The Treasure of Barracuda

by Llanos Martinez Campos

  Rodrigo led us deeper and higher into that jungle full of palm trees. Although everyone was an adult (except for me, of course), some pirates (and when I say some, I mean the Whale) repeatedly asked: “Are we there yet?”

  We were exhausted, and pirates, when we’re tired, always fall into a foul mood. So when the Russian Kitty, soaked with sweat, as if he had been swimming in the ocean, said, “I think we should turn around before it’s too late. The curse—” he couldn’t finish. Because Boasnovas, who was almost always in a good mood, threw himself on top of him and pushed the Russian’s face into the mud while shouting, “Shut up! By all the skeletons in the deep sea, shut up! Or I’ll go mad! I’m fed up with this nonsense about the Fung Tao, the coffer, the curse . . . and you! Above all, with you, you tiresome whiner!”

  We had to separate them because otherwise Boasnovas might’ve burst a vein in his neck with all his shouting. Just then, we heard Rodrigo cry out from the head of the line, “There! There it is! I knew it!”

  And sure enough: right in front of us, on the top of a hill, in a sunny green clearing there was . . . the home of Phineas Krane! It was a large and lovely dwelling. And although it wasn’t on a beach, it had a breathtaking view of the sea. The house was made of stone, with an enormous porch and doors big enough for a man to enter on horseback. It looked like the house of a Marquis, but it was abandoned, and the jungle had begun to devour it. Plants had sprouted in the cracks between the stones, between the steps, under the door, and around the windows. Without a doubt, old Krane had picked a pretty place in which to retire, but fate (or bad luck) had decided he would never live here, not even for one day.

  “We’re not so clever, my friends . . . ” Erik the Belgian said. “It looks like someone has beaten us here.”

  The doors looked as if they’d been forced open. One of them was hanging off its hinges, and several windows were wide open.

  Barracuda huffed in disgust and went right up to the door. He sunk his hook into the wood and pulled it open. We entered in silence. The entryway opened onto a large room full of dark wood furniture, various sofas, and, on the wall opposite the door, a fireplace as large as a man. Everything was destroyed: the furniture knocked over, the curtains torn, broken plates on the floor . . . A thick layer of dust covered every surface, obscuring any color. It looked as if the house had been looted many times and that thieves had broken whatever didn’t seem valuable to them.

  We remained silent.

  “If there were anything here,” Rodrigo said, “surely it would have been found . . . ”

  Suddenly, someone shouted. We turned immediately toward the source; it was the Kitty, even paler than his normal white-as-snow paleness. His hands covered his mouth, and his eyes looked ready to fall out of their sockets as he stared at the wall at the back of the room. There, above the fireplace, were two symbols written in red upon the white wall.

  “What the heck are those scribbles?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see those in the book . . . Are those letters?” John the Whale asked. “Does anyone know what it says?”

  “Yes,” the Russian answered slowly. “I’ve seen those symbols before . . . They’re Chinese letters. They spell Fung Tao! He has been here!”

  All the valerian root in the world couldn’t have calmed the Russian Kitty’s nerves. He trembled as if he had been tied to an oxcart going over a cobblestone road. The rest of us were also rather worried, to tell the truth. It wasn’t that we were afraid . . . Well, a little bit, why deny it. I’m not superstitious, but . . . You’ve got to understand what the situation was: we reached an uninhabited place in the very middle of the Miskito Coast, and there we found the sign of the dead Fung Tao whose cursed coffer full of valuable stones we’d stolen . . . Well, I don’t know about you, but it did spook me just a little bit. I’d even say that the dragon medallion began to feel heavy around my neck . . .

  But then, that’s why we had with us Barracuda, the bravest and most-feared pirate of the entire Caribbean!

  “Worthless wimps!” Barracuda roared. He then continued in such a loud voice that it shook the house. “I’ve come here for Phineas Krane’s treasure, and I’m not leaving without it. So if anyone dead or alive has anything to say, let them say it now.”

  He waited a very short moment, but it was long enough for the hairs to stand on end all over our bodies. We responded with silence.

  “Do you see?” the captain said. “This is all just foolishness! Nuño, are you coming?” And he went to inspect the house further.

  We could see it in his face that Nuño wasn’t at all happy with this. But after the incident with the paella, he wasn’t in any position to be finicky. The rest of us remained petrified in the living room, as still as statues. Well, all except for the Russian Kitty and One-Legged Jack, who tried to hold the Kitty down, and, as a result, trembled as much as he did, making his wooden leg go tock-tock-tock on the floor as if it were a drum. Suddenly, all of us leaped into the air, startled because a voice came from out of the darkness, “Come on, you water rats. I didn’t bring you all this way for you to faint like damsels! Start searching this wretched place!” Barracuda roared.

  To say that we moved slowly would be an exaggeration. A sleepy bag of snails would’ve moved faster than we did. There were at least five bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and something that might have been a library in that house. Nothing was left standing in any of the rooms.

  But as we had made such a long and arduous journey to get there, we had to give it a try. I must say that searching, opening drawers, and looking under mattresses is like scratching an itch—once you start, you can’t stop. As you’ll understand, fifty-four pirates (I’ve counted Rodrigo among us here) searching through an abandoned house make a considerable racket, and I won’t even talk about the clouds of dust we raised.

  After a good while, we were exhausted, covered in a fine layer of white dust, and convinced that nothing of any value remained there.

  “There isn’t even any loose change here, Captain,” Jack sighed. “We’ve searched for hiding places even in the walls and floors themselves, and nothing! If the treasure were ever here, someone took it already.”

  “That can’t be!” Barracuda responded angrily. “If someone had found Phineas’ treasure, I would have heard about it. Who could keep something like that a secret?”

  “I must not be as clever as I thought . . . ” Erik said, crestfallen. “I’ve brought you all here for a stupid idea that . . . I’m sorry, Captain! I’m an idiot!”

  “Don’t say that!” the Whale told him. “It was a good theory. And look how good it turned out for the two Spaniards!”

  A long time had passed since we had found ourselves in a similar situation: there on the island of Kopra, when we couldn’t find Krane’s treasure either; although, we did find the book that changed our lives forever. It now seemed as if that had been a century ago; we had changed so much since then!

  I started to think that old Phineas had given us the slip twice now. He was a brilliant fellow. But we also owed him for having learned to read and for learning to look at things with fresh eyes since not everything that was valuable seemed so at first. Believe me, this is one of the best lessons I can give you: don’t judge anything or anyone too quickly because you run the danger of making a serious mistake.

  “Come on!” Nuño said, with resolution. “There’s nothing for us here, and the way back is long!”

  Without a doubt, everything might have ended there. We would have continued our lifestyle of attacking and boarding ships, and Phineas Krane’s treasure would have been a thorn in the captain’s heart (if he had one). But serving on the crew of the cleverest pirate of the Caribbean has its advantages . . . .

  Most of us had already left the house when Barracuda ran back inside, stood in the middle of the living room, and shouted, “Belgian! Read to me again what it says in the book
about this house!”

  Erik, who was already outside like I was, looked at us without understanding. Even so, he pulled out the wrinkled piece of paper he carried in his bag and went back inside. And of course, the rest of us followed him.

  “A blind man might have before him the finest pearls and not see them,” Erik read. “You can be sure that I’ll hide my treasure far from the reach of the fiercest pirates. I’ve left the key there—”

  “No,” the captain interrupted him, “later on! Before the bit about peace and old age.”

  The Belgian looked at him, then searched through the words on the page to read aloud:

  “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.”

  “EXACTLY!” Barracuda shouted.

  He approached the fireplace and sunk his hook into the wall with a tremendous thunk. The metal sunk into the wall, right in the middle of the name of Fung Tao. The Russian all but fainted.

  “It’s happened to him again . . . ” the Whale whispered beside me. “The madness he got in Kopra.”

  But Barracuda pulled out his hook and gave the wall another blow, sinking into it as if it were butter.

  “’Guarded by a ghost,’” he explained, turning back toward us. “Don’t you understand?”

  “Well, I’ll be tarred and feathered!” Nuño said, his eyes as big as saucers. “Of course! A ghost! Fung Tao has never been here. It was Phineas, curse him, who left those signs to frighten away the gullible!”

  Nuño wrenched off the leg of an upside-down sofa and started to beat on the wall. The Whale, Erik, and I joined him with what we could find on the floor. It’s not that I did all that much to enlarge the hole, but as I’ve said before, I like to be in the middle of everything. It was the Whale who, with a single blow of his fist, almost knocked down the fireplace.

  After sailing without rest to every corner of this emerald sea, after Kopra, after being fired and re-hired, after Bruno, Orson, and the fight in Trinidad, after the reconciliation of the paella, and after so much search and searching for it . . . There it was! The magnificent, brilliant, enormous treasure of Phineas Johnson Krane! Even if I wrote a hundred pages, I couldn’t list for you how many jewels, how many gold and silver coins, vessels, and chains there were. No pirate had ever seen so much priceless treasure—valuable beyond belief!

  What happened afterward, we promised not to say. It was an agreement that the crew made among ourselves, even though the captain didn’t ask us to. We did it because we knew that it would destroy his reputation of being a heartless pirate. But, since a long time has now passed, I think that I will tell you.

  Barracuda began to skip around the room as if his feet were burning. None of us could know that, in reality, he thought he was dancing. Try to understand: he was a fierce and serious man, and I think that it was the very first time he had ever tried to dance. Afterward, as if we weren’t surprised enough, he went around and gave a loud kiss on the forehead to each and every one of us. I don’t know if we were more astonished by the treasure or by the captain’s acting this way. Some reached up to feel their foreheads as if they’d been shot by a musket; I nearly split my sides laughing.

  If ever I saw a pirate who was hard as flint be happy, have no doubt, it was on that day. I am sure that it wasn’t just because of the riches (which were enormous, as I’ve already said), but because, at last and after many years, Barracuda, the most feared and admired captain of the Caribbean, had defeated another legendary pirate: Phineas Krane. It was like deposing the old king and winning the throne, all at the same time.

  You and I have come a long way together, without a doubt. You’ve been incredible company on this story’s journey: loyal and brave. I couldn’t have asked for more. And now that we’re nearing the end, I feel sad to be leaving all of you. I hope that you don’t forget me and that, when you find yourself in some trouble, you’ll remember that there’s always a way out of it: sometimes, with what you know; other times, thanks to a friend; and then perhaps with a bit of help from good luck!

  What happened after that memorable day still fills the stories that are told on the star-filled nights in the Caribbean. Fifty-four pirates (because Rodrigo became one of us) who were happy and rich set anchor in Tortuga. In case you were wondering, I’ll tell you: no, we didn’t split up. We were the closest thing to a family that any of us had. Nor did we leave the Southern Cross. It was even more incredible than that . . . .

  THE END (OR NOT)

  The Whale and I, all dressed up and with a bag full of money, decided to go ashore in Tortuga before the Southern Cross sailed on. We had a week of something that could be called “leave.” The Whale had made up his mind to grow a ridiculous tiny mustache that was like a line of ants walking single file beneath his nose. He was the only one who thought it made him look like he wasn’t a pirate anymore, but I didn’t want to argue with him.

  We wandered the city until we came to a little shop in a back street, outside of which hung a sign that read “Books and Paper.” We opened the door and froze in shock. There were piles of books from floor to ceiling, of every size and color imaginable! You, who are people who read, have undoubtedly visited more than one bookstore, but neither the Whale nor I had ever seen so much paper all in one place.

  “Oh my, Sparks, all the books in the world must be here!”

  “That’s what it would seem, Whale,” I answered. I now know that wasn’t the case; the world has so many more books. But we couldn’t even imagine that back then, of course.

  “And how are we going to choose which one to get?” the enormous pirate with the tiny mustache asked. “Even if we spend all week looking at them, how could we decide?”

  “Were you looking for something in particular?” a very sweet voice asked us from behind an enormous pile of books. “You can ask me anything you want. It looks like there’s no order here, but I know where everything is.”

  From behind the mahogany counter came a tiny old woman with large eyeglasses and white hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a black and gray dress with a neat little apron. She looked like someone’s charming grandmother.

  “Well . . . You see, ma’am,” I began to say. “The thing is, we would like to buy a few books and—”

  “Then you’re in the right place, gentlemen!” the old woman interrupted me, grabbing books from here and there from around the shop. “What are you looking for? Books of poetry? Novels? Theater? Comedies, tragedies . . . adventures?”

  “Oh my,” the Whale said again, under his breath. “We’ll never get out of here! We can’t decide!”

  The old woman grabbed her chin with her thumb and index finger. Then, suddenly, she started to rush here and there like a spinning top, and she handed me book after book, each one heavier than the one before.

  “Well, I’d recommend that you read Amadis of Gaul, for knights and adventures, and also The Adventures of Marco Polo, which is full of exotic places and incredible things, in far-away China.”

  “We won’t let the Russian Kitty get ahold of that one,” the Whale whispered in my ear, and I had an attack of giggles. “He’d have a heart attack! He still wakes up shouting some nights . . . ”

  “Aha!” the bookseller continued, still going about her business. “And this one here! It just came in recently, but they say it’s a big success over in Spain! Don Quixote of La Mancha. It’s in two volumes, and I have both of them . . . ”

  “Spain!” the Whale said, looking at the book the woman had handed him. “That’s where Nuño and his brother are from! I’ve heard a lot about Spain . . . Almost all the boats loaded with gold head there!”

  “Are these gifts then? Any of these would be a good gift,” the woman s
aid.

  “No . . . they’re not gifts,” I said, but the Whale interrupted me.

  “Actually, they are! Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, Sparks?”

  “My . . . My birthday? Well . . . yes!” I said, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn’t really know when I had been born, but now we celebrated it on the day that Nuño had found me on Española.

  “We’ll have a party, Sparks!” the Whale decided. “With a pumpkin tart and everything. Twelve-years-old is an important age! Let me get them for you as a gift . . . We’ll take all of them!” he told the old woman, picking up all four books. “What do we owe you, ma’am?”

  “All four? Very good, that’s a wonderful gift!” She began to add up the bill. “Let’s see . . . One plus two . . . plus another two . . . That will be two doubloons and one escudo.”

  “Just two and a half?” the Whale said, surprised, as he looked at the books he held in his hand. “Wow, how inexpensive! And with what it must cost to write one of these! Not to mention the ink and the paper, and some quills to write with.”

  The bookseller took the books again and made a lovely package, wrapping them in a red cloth and tying it up with a blue bow. We gave her the money and left the bookstore, with my gift under one arm.