We Should Have Left Well Enough Alone

  The last day of the week it rained, but the fishermen still came. Jay Conroy watched the dark men pilot their boats along the cusp of the beach through heavy sheets of rain. The whale carcasses had slowly been pilfered over the past five days; all that remained were the skin-stripped husks of their bodies, fin-less and fluke-less and ravaged by gulls. Janet did not approve of the smell and rarely sat beneath the portico with her husband. Jay Conroy, however, was invigorated by the fresh scent of death, and spent many hours in his chair, smelling the air and sipping from a mug of hot, spiced tea.

  Janet stood in the doorway but did not come out. “You’re going to catch cold, Jay.”

  Jay Conroy sipped his tea and watched gulls rip tendrils of meat off a whale carcass.

  “Come inside and get dressed,” Janet said. “There’s fresh fruit on the table and it’s warm inside.”

  The rain let up in late afternoon, leaving the air wet and the sky a mottled gray. From the clapboard hut, Jay Conroy could hear the waves breaking against the rocky shore. For lunch, Janet prepared a dried fruit chutney, which was very good and very sweet, and Jay Conroy ate two portions. Following that, he gathered some paperwork under his arms and slipped on a pair of rope-soled sandals. He examined his printouts and drew little red checks by several of the Fortune 500 companies listed throughout the printouts. Janet, breathing heavy through her nose and not saying a word to Jay Conroy, walked down to the beach. She steered away from the rotting whales.

  By three o’clock they were hiking along the coast. It had gotten increasingly hot and the traveling was tedious. Several times Jay Conroy nearly slipped off a lichen-covered crag and spilled to the beach below. Janet laughed good-naturedly the first time, but grew progressively more impatient with him.

  “It’s too damn wet to walk these rocks,” he said at one point. He wore, at his wife’s insistence, a wide-brimmed safari hat and a long-sleeved chambray shirt. He burned easily in the sun.

  “It’s not too wet,” Janet said, ahead of him on the rocks. She was considerably younger than him and in better shape.

  “They’re covered in algae.”

  “It’s too nice to spend the rest of the day indoors, Jay.”

  There was a golf course on the southern tip of Danger Point, but Jay Conroy did not mention it now.

  They joined a group of tourists near the mouth of a giant cave at one point. The guide was a handsome-looking young black man with narrow eyes and a length of hemp tied around his neck. He wore a bulky watch with a built-in compass on his left wrist. Jay Conroy recognized it as the same watch Janet had bought for him prior to the trip. He’d left it back at the hut.

  “Over eighty-thousand years ago,” explained the guide, “primitive man took up residence in these caves.”

  Many people snapped photographs and some applauded. The handsome-looking guide posed for a photograph with a few of the tourists. Jay Conroy, uninterested, lit a cognac-dipped cigarillo and looked out over the ocean. The brochure had promised this stretch of water between the coast and Dyer Island to be rife with whales, but the only whales he’d seen all week had been the dead ones along the beach.

  “Jay,” Janet said, “we should take a picture with the guide in front of the cave.”

  Jay Conroy watched the guide. Then he watched his wife watch the guide. “We have enough pictures,” he said.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s hot and I’m tired.”

  “It isn’t hot,” Janet said.

  “Stand there,” he said, slipping the compact Minolta out of his wife’s hands and pointing at the yawning mouth of the black cave. “I’ll take your picture.”

  “What about you? Jay, I want you in the picture, too. I want the both of us to be in the picture.”

  A pale-faced man in a baseball cap and reflective sunglasses smiled at Jay Conroy. “Let me help you,” the stranger said, extending an open palm.

  “Give him the camera, Jay,” Janet said.

  “That’s not necessary,” Jay Conroy said. He shook his head, looking at the man. “It isn’t necessary.”

  “Oh sure,” the man said. “Please.” He said, “I insist.”

  Jay Conroy hesitated briefly before handing the little Minolta to the stranger. Some of the other sightseers were watching them now, along with the handsome-looking guide. They were smiling—all teeth, white and bright in the daylight. The guide’s skin looked very black in the sun.

  “Here,” Janet said, plucking the cigarillo from Jay Conroy’s mouth and posing with it hidden behind her back. “That’s a filthy thing,” she told him from the corner of her mouth.

  The stranger examined the camera, held it to his eyes, grimaced, examined the camera again. Behind him, the guide held one tar-colored hand over his eyes. Jay Conroy thought he was looking at Janet. His eyes shielded, Jay Conroy could not tell where the guide was looking.

  “Smile,” Janet said at his side.

  The stranger finally managed to take the picture, and again the throng of tourists applauded. Taking the cigarillo from his wife’s hand, Jay Conroy missed his air-conditioned office with the magnetic dry erase board and the too-loud wall clock above his desk. He thought of Leib filling his monthly sales quota while he was here wasting time. Not for the first time he wondered how he’d allowed himself to be persuaded by Janet into taking this trip. And he silently cursed himself for bringing it up in the first place. It wasn’t the first all-expense-paid trip he’d earned from the company following an outstanding year. There’d been a trip to Puerto Rico after he’d achieved ten CEO placements in only four months; there’d been the hiring freeze instituted by two of Leib’s largest clients that made his record in 1992 all the more impressive, gaining him a weekend for two at a small bed-and-breakfast in New England; there’d been a trip to Ireland; to England; to the frozen valley of the Yukon. All those trips…

  Jay Conroy looked up and saw his wife chatting with the stranger who’d taken their photograph. Laughing, Janet placed a pale hand on the stranger’s shoulder. He couldn’t see the stranger’s eyes, so cleverly hidden behind the reflective lenses of his sunglasses.

  The guide clapped his hands together and hastened the crowd to follow him—carefully—down the other side of the hill.

  Janet did not wait for her husband; she began moving down the rocky slope with the rest of the crowd as Jay Conroy watched. She walked very close to the stranger who’d taken their picture, and very close to the handsome-looking guide.

  Jay Conroy smoked his cigarillo down to the ember then flicked it out over the rocky precipice.

  * * *

  In the evening there was dinner and live music at an outdoor tavern on the crest of the hillside. Janet wore a tight-fitting floral summer dress and had her dark hair pinned back behind her head. Jay Conroy thought she looked very beautiful. In the carriage on their way to the tavern he could smell her body, warm and soap-smelling, and fresh like the band of air at the edge of the sea. They dined on exotic fish and great wedges of moist cake, and drank two cups of rooibos tea apiece. A calypso band performed beneath a grand arcade, the music predominantly percussion.

  “Let’s dance,” Janet suggested.

  “No,” Jay Conroy said. “Let’s just sit here awhile. I want to look at you sitting here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re very pretty.”

  “You play so nice,” she said.

  “I’m not playing.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “All right,” he said.

  “Did I make you jealous today?” she asked, smiling. She was so beautiful. Around her the night was dark and lit only by the moon and the nearby torches that were staked into the cold sand. “Did I make you jealous talking to that funny man? The one who took our picture?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”

  “And are you still unhappy we’re here?”

  “Not very.”

  “And you don’t think about you
r office? You don’t think about Milwaukee at all?”

  “I can think of everything at once,” he said. “I can think of you and me and also think of home, too. It’s a talent.”

  She laughed. “You have such a lovely and interesting brain.”

  “And you have a magnificent body,” he told her.

  “Stop it. Don’t tell me things like that. You’ll make it go to my head.”

  “It’s true,” he said.

  “Is that why you love me?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Just because I have a magnificent body?”

  “Yes,” he said again.

  “And for nothing else?”

  “No.”

  She made as if to slap his hand from across the small table. “What a terrible thing to say!”

  “Does that go straight to your head, too?”

  “Not as fast as these drinks. Will you get us some more, Jay?”

  “More tea?”

  “No,” Janet said. “Get something strong. Get us two drinks each and make sure they put a lot of coconut rum in mine. I love coconut rum. And a lot of ice, too.”

  Jay Conroy kissed his wife’s hand, stood, and crossed the patio to the outdoor bar. He was in a good mood. The night was cool and fresh and made him feel clean. He ordered four mai tais, heavy on the rum, and gathered them awkwardly in his hands after the bartender placed them on the counter. There were a good number of people up dancing now, and he had to maneuver around them with some difficulty, careful not to spill the drinks.

  Janet was not seated at their table when he returned.

  He set the drinks down and scrutinized the crowd of dancers. His young wife was among them, laughing and dancing and twisting in her pretty floral dress. He watched her for what seemed like a long time before taking his seat and turning away. Beyond the hillside he could see the shimmering white lights of the fishing vessels pulling slowly across the sea. He could hear the whitecaps shredding themselves against the crags lining the shore. Without turning, he grabbed one of the drinks and brought it to his lips, sipped it. All he could taste, despite the extra rum, was grenadine and lime. He winced but took a second, larger swallow.

  At one point a group of young women, Janet among them, began clapping and dancing around a handsome, middle-aged man with reddish skin and sharp, woodcut features. Jay Conroy watched Janet and she didn’t see him. Then he watched the handsome man, who began dancing quite professionally. The crowd thought it was fantastic and cheered him on. The circle of women clapped louder and stomped their feet. Then the crowd applauded and cheered as the handsome dancer reached out and plucked a young woman from the circle. He spun her around twice, very elegantly, and bowed as she reclaimed her place in the lineup. Stomping his feet, the man twirled one hand above his head, eliciting shouts and laughter from the audience, and reached into the circle of women again. Janet was selected this time, and the handsome man pulled her up against him then pushed her away, rolling her down the length of his broad, sturdy arm. Laughing, Janet looked at Jay Conroy, winked, and gave him a small wave. He waved back, forced a grin, and clapped his hands off-tempo with the music.

  When the dance ended everyone cheered and Jay Conroy stood and applauded. He’d finished two of the four drinks but he’d hardly noticed. The onlookers parted and Janet pranced across the macadam and took her seat at the table across from him. He sat as well, still smiling and clapping.

  “Well,” he said. “Look at you.”

  Blushing, Janet’s smile widened. “I wasn’t so bad?”

  “Not at all. Your friend,” he said. “He’s very good.”

  “My friend?”

  “Your partner. He’s professional?”

  “Oh,” she said, bringing a mai tai to her lips with both hands, “I don’t know. I don’t even know his name.”

  “Well,” Jay Conroy said, looking past his wife’s shoulder, “here he comes, anyway.”

  Janet set her drink down just as the man approached their table. He was less alluring but still handsome up close. He wore a white cotton shirt, half unbuttoned, and the fabric was transparent enough for Jay Conroy to observe the tiny dark discs of the man’s nipples.

  “Thank you,” the man said, smiling at Janet. “I thank all my dancers, but you were superb.”

  “I used to dance back in school,” she said, staring up at him.

  “You are not still in school?”

  She laughed. “Oh, no! I’ve been out of school for a long time. I’m married.”

  “Yes,” the man said with surprisingly little interest, and turned his eyes on Jay Conroy. “Mate,” the man said, nodding.

  Jay Conroy stood and shook the man’s hand. “Please,” he said, “have a seat.”

  “Yes,” said Janet.

  “I couldn’t,” the man said. “You’re having a romantic dinner.”

  “Dinner is finished,” Janet said. “Please sit. We can talk about dancing.”

  “Have a drink,” Jay Conroy said, sliding the remaining mai tai in front of their new guest.

  “Maybe just for a bit,” said the man, and he moved to the nearest unoccupied table to retrieve a chair.

  Jay Conroy watched his wife and smiled at her when their eyes met. Her skin looked pink in the nearby firelight and her eyes looked large and round and black. She was very beautiful and she was a good dancer.

  “I’m Tommy McCurry,” the man said, settling down in the empty chair.

  “Janet Conroy,” Janet said. “That’s my husband, Jay.”

  “Husband Jay,” said Tommy McCurry. “Your wife, she’s a wonderful dancer.”

  “Thank you,” Jay Conroy said.

  “You are vacationing?”

  “Yes. We’re from the U.S.,” Janet said. “Wisconsin,” she added, “not New York.” She laughed playfully. “It seems everyone thinks the U.S. is comprised of only two states—New York and Texas. It’s just not true!”

  “Yes,” Tommy McCurry said, “I know your accents. I have been to the United States, but it was many years ago. I liked it very much.”

  “Do you live here?” Janet asked.

  “Yes. I am from Kleinbaai. I have a flat there and work on the sea.”

  “You’re a fisherman?” Jay Conroy said.

  Tommy McCurry laughed. “No, no,” he said, “I’m a tour guide. I didn’t want to just say it that way. It sounds in poor taste, like I’m trying to get business from you. I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  “No,” Janet said, “that’s fine. We went on a tour of the caves earlier today. Didn’t we, Jay?”

  “We did,” he said. “What do you tour?”

  “Sharks,” Tommy McCurry said.

  Janet giggled and sipped her drink. “Don’t lie! How can you tour sharks?”

  “I’ve heard of it before,” Jay Conroy said quickly, but neither his wife nor Tommy McCurry turned to look at him.

  Tommy McCurry pointed out over the hillside toward the black sheet of water. “Look out past this koppie,” he said.

  Janet frowned but looked nonetheless. “Koppie?”

  “This hillside. That water—do you see? That stretch that, in the dark, looks like outer space? That is Shark Alley.” Smiling, he said, “Have you ever known sharks to fly?”

  Janet’s smile grew. Jay Conroy looked back over the koppie.

  “They do,” Tommy McCurry said. “Sharks fly here, Janet Conroy.”

  “Now you’re talking lies,” she said. “Now you’re talking them for sure.”

  “Well, they jump, anyway,” Tommy McCurry said. “These are the great white sharks. They are very large and very muscular fish. They are brutal predators, too, and at certain times of the day when the seals swim across Shark Alley from the island to the mainland, these sharks feed. It is unusual and magnificent to watch—and they soar straight up out of the water to catch their prey. It is really something. I am surprised you haven’t heard more about these jumping sharks; it is what Dyer Island and Gansbaai are known for.”
>
  “I have heard of it,” Jay Conroy said.

  “Isn’t it dangerous to be out there?” Janet asked Tommy McCurry.

  “It is not very dangerous, but maybe a little.”

  “You sit on a boat,” Jay Conroy said.

  “Often,” the man said, “we send shark cages into the water to watch them feed. I have taken tourists out into these cages many times. The sharks, sometimes they come up to the cage and bite at the bars.”

  “Oh,” Janet said, wrinkling her brow, “that must be dreadful! How ridiculous.”

  “It’s perfectly safe,” Jay Conroy assured his wife.

  “It’s exhilarating,” Tommy McCurry said, flashing white teeth as if doing an impression of one of the sharks.

  “The cages are made of steel,” Jay Conroy said from across the table. “It’s not the nature of sharks to attack the cage. It was all in the brochure, Janet.”

  “I would like to see the jumping sharks,” Janet said.

  “Well,” Tommy McCurry said, “I will do it at a special rate for you, my new mates.”

  “I don’t know,” Jay Conroy said skeptically.

  “Jay!” Janet said, glaring at him. “Mr. McCurry said he’d give us special rates. It would be rude.”

  “There must be other, more peaceful things to do here…”

  “There is golf,” suggested Tommy McCurry.

  “Jay loves golf,” Janet added. Struck by an idea, her face lit up. “Tomorrow Jay can play golf and I will go and see the jumping sharks!”

  Laughing, looking very handsome and rugged, Tommy McCurry said, “They are some sharks.”

  “It’s supposed to be a beautiful day tomorrow,” Janet said, running one finger along the rim of her glass. “It will be very warm and bright and beautiful. A great day for being out on the water.”

  “Or playing the golf,” Tommy McCurry said, smiling at Jay Conroy. “It is a very fine golf course. It is a world course.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Jay Conroy said.

  “A world course,” the man repeated. “People come from all over the world to play it. You will like it very much.”