Of course I was interested in what the next stage of my escape plan was. I suspected that the Caribbean Soul was moored at the village of Sartaneja, where Ix-Nay and I had come ashore with Captain Claro. I figured Kirk had come down with Bucky by land and had had the boat moved.
We kept to the unpaved back roads and headed northeast toward the shore. As we did, the scenery turned from scrub brush to cane fields to marshes and bayous, not unlike the scenery of lower Alabama. There were few vehicles traveling these roads, just the intermittent westbound pickup truck.
I stared out the window at cornfields and banana plantations set against the pink, tropical evening sky. Though I was determined to stay on guard, I dozed off. When I woke about half an hour later, we had stopped on a sand road that came to a dead end at the water. A huge yellow cloud of butterflies drifted between the land and the sea.
“Looks like they’ve come to see you off, Tully.”
“Where are we going?” I asked Captain Kirk.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” he replied.
I was confused. I had figured that the Caribbean Soul would be waiting for us to board up with Mr. Twain standing on the bow, just like it was when we had left Alabama. Instead, all I saw was a cloud of butterflies and a large bay with no boat in sight.
“Kirk’s going back with me to the lodge,” Bucky said. “You and Ix-Nay are going to meet Cleopatra.”
Just then, the butterflies began to fly rapidly in a big, counterclockwise circle, and then they peeled off like a fighter squadron for the trees at the shore. Seconds later, the sound of an airplane engine could be heard.
My initial thought was that the Stiltons had returned, but then I recognized the deep thump that came out of the sky. I had heard it first back at Lost Boys.
“There they are,” Ix-Nay said, pointing a few inches above the horizon where the biggest flamingo in the world banked out over the bay in a slow descent. It was Sammy Raye in his seaplane.
“Is there anybody I know who is not involved in this?” I asked.
“Thelma Barston,” Bucky said.
As Sammy Raye’s plane touched down and taxied to the shore, Bucky told me that one of the Stiltons’ other bounty hunters had shown up at the Fat Iguana. He’d been asking a lot of nasty questions about me shortly after Ix-Nay and I had left for Belize. Bucky and Kirk couldn’t get through to Renaldo’s, so they had made a plan with Archie and headed for Belize to find us and warn me. So when my frantic call had come in to Archie, they were already in Belize. Archie had then contacted Cleopatra at Half Moon Cay and filled her in. She had said to bring me to the Lucretia, and that was where I was going.
“What about Mr. Twain?” I asked.
“We will take good care of him until you get all this shit sorted out. Sammy Raye has connections out in Wyoming and is going to work on it. In the meantime, we thought it best that you go sailing.”
My first thought was to protest and get all defensive about this being my decision, but then I thought it would be bad manners to argue with the people who saved me from going to prison. “Whatever.” I sighed. I said good-bye to Bucky and Captain Kirk and couldn’t find the words to thank them—they knew I would do the same for them if the roles had been reversed.
“Hello there, Peter Pan,” Sammy Raye said. “You seem to be up to your ass in crocodiles.” He was seated in the copilot’s seat, and Drake was at the controls.
Ix-Nay and I loaded up on the seaplane, and I thanked Sammy Raye for getting involved.
“I may be an old queen, but I hate poodles as much as you do,” he said with a grin.
Ix-Nay and I sat in the back and waved to our friends as the plane lunged forward and spray covered the windows. When it cleared, we were airborne, and I could see that we had taken off from a small estuary that emptied into Chetumal Bay. Minutes later, the pilot banked right, and we left the shoreline of Belize behind.
“So how did you make out with Consuelo?” I asked.
“Better than you did with Mrs. Barston’s stepdaughter. While you were lost in that sea of bubbles, we camped out on the beach and watched sea turtle hatchlings as they struggled out of their shells and ran immediately for the ocean. It was strange, for as I looked at the predators who awaited them—frigate birds in the air and barracudas in the water—I had a vision that you were in danger.”
“I was.”
“But you are not anymore.”
“Which means?” I asked.
“Which means that you didn’t get eaten up by the frigate birds and barracudas. Congratulations. I believe your journey is just beginning.”
“Well, if you ask me, these last few days have felt like ten years,” I said.
The pitch of the engines changed, and I felt the plane slowly start to lose altitude. “Five minutes!” Sammy Raye yelled from the copilot’s seat.
I looked out the window at the partially submerged coral heads below us. It looked as if we were following the reef south.
“You know,” Ix-Nay said in what I had learned to recognize as his prophetic voice, “life, when you get right down to it, is no more complicated than the gears on the Fishmobile. But there is one big exception.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that the Fishmobile has three basic gears—forward, neutral, and reverse. We have only two. There is no reverse on the road of life, Tully. You just keep moving forward, and every now and then you try to catch a little neutral.”
“There’s your ticket out of here, Tully!” Sammy Raye yelled to the rear cabin.
I looked down below, where an endless panorama of shallow green water suddenly gave way to a cluster of mangrove islands. They were sitting atop pillars of submerged coral, surrounded by a deep blue inner harbor that was protected from all points of the wind. There at anchor, in the middle, was the Lucretia, her green hull glistening in the sun like a floating emerald. She wasn’t the only boat in the anchorage. A number of small fishing skiffs and dugout canoes were tied alongside the port and starboard rails.
I tapped Drake on the shoulder. “Where are we?” I asked.
“They are called the Dragonfly Cays,” he responded and went back to his landing checklist.
We swung around to the south and lined up the channel, where everyone in the tender—Benjamin, the oarsmen, and Solomon—looked skyward and waved.
Drake made a perfect landing, then water taxied down the channel to within a hundred yards of the Lucretia. He cut the power, scrambled up to the bow hatch, and dropped the anchor. The tender paralleled our course off the left wing, and when the anchor was secure, it nudged carefully alongside.
“I kind of wish I were going with you, kid,” Sammy Raye said as he walked down the aisle and opened the rear hatch.
“I kind of wish I knew where I was going,” I replied.
“Well, I guess it’s time to find out,” Ix-Nay said.
“You don’t know?”
“Your destination was never discussed. Cleopatra just told us to bring you to the Lucretia and gave us this location. I’m kind of anxious to find out your new zip code myself.”
We climbed out of the plane and into the dinghy. Solomon grabbed my hand, pulled me toward him, and gave me a big hug. “It be nice to have you back on board, Mista Tully,” he said. “How long you goin’ to be wit us?”
“That, Solomon, is the question of the day.”
I introduced Sammy Raye, Drake, and Ix-Nay to Solomon and the crew. I shook hands with all the oarsmen, who greeted me warmly, and then, at Solomon’s command, they took up their familiar task at the sweeps.
“We have a little surprise for you,” Solomon said. The young boy in the bow produced his turtle shell and began to tap out a rhythm. The boat once again caught the beat of the song, and then the crew began to sing the chorus from “The Wind Cries Mary.” It was quite a welcome back.
We rowed past the dolphin figurehead. Ix-Nay and Sammy Raye hadn’t said a word since we had boarded the dinghy, but both of them just looked at
the tall ship in wonder as we circled her. Now dwarfed by the towering masts and huge green hull, Ix-Nay said, “I can see why my ancestors thought these ships came out of the clouds.”
“I think I gotta get me one of these,” Sammy Raye added.
“What are all these boats doing way out here?” I asked Solomon.
“It be a farewell party,” he answered.
“For him?” Ix-Nay asked, pointing at me.
“No, for us, mon,” Roberto said with a laugh. “We loaded all da provisions for dis voyage in Belize City. Den da captain always come down here to Pelican Cay so as for us to see our families and friends. Day all come out here from Dangriga. We leave tonight on da tide, and we won’t see dem again for six months.”
We eased along the starboard side of the boat as Solomon conversed rapid-fire with men on the small boats. They were moving away from the ship to facilitate our coming alongside. Solomon looked to the bow of the boat where the drummer boy tossed a line to a crewman on the gangway.
“Mr. Mars.” It was the unmistakable voice of Cleopatra Highbourne. She was standing at the companionway. “I guess we have been delegated as the means of transportation to put a little distance between your recent causes and effects.”
“I appreciate the ride, Captain,” I replied. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
“Permission granted, Mr. Mars,” she said with a smile.
36
Not a Bad-Looking Piece of Driftwood
Cleopatra looked at me and then sniffed the air. “Mr. Mars,” she said, “you look like a shipwrecked castaway and smell worse than a shrimper on a three-day binge.”
“Permission to jump overboard?” I asked.
“Permission granted—as long as you take a bar of soap with you. After that, Solomon will get you squared away in your quarters and into a proper uniform—since you are now the research consultant on the Lucretia.”
I tore off what was left of my shirt, climbed the spreaders, and did a swan dive into the indigo waters of Dragonfly Lagoon. I am not a religious person, but as I scrubbed away in the salt water from head to toe, I felt about as baptized as I am probably ever going to get.
Meanwhile, Sammy Raye’s plane was being towed by the rubber dinghy. Drake was straddling the bow, waving at me. When they got to the Lucretia, they passed a line to the stern, and the plane drifted back on the current aft of the transom.
As I climbed back on board, Cleopatra was giving Sammy Raye and Ix-Nay a tour of the ship. Solomon was there to greet me, and I followed him below. I smiled as we went down the companionway and passed the cabin where I had spent my first night on the Lucretia. I was a guest no more.
He took me forward to the crew’s quarters to a much smaller cabin. “Da captain said dat after da big problem you be havin’, you might be wantin’ to have a good night’s sleep. Dis will be your cabin for da trip.”
“Mr. Solomon, I would rather stand watch. I really do feel fine.”
“Den you can join our section for da second dogwatch dis evenin’.”
He told me we would sail on the tide just before sunset. Since he was now my boss, I asked where we were headed.
“Cayo Loco.”
Solomon left me in my cabin. On the bunk was a pair of clean khaki shorts and a blue crew shirt. I shaved, showered, and stopped by the galley and whiffed down two huge ham sandwiches. Then I presented myself for inspection.
The bon voyage party was under way. I stared in disbelief as I walked toward the bow and saw Sammy Raye and Cleopatra dancing a merengue around the foremast—and they were not alone. Even the Lucretia seemed to sway back and forth on her anchor to the beat of the music. “You look pretty good, Cowboy,” Cleopatra said as I stood at the rail.
The entire forward section of the ship was alive with gyrating bodies. It was a foam party without foam, but something was very different. This was not some meaningless, drunken beach orgy. This was a celebration of life, and it had been done this way for hundreds of years when a ship was about to sail. It was about laughter and tears, good-byes and good-luck wishes to sailors from the families they would be leaving behind.
Someone grabbed my hand from out of the crowd. It was Ix-Nay, and he dragged me to the limbo line. I followed him under the bar that was two feet off the deck as my new shipmates applauded.
That famous group of musicians from Dangriga called the Turtle Shell Band had set up in the forepeak. Two guitar players and three drummers were draped in elaborately rigged harnesses, and from them hung a variety of turtle shells in different shapes and sizes. With some signal known only to the rhythm section, the drummers began beating on the shells in that syncopated groove that immediately said “Africa” without a lyric being sung. Benjamin, the drummer boy from the dinghy, joined in with his little shell, and that seemed to put the party into high gear. Those who knew the song sang along. Those who didn’t faked it, and everybody danced.
“Mr. Coconuts?” Drake said, nervously walking into the crowd and tapping Sammy Raye on the shoulder.
Sammy Raye, still dancing in place, turned and faced Drake.
“If we are going to make it back to Punta Margarita by sunset, we had best be gettin’ a move on.”
Sammy Raye suddenly looked like a kid at the fair who had just dropped his foot-long chili dog in the dirt.
“Well, I guess this is good-bye,” Ix-Nay said, and I realized what he meant.
With the sounds of the party in our ears, Ix-Nay and Sammy Raye boarded the rubber boat, and I cast off the bowline as Roberto steered for the plane. “You have a very worried look on your face,” Ix-Nay added.
“It’s all happening so fast.”
“The world spins at one thousand miles an hour. This is nothing,” Ix-Nay said and smiled.
“I was worried about Mr. Twain too,” I told him.
“Don’t worry, Tully. If we sprung you from a plane ride to prison, we can certainly look after your horse and your artwork. And when you get settled on Cayo Loco, we will bring them to you.”
“How did you know where I was going?” I asked.
“I am a shaman, remember? Besides, Cleopatra told me. It sounds like an interesting place.”
“I guess I’m about to find out.”
The dinghy pulled alongside the rear hatch of the seaplane, and Drake vaulted aboard. We helped Sammy through the hatch, and Ix-Nay and I stood there, bobbing in the ocean together.
“Thanks for everything, Ix-Nay,” I said as I grabbed his hand. “I never really got to thank Archie, Bucky, and Captain Kirk. Tell them —”
“You don’t have to tell any of us anything. That’s what friends are for.”
The chain clanked as Drake pulled the anchor aboard through the bow hatch.
“Sammy Raye, please give Donna Kay and Clark my best, and tell them I’m sorry I can’t make the wedding!” I called into the cabin.
“I will do that,” Sammy Raye said with a laugh. “You are always welcome at Pinkland, and I’m going to look into this Thelma thing for you.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Take care of yourself out there. I’d stay away from any future foam parties, if I were you,” Ix-Nay said.
“For my penance, I’m giving you my skiff,” I told him.
“What?” he gasped.
“You heard me. She’s yours, and don’t try to refuse. The ocean gods would be angry.”
With that, the starboard propeller started to turn, and the engine sputtered to life. I let go of the wing, and the plane began to move away.
Roberto steered the rubber boat out of the middle of the channel where we would watch the flying boat take off. I could tell by the disappearing flats at the edge of the channel that the tide was coming on pretty strong. I stuck my bare foot in the ocean and felt the current push against my leg. Looking at the lagoon, the ship, and the plane, I thought back to the day I had loaded Mr. Twain in my horse trailer and had decided to take him to the shore. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever ima
gine that I would be where I now was.
In the distance, the engine noise rose in volume, and the plane threw up a sheet of white water as she clawed her way to the surface. Then she glided elegantly on top of the waves, moved down the channel, and lifted off. She did a beautiful, slow climbing turn that cleared the masts of the Lucretia by more than ten feet, and we rode the current back to the ship.
As we brought the dinghy up on deck, the sun hung in the western sky just above the faint outline of the mainland, and the tide rushed at river speed into the lagoon. The party was winding down, and people had broken off into smaller groups for their final good-byes. Then came an eerie yet familiar sound as Solomon stood on the bowsprit and blew into a large conch shell. It was the song of the ocean.
“The tide is right,” Mr. Solomon called out. “Lucretians, prepare to weigh anchor.”
In an orderly and quiet procession, the locals going ashore moved back to the gangway and into the boats. They knew better than anyone that the tide would not wait.
The anchor was stowed, the sails were hung out, and the Lucretia rode the land breeze and the current out of Dragonfly Lagoon and into the open sea. As the sun dropped behind the horizon, I watched the shoreline shrink. The watches changed, and Mr. Solomon was at the wheel when Cleopatra came on deck.
“I haven’t danced like that in years,” she said. Her smile was followed by a long period of silence. Then she added, “You are wondering if you made the right decision, aren’t you?”
“Kind of.”
“It’s called being between Scylla and Charybdis,” she said.