“We’ll never be free of him!” the lilac-colored voice repeated. “Until the end of time!”
“Oh, pipe down, Kitty!” Malik suddenly shouted at him. “You’re the most tiresome Russian I’ve ever met in my life!”
“Well, I think the map is there,” Erik continued, “but it isn’t a normal map, not one that’s drawn, I mean . . . ”
He put a finger to his lips and hissed at us to be quiet.
Then Erik stood up and unceremoniously placed his hands on the backs of the innkeeper and the bartender, and more or less by force accompanied them out onto the street.
“Well now, gentlemen,” he said, “I’m pretty certain that you two don’t understand us, but we want to be alone for just a little while, okay?” He closed the door and then he returned to his seat and continued speaking, much more excited now. “I think that the exact location of Phineas’ treasure does appear in the book!”
“Explain yourself, Belgian,” Barracuda said, taking part at last. “There are no maps in the book aside from the one about the coffer; I’ve already gone through it from cover to cover to check.”
“Yes, Captain, I know it seems that way,” the Belgian continued as if it hurt him to think. “But, what if we did find the key to Krane’s treasure in Kopra. Just a key . . . made of paper . . . in the book.”
We all looked at him. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I began to understand what he was on about.
“Think about it, my friends,” Erik continued. “The book was the perfect hiding place! If that crazy old man from Tortuga hadn’t lost his head, what possibilities were there of someone finding that tiny island in the middle of the sea? Very few. And that it would be found by a pirate who knew how to read? Practically none! If Two Molars hadn’t seen his name when he was flipping through the book, we would have left it there thinking it had no worth. But I think that Phineas left the clues to find his treasure written in the book, but not for just anyone; only those who were smart enough to spot them!”
“And you’re the only one who’s that clever?” Jack asked. “Because the rest of us haven’t seen a thing . . . ”
“Well, the truth is that I think I am,” Erik said, shrugging his shoulders. “Everyone has looked for Krane’s treasure on deserted islands, inaccessible cliffs, or the bottom of the sea—remote and difficult places to get to that have discouraged those who’ve tried. But if one is a pirate who knows exactly how his fellow pirates are, where would you hide it so that no one would find it?”
“I got lost back when you were talking about this map,” the Whale said. “What kind of map isn’t drawn?”
“Why, a map of words!” Erik the Belgian said, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Look here, I’ve copied some things from the book.”
“Did you learn how to write?” John the Whale asked, his eyes growing very large.
“Well . . . once you know how to read, it’s not so difficult. It’s just a matter of trying.”
“Wow!” the Whale said, and then looked at me. “Sparks, that’s the next thing we need to learn how to do!”
“Now let’s see,” Erik began. “Fung Tao’s treasure was the consolation prize for overcoming the two first obstacles: finding the book and reading it. But Krane left more clues for those who really paid attention to his words. Listen to this:
“A blind man can have the finest pearls in front of him and not see them. You can be sure that I shall hide my treasure far from the reach of the fiercest pirates. I’ve placed the key there where nobody could see it even if they found it. They would have it in front of their noses, and they wouldn’t know how to see it; they couldn’t decipher it.
“Don’t you see? The book is the key! They wouldn’t know how to see it, Krane said! Because they wouldn’t know how to read! And then there’s this:
“The end of this pirate life of mine draws near. I want to retire, to rest and live peacefully in the place I’ve prepared for this moment, on the Miskito Coast. I’ve built there a house from where I can see the sea and spend my final days. I’ve prepared everything so that this is possible. There, waiting for me, guarded by a ghost, that which is most precious to me, that for which I have fought my entire life, and the peace of my old age.”
“That’s clear,” Malik said, rubbing his bald head as if he were trying to polish it to a shine. “He retired to a place where he expects to have the peace that he’s found so difficult to achieve. I don’t see anything unusual about that.”
“It doesn’t say that,” Erik corrected. “It says that waiting for him there is what he has fought for his entire life and the peace of his old age. Those are two separate things! Why has he fought for his entire life, and what is it that is ’most precious’? His treasure! Think about it, comrades: where do you hide something everyone is looking for? Why, right in front of their own noses!”
“By the devil!” Boasnovas said, his one eye as large as a plate, as he scanned the paper Erik had read. “I think the Belgian’s on to something! In the past, we wouldn’t have noticed a small detail like this, but it is true: it does say ’and.’ Those are two separate things!”
Barracuda stood up and rested his fist and his hook on the table.
“Are you telling me that Phineas Krane kept his treasure in his own house, on the Miskito Coast, the place most-crawling with pirates in the entire Caribbean? That’s the most . . . ” He looked at Erik as if he were going to gobble him up, but he didn’t. “That’s the most fantastic thing I’ve heard in my life! It’s so absurd that it might even be true! Who would have guessed? What do you think, Nuño?”
It was only then that we noticed that Nuño was as purple as a plum and twisting his hands as if he were going to tear them off.
“What do I think?” he said furiously. “I’ll tell you what I think! I think the Belgian is absolutely right! But let me tell you this: no one, and I repeat, no one is going to make me go back to the Miskito Coast!”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Two Molars whispered. “Since that day he hasn’t ever spoken his name.”
We were back on board, and while Barracuda and Nuño had a shouting match in the captain’s quarters, the rest of us were seated close together in the prow of the Southern Cross, as we did whenever something important happened. The night was full of stars; although it was late, nobody was tired. Our new clothes, however, were already worn and tired. Between the stench of the smoky lamps during dinner and the greasy remnants of food we dropped or wiped on ourselves, our fancy clothes now looked like our old attire. Some of us had even changed back into our old rags. The Whale, however, was still dressed in his too-tight turquoise jacket, even though some of the seams had begun to give under the pressure of his enormous bulk. My new red boots were already scuffed brown and black.
“Nobody knows what happened,” Two Molars said, “and he’s never told a soul. I just know that he never wanted to return to that place, populated by Miskito natives and a few Spaniards.”
At that moment, the argument between the captain and Nuño rose in tone, and we heard Nuño shout, “I said no! Never! The sky will fall on my head, and sea monsters will start making pastries before I go back there! And I won’t discuss it anymore! If you don’t like it, you can leave me in Cartagena de Indias! I resign!”
“Enough, Nuño!” Barracuda roared. “We want you to come with us! Nobody knows those lands like you do! Besides, the . . . the crew needs you!”
“Never! Trees will grow upside down and waterfalls will flow upward before I go back there!”
“You’re the stubbornest Spaniard I’ve ever met in my life!”
“No! I assure you, I’m not, Barracuda! The stubbornest, most despicable, traitorest Spaniard lives precisely on the Miskito Coast! That’s why I won’t go there!”
“By all that’s holy, Nuño! But he’s your brother!” yelled Barracuda.
On hearing this,
we all stared at Two Molars, who nodded slowly. He was the only one of us who’d been part of the crew long enough to know this story. He spoke in a quiet voice.
“As far as I know, they came from Spain together when they were young men: Nuño and Rodrigo Mendoza, from Extremadura, arrived on these shores in search of their fortunes. They bought property in Portobelo, on the coast of Panama. That’s where Barracuda and I met them. The captain was looking for a crew for the ship he had then, the Celestial Star, and enlisted both of them. They were formidable sailors! And swordsmen like you’ve never seen! Barracuda was very young then, but both the English and the Spanish Armadas already wanted his head. A good price they had put on it, just like now!
“One day, in a skirmish with some Portuguese merchants, we lost the Star. She sunk off the Jamaican coast, with no way to save her. It was a true disaster.
“Barracuda took it very hard and disappeared for almost a year. During that time, the Mendoza brothers set themselves up in Nicaragua, on the Miskito Coast. They were told that an ancient city full of gold and riches was in that area, and they were determined to find it. I didn’t go with them because my place was on the sea, so I stayed in Portobelo to see if I could find another ship to sign on to. I heard many rumors about the two Spaniards: that they had found a solid gold statue that was three meters tall, that they had gotten lost in the jungle, that they had formed a musical theater company, and that they had been eaten by a giant crocodile. All lies, of course, but you know how people love to invent fantastical stories to surprise or scandalize other folk.
“Since I needed the money, I signed on to a fishing boat. Can you imagine that? Me, on a fishing boat! I didn’t last very long, that’s the truth, because the work was extremely hard; we had to get up really early to fish. And the smell of fish gets in your nose and then everything smells the same after a while. But before I gave up fishing, one day we dropped anchor off the Miskito Coast. We had been through a terrible storm and lost a few barrels of fresh water, so we landed to replenish our stocks. And you won’t believe who we found in the middle of that desolate place! The two Spaniards!
“There the two of them were, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with their hair and beards long and their clothes torn, looking like shipwrecks. As soon as I saw them, I knew that things weren’t good because they sat on opposite sides of the porch, and they didn’t speak a word to one another the entire time we were with them. Nuño helped us fetch water from their cistern, and, when we’d finished, he asked the captain of the fishing boat if he could return to Portobelo with us. The captain accepted, and Nuño said ’Then let’s go!’ And that was that. I asked if he was going to say goodbye to Rodrigo, who hadn’t opened his mouth the entire time. Nuño looked at me and said: ‘I don’t have a brother!’ Then he walked toward the ship without ever looking back.
“Once on the high seas, I tried to ask him what had happened between him and Rodrigo, but his only words were, ’Don’t ever mention that name in my presence again.’
“Back in Portobelo, our paths crossed once again with Barracuda’s, who had gotten another ship (our Southern Cross) and was in search of men. We signed on without thinking twice about it.
“Cleaned up, with a haircut and a shave, Nuño Mendoza, called since then Nuño the Spaniard, came on board as the second in command. He looked like a dashing hero. And that brings us to today. The rest of the story you all more or less already know.”
When Two Molars finished his tale, the shouts from the captain’s quarters had ceased. We remained in silence for a while. I wondered what could be so awful as to make two brothers stop talking to one another. I had never had a brother, but I was sure that I wouldn’t last very long without even speaking to him because I’m a non-stop chatterbox. Besides . . . a brother, of all things! Who wouldn’t want to have one? Why, I’d give half my freckles for one, even if he were small and weak.
I was lost in these thoughts when Nuño came out onto the deck. In the moonlight, his face was full of fury. We looked at him with pity, and that made him even angrier.
“I won’t go!” he said firmly. “Fish will wear pigtails before I do! The desert will fill with frogs! I swear it!”
He went to the stern, alone, to look at the wake the ship left on the sea.
“Poor guy,” said the Whale. “The words he’s going to have to swallow when he finds himself on the Miskito Coast.”
“Do you think he’ll go?” I asked. “To me he looks pretty determined not to.”
“He is very determined,” the Whale replied. “I know him, and he never goes back on his word.”
“Well then . . . ?” I was confused.
My big friend looked at me, placed a hand on my shoulder, and gave me a big smile.
“It’s like this, Sparks: I also know Barracuda!”
We set sail during the night, although the captain didn’t shout out the destination as he normally did. I saw the men running from one side of the ship to the other between the sails and cords, but I was dead tired. I thought that perhaps I should get up and help. But maybe . . . yes, if they wanted me to do something, they would call me . . . In other words, I fell asleep before I could help it.
The sun awakened me around midday. We were on the open sea. I struggled to get up and went to see if I could do something: peel potatoes, swab the deck . . . the usual tasks that fell to me.
When I walked across the deck, I noticed the pirates looking upward, from time to time, out of the corners of their eyes. I looked upward as well but couldn’t see anything. Boasnovas, his new eye patch already stained and lackluster, winked his remaining eye, trying to see something up in the sky.
“What’s going on, Boasnovas?” I asked him. “Is a storm brewing?”
“A storm?” he replied. “No, no! We’ve got good weather for at least three days.”
I kept walking and went searching for the Whale, who was coiling ropes in the stern.
“Hey, Whale! Do you know where we’re going?”
“Yes, to the Miskito Coast.”
“To the Mis . . . ” I spluttered, with surprise. “And Nuño? The captain managed to convince him?”
“Convince him? No, I don’t think so.”
“Then, has he left the ship?”
“No. Nuño’s coming as well,” he replied, not giving it much importance.
“But . . . How . . . ?”
Without pausing in his work, the Whale pointed upward, to the top of the mainmast. At first, blinded by the sun, I couldn’t see anything; but then I saw a lump in the crow’s nest, at the top of the mast. I squinted and stared . . . It was the Spaniard, gagged and tied up like a parcel!
“I told you he’d come, Sparks,” Whale said, without looking at me.
Two or three more hours passed. I did nothing but look upward, where Nuño journeyed against his will, wrapped up like an enormous silkworm cocoon on the ship’s mast. He must be spitting mad! The day was scorchingly hot, but Barracuda waited until the afternoon was well advanced before coming out onto the deck and shouting, “Nuño! Have you got your wits back yet? If you promise to be reasonable, I’ll set you loose!”
Nuño didn’t answer (the truth is, he couldn’t because he was gagged), but the noises that came from up above left no doubt that he hadn’t changed his mind.
“Well,” the captain replied. “If that’s what you want, that’s how it’ll be. You’ll stay there until you can be reasonable again!” Then Barracuda said to me, “Sparks, climb up there and give him some water and a bit of food. I don’t want to reach the Miskito Coast with the cadaver of a Spaniard tied to the mainmast . . . ”
And he left. The rest continued with their tasks as if everything were normal. I was in disbelief. I went down into the pantry and got cheese, bread, a bit of jerky, and a jug of water. I put it all in a sack, which I hung over my shoulder, and I climbed the rigging that led to the top of
the mast.
When I arrived, Nuño’s eyes were shooting flames. On seeing me, he got so restless that I thought he would burst the cords that bound him. He was inside the crow’s nest but tied to the mast like a suckling pig about to be thrust into the oven. Believe me when I say that I was a bit afraid to approach him to remove the rag from his mouth, but I did it. Right away, because it was blisteringly hot, I gave him some water. I held the jug up to his mouth, and he drank the entire thing in one gulp. But as soon as the water passed through his gullet, he started shouting like a madman.
“Untie me, Sparks! Come on! I order you! When I get down from here, more than one person is going to wish they’d never been born! You’d better believe me! You won’t make me go there!”
And he didn’t say anything more because I, who didn’t know what to do, put the gag back in his mouth so he would shut up.
“Come on, Nuño, calm down . . . You know that I can’t . . . Do you want some cheese? I’ve also brought a bit of jerky . . . ” But he was so angry that he wouldn’t stop screaming, even though I couldn’t understand what he was saying. “He can’t be that terrible, man! After all, he’s your brother!”
Then he got really angry. It looked like he might swallow the gag, he was so furious. Feeling guilty—I don’t know why—I left the cheese and bread beside him and hurried down as fast as I could.
That wasn’t a good idea, I later realized. One, because tied up like that, he couldn’t eat; and two, because the rest of the day, while the food lasted, the seagulls used poor Nuño as a toilet. The journey to the Miskito Coast was long, and Nuño spent it in the same place. Every time we tried to untie him, he threatened to throw himself overboard or to do terrible things to the rest of us. So he spent the entire crossing up there. We put a hat on him, he ate little, drank just enough, and by the time we arrived, the veins of his forehead were so swollen that it looked like he’d had a serpent tattooed onto it.
The Treasure of Barracuda Page 8