The Treasure of Barracuda

by Llanos Martinez Campos

  “Or if they give you a bottle to drink, and it says ’Poison’?” Malik entered the conversation. “Do you need to drink it so they don’t suspect? I don’t think I could!”

  “Or if they want to sell you a barrel of rum,” Two Molars interjected, “and you see that the barrel says ’Beans’! I’m not paying for beans at the price of rum!”

  “You’d be a fool if you did!” One-Legged Jack said, patting Two Molars’ arm in support. “Now, if I get ahold of the guy who did my tattoo, I’ll make him drink all of those inks of his!”

  “Everybody, calm down now,” Nuño said at last, always the voice of reason. “If the guys who are chasing you don’t know how to read, how will they know that you’ve chosen the door to the arms room instead of the one with no exit?”

  “That’s true!” I nodded. “Nobody would notice! At most, if you choose the right door, and if you don’t drink the poison, and if you discover that the shopkeeper tried to swindle you with a barrel of beans, they’ll just think you’re the luckiest pirate in the world!”

  The pirates laughed heartily. Except Barracuda, of course, who, without a doubt, was pleased, but let’s not exaggerate. Instead, he suddenly shouted, “Enough! Stop with all this stupidity!”

  Everyone shut up. When there was silence, the captain continued, serious as a heart attack:

  “Can’t you all see? All the pirates of these oceans know that I’ve been searching for Krane’s treasure for years. In Maracaibo rumors were already circulating that I had found it, don’t you remember? And now, suddenly, it turns out that this entire crew of blockheads suddenly knows how to read! What do you want them to think? That we’ve swallowed a scribe? Why does a bunch of wretches like us even need to read? And what will happen when we find the many riches that Phineas’ book could bring us? In case any of you hasn’t realized, you’re not exactly discreet when you’ve got money, you blarney fools! Don’t you think that someone could draw the connection between this sudden interest in reading with, look at that, what a coincidence, this band of idiots suddenly always has their pockets full of coins?”

  “Hey, One-Legged Jack,” Boasnovas whispered. “Is it just me, or is the captain insulting us, gratuitous like?”

  “No, it’s not just you,” Jack answered. “Blockheads, wretches, fools, idiots . . . He’s not pulling punches . . . ”

  “I won’t run unnecessary risks!” Barracuda continued. “Many would kill to have Phineas’ book . . . if they even suspected that it existed! And our enemies have too much free time to think; perhaps one of them will come to the conclusion that old Krane left something that can be read . . . You know what I say is true! So you’ll keep pointing with a finger at what you want to order in taverns, and you’ll ask where the public bathrooms are although you can see the sign right before your noses!”

  “It will be our secret, then,” John the Whale declared solemnly, making an X with his finger across his chest and then spitting on the deck. “A pirate secret of the most important kind!”

  The rest of us imitated him. This was an oath of utmost significance. Any pirate would snitch on you if you broke the oath, and the rest would treat you like a pariah. This was a serious promise. Nobody forced you to swear a pirate oath, but if you swore it, you’d better not treat it like it was a joke . . . .

  We could say, then, that the Southern Cross was the ship with the most strangely mysterious crew that ever sailed the Caribbean sea. We had a treasure, but only we knew that it was a treasure; we knew how to read, but we had to pretend to be a group of ignorant clodhoppers. Who would have imagined all of this, even just one month earlier?

  Although it might seem strange, all of this brought us closer together. We were like members of a secret clan, full of winks, elbowings, and laughing at in-jokes. We got a kick out of asking for the bakery right in front of the sign, or asking the waiter for chicken after having seen on the menu, written in enormous letters, that they served ONLY fish. It cracked us up, although we were the only ones who understood why.

  And, of course, we continued reading whenever we had a free moment from the obligations of sailing. Our lessons continued. And now it wasn’t just Two Molars who acted as our teacher, but all of us, with greater patience or not, helping the slower readers among us. You can’t believe how difficult it is to teach something that you know and see so clearly when you can’t manage to get the other person to understand it! Without a doubt, Two Molars deserved a statue in his honor in some idyllic place!

  We spent two weeks in Trinidad; it took Nuño that long to get a good price for the fabrics we hadn’t sold to Bruno, the fabric merchant. On Thursday of the second week (I remember it well) something happened that you should know about—something that showed us definitively that Phineas Krane’s book not only said things that were true but that it was a real treasure bound in leather.

  I think that none of us ever thought much again of the incident in Barbados with Bruno, and by the time Nuño finally sold the kerchiefs and brocades, we had even forgotten all about it. But if I haven’t already said this, I’ll say it now: it’s very dangerous to offend a guy like that because they live for their image. They can’t appear to be soft or let people think that someone’s done them wrong and gotten away with it. And since vengeance is a dish best served cold, Bruno Castilfierro prepared a trap for us in Trinidad to retaliate for Barracuda not signing his contract and refusing to sell him the merchandise. I told you we would hear from him again.

  It was night, a night as black as the eyes of a cockroach. Only fifteen of us disembarked, including Barracuda; the rest stayed on the Southern Cross. We headed to the Tavern of the Port for dinner. It was very late, and in one of the alleys that opens onto the pier, suddenly, our way was blocked by ten or twelve men with covered faces. From behind us, at the other end of the alley, another twenty men, at least, all armed to the teeth, closed off any hope of retreat. Pay attention; things are about to get serious . . .

  Barracuda moved ahead of us and unsheathed his saber so quickly that even we were surprised. And, of course, so were all of the men who stood before him. As usual, I was squeezed between John the Whale and Erik the Belgian, who brandished his ax with the dexterity of two men. I was surrounded, therefore, by a protective wall of pirates.

  “Which of you is Barracuda?” called out a masked man—a broad-shouldered, muscled sort with a strange English accent.

  “Who wants to know?” the captain replied, taking a step forward. “My mother always told me never to talk to strangers . . . .”

  “Well, what do you know? We’ve got ourselves a comedian!” the masked man responded and lowered the kerchief that covered his mouth and nose. “I’m Orson the Scotsman. You’ve offended a good friend of mine, and I’m going to teach you a lesson like nothing you’ve ever seen before!”

  It was evident from far away that these men didn’t know Barracuda. Nobody who knew him, even a little bit, would have ever dared to speak to him like that. He merely smiled, as he did when he was truly angry, with that smile that was scarier than Davy Jones’s locker.

  “Well,” he said slowly. “So a friend sent you . . . And does that friend have a name? I’m a pirate. I’ve managed to upset a lot of people, given that I make my living by attacking ships and plundering them for loot. But, why hasn’t this friend come in person? This friend wouldn’t happen to be some little old lady, who had to send a bunch of blockheads to do her dirty work for them . . . ”

  We could all see that the big guy didn’t like the sound of this, nor did his companions.

  “Orson the Scotsman . . . Orson the Scotsman . . . Where have I heard that name before . . . ?” Erik the Belgian muttered in front of me, although nobody paid any attention to him.

  The situation was tricky. They had twice our numbers, and they also carried firearms as well as swords. But, one thing is certain, you could say anything you wanted about the crew of the Souther
n Cross . . . except that we were cowards! The Whale threw the first punch to a man as large and fat as he, who’d been glaring at him with clenched teeth. After that, sandwiched as I was between enormous John and Erik, I can’t tell you with much precision what happened, but I could hear blows falling left and right. I saw at least seven of our opponents flying through the air, and quite a few teeth were spat out (some even by our side). We defended ourselves fiercely; even I added a bite or two to the fight, on those who fell between the Whale’s feet. But in the middle of the fight (when our forces were most evenly balanced), one of our opponents pulled out the arquebus that was strapped to his back and shot One-Legged Jack. We all froze in horror, knowing that he would fall and strike the ground. But no one was more surprised than Jack when he didn’t fall, at least not right away; he touched his chest, searching for the wound, when suddenly he fell on his side with a loud crunching of splinters. He’d been shot in his false leg!

  “Scurvy squidface!” Jack shouted. “They’ve ruined my leg! And it cost me three doubloons!”

  After a tense silence, more firearms appeared: various mausers, arquebuses, and even some short pistols. None of them, unfortunately, were ours. Since we were on our way to dinner, we had only our swords and daggers with us. And in my case, I had only a slingshot. What did you expect? I was only eleven!

  “Splendid; you’ve killed a wooden leg,” the captain said. “Are you happy or will we have to seriously hurt you, Scotsman?”

  “Bruno won’t settle for so little, Barracuda. He won’t stand for being disrespected,” Orson replied, pointing his arquebus at the captain.

  “So you’re here on behalf of that swindling cur Castilfierro! I should have known! That stinking rat coward has to send others to take care of business for him!”

  Suddenly, Erik reached up and grabbed his own head, trying to find within his brains something he couldn’t manage to grab ahold of. Suddenly, he pushed us back with one of his big, meaty hands and stepped between Barracuda and the Scotsman.

  “Orson the Scotsman! Orson MacGowan, from Aberdeen! It is you! I knew I recognized you! Tall, strong, and with a scar on your eyebrow from when you fell off a half-tamed horse when you were a child!”

  The Scotsman froze in place on hearing his full name and the city of his birth. Then he touched his right eyebrow where, effectively, he had the mark of that ancient wound. None of us could see it well in the moonlight, but the expression on Orson’s face clearly showed us that it was there.

  “Where do you know me from, Frenchman? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in my life . . . ”

  “I’m Belgian,” Erik said loudly. “And it’s true, you don’t know me. But I know you, by your reputation. Orson MacGowan! No one in Scotland doesn’t know that name! I was there a long time ago, back when I was young, and you were already a legend. Your exploits on the battlefield are famous!” He turned toward us. “Did you know that MacGowan means ’son of Gowan’? What a great man, your father! I didn’t find anyone there who had a bad opinion of him! And how he rode a horse!”

  We were all dumbfounded. When had Erik the Belgian ever been in Scotland? We all thought that he had come to the Caribbean when he was a lad, as a stowaway on a German merchant ship. But what was even stranger to us was that, to our astonishment, as Orson stood before us, his eyes filled up with tears!

  “You . . . you knew me pa?” the Scotsman stuttered, lowering his weapon.

  “Of course! I’ll never forget him. A tall man with white hair, who lived in an enormous estate called Shetland, on the outskirts of Aberdeen. There he welcomed me and my brother Frans when, one stormy night, we lost our way near there. He gave us dinner and served us one of his most cherished wines; you know, from the bodega he has below the chapel . . . A great man, he seemed to us! Who could’ve told me that years later, on the other side of the world, I’d meet his son! You should have heard the pride and affection with which he spoke about you, lad!”

  The poor Orson couldn’t hold back any longer and started bawling like a baby, embracing Erik. We couldn’t believe what we were seeing, but the men who were with the Scotsman were really discombobulated; they didn’t know what to do! It was the Scotsman himself who put an end to that strange situation.

  “Lower your weapons!” he shouted at his companions, releasing the Belgian. “Any man my father has welcomed into his home is a friend of mine! It’s been many moons since I left my beloved Scotland . . . Please, come and have a drink with us! Barracuda, accept my apologies. It was just a commission, nothing personal . . . But now, after speaking to me of my Pa . . . ” his eyes grew misty again, and he put an arm around Erik’s shoulders.

  “Well,” the Whale said, “the fact is that we haven’t eaten yet.”

  And so everyone went to the tavern together. That’s how things are between pirates; you never know what might happen. It was a fun night, to tell the truth. Those men told some fantastic stories. I learned something important that night: if you have the chance, and you talk with people instead of fighting, you’ll surely discover you have more to win that way.

  That evening, I kept thinking about the jokes and the laughter we would have lost if things had finished off in that alleyway in blows, instead of here in the tavern, between chicken wings and baked sea bass. The Belgian and the Scotsman seemed like childhood pals: they laughed like little kids and hugged one another like old comrades. Barracuda was mistrustful at first, but as the night advanced he managed to relax, and while he didn’t say much, he ate plenty. I even think I saw him try to smile, really smile, a few times.

  The other pirates accompanied us back to the ship and bid us farewell like soul brothers, with shoving and slaps on the neck; you know, like pirates. By the time we climbed the gangplanks, those who had remained aboard were already asleep.

  “Oh my, Erik, what luck,” Two Molars said in the darkness on deck.

  “Well, yes . . . ,” the Belgian replied.

  “Yes! Especially me,” protested One-Legged Jack, who was half-carried by Boasnovas. “I’ve lost my leg . . . again!”

  “I mean about Scotland,” Two Molars explained. “How lucky that you had been in his home, there in Scotland, and that you met his father!”

  “I’ve never been in Scotland in my life,” Erik replied calmly.

  “You’ve never . . . ” I spluttered, having swallowed the entire story.

  “Are you kidding?” he answered. “Never!”

  “Explain yourself, Belgian!” Barracuda intervened. “How could you know so many details about his father, his house . . . ?”

  Erik the Belgian slowly looked at us one after another, then he smiled from ear to ear and finally said, “It wasn’t me who knew him nor who had been in his house and dined with his father. It was Phineas! Phineas did that! I couldn’t remember where I had heard the name Orson the Scotsman before. Until I realized that I hadn’t heard it. I had read it! Chapter Ten of the book! Everything I said is in there. I think I even used the very same words that old Krane wrote!”

  We were silent for a full minute at least, long enough to think back over what had happened during that strange night. Then, suddenly, we started laughing with such gusto that they must have heard us far across the city. Many of those who had remained on board woke up; among them Nuño, who always slept like a log.

  We spent all night retelling our story to the rest of the crew who hadn’t gone ashore. We also read Chapter Ten of Phineas’ book and laughed wholeheartedly as we walked around the deck. Barracuda watched us from the bridge, lest a smile escape him, leading us to think he might have a sense of humor.

  The stories in Phineas’ book were proving to be entirely true as we could see for ourselves. So Barracuda, who was nobody’s fool, decided to take a step ahead of events. Instead of letting chance lead us toward something that appeared in the book, he decided to take the initiative and hunt down the things Krane describe
d. We had a stack of trustworthy information to take advantage of, and if we played our cards right, we could gain riches by the bucketful.

  The following days, still in the Port of Trinidad, the book never left the captain’s quarters. Nuño and he seemed to be looking for something. And on the morning of the second day, they must have found it because we could hear Nuño shouting, “Here it is! I knew it! If the book says so, then it must be true! It does exist!” Right after, they emerged onto the deck, and we were all summoned once again. Nuño was carrying Phineas’ book and wearing a smug look on his face.

  “I told you! At last, our luck will change,” Barracuda began, with something that only those of us who knew him well could recognize as cheerfulness. “Skeptics said that Krane’s book was just a bedtime story, something to read on long winter nights, by the light of a fire, but I always knew that it was true.”

  “But, Captain, what are you talking about?” Two Molars interrupted.

  “I’m talking about a loot of precious stones that many believe is a legend. But we are going to find it because now we know where to look . . . !”

  “But, what is it?” I asked, unable to bear all this intrigue.

  “The coffer of Fung Tao!” Barracuda exclaimed in a voice like a thunderbolt.

  The dead silence that followed was like the calm on the sea just before a colossal storm. It was as if the entire world was paralyzed. The men looked at one another, their eyes betraying fear, suspicion, incredulity—all mixed together.

  “What is the coffer of Fung Tao?” I asked Boasnovas, who, at my side, opened his only eye so wide it looked as if he were trying to compensate for the one he lacked. “I’ve never heard of it . . . ”

  “It’s not good to speak of this Chinese pirate,” he answered in a very soft voice. “Nor to say his name on a ship; it brings bad luck . . . ”