of friends long separated. At each turn the dolphin came closer. It mimicked his every movement and followed him when he went to the surface for breaths. Several times he extended his hand to touch the dolphin when it came close but it would slip away, just out of reach, never taking its eye from him. They spun up and down the sea scale, sometimes inches apart but never touching. The dolphin came toward him and lifted up, nearly standing on its tail. It cocked its head from one side to the other, looking into his mask, attempting, it seemed, to make contact of another kind. A wave, like a warm vibration, passed through Compton and he had to choke down a cry of welling emotion. The dolphin slipped behind him, barely ticking his fins and he stopped and turned toward it as it came alongside. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers along its full length. Then, as if the touch had been the intent of the encounter, the dolphin angled off and out into the deep water and was absorbed into the blue as a corpuscle in the life stream that was the plasma of the planet.