I am becoming like a grandmother. All day, I worry. What will happen tonight? Do I have enough food? Is every knot tight enough?
To stay busy, I do things on the cayuco to try to prepare for crossing the Gulf. I tie every knot tighter. Angelina pushes the food and the water farther under the deck. I wash Angelina’s sore skin with fresh water. We pull our hats tightly over our heads so the wind cannot blow them away. Angelina ties the little hat she has made to the head of her doll.
Eating the raw fish makes me stronger and lets my mind think. I know that this is the food that will keep us alive. But I have no way to catch fish. And I know a tourist will not sail up to this cayuco and ask to trade our beans for a fishhook.
Later I try to sleep more, but the ocean will not let me. The waves grow bigger, and the swells pass under the cayuco like small mountains that lift us high and then drop us into big valleys. We are so small on this big ocean. To the ocean, I think that I am only a bug. The cayuco is only a floating match, and the sail is nothing but a little leaf. But the cayuco is not afraid. I hope that I can be as brave.
As the land disappears behind me, I do not look back. Now it is time to sail the Gulf. If I look back, I will squint and tell myself that I am seeing the shore. But I will be lying to myself. Thinking I see shore will not help to keep me safe.
Late in the day, when the sun hangs like a big red ball over the water, I finally let myself look back. The shore is gone forever. There is only water as far as the sky.
“Angelina,” I say. “Now you must always have the plastic bottles around your chest.”
Angelina nods. I think she knows I am scared. Her eyes open wide, and she holds the doll so tight she crushes the head in her little fist.
I force my lips to smile. “Now we start a very great adventure,” I say.
Again she nods, but I do not think she understands that we have no choice. The current in the Gulf is too strong to turn back now. Also she does not understand that now each day might be the last day we live. Each night might have no morning.
21
BROKEN LIKE THE DOLL
THE EMPTINESS.
That is what makes the open ocean so hard. Each hour that I sail, I think that I am sailing farther into nothing. It is not like sailing near land where I can look at the shore and know that we move slow or fast, or that we drift this way or that way. Near shore, I know there are other people even if they are bad. But here there is nothing. The current is invisible. Nothing passes the cayuco except the waves, and they change where they go. Behind me, the cayuco stirs the water and tells me I am moving forward. But the ocean is not like a mud puddle that keeps water in one place. The ocean moves, and it does not talk to me. I do not know where the winds and the currents take me. I only pretend I know.
Here on the ocean, I know it will be hard to even know the direction I face. When there is light, I can see my compass. When the sky is clear, I can see the sun and moon and the North Star. But when clouds fill the sky or rains come at night, then I will know only if the wind fills my sail and if I move forward. Then questions will fill my mind and make me think I am lost.
It is not easy to be so alone when you are scared. Every time when I close my eyes, I remember the killing and the red sky. But I also remember the voice of Uncle Ramos. He whispers to me in the dark, “Go as far away as you can and tell what has happened this night.” When I hear his voice, it makes me strong again and I keep sailing.
This first night on the open ocean is long, and I do not let myself sleep. When morning comes, we eat another fish and I make another notch in the cayuco. Now I count eight notches. But I have only one fish left.
After we sail half of the day, Angelina starts to talk to me. I think a full stomach makes her forget she is afraid. “Look at the sky,” she says.
“Yes,” I say. “The clouds look like pieces of ripped cloth.”
“And the sun looks like a sun,” she says, her face very serious.
I smile.
Early in the afternoon, dark clouds return to the sky. The clouds bring rain and wind again. I do not wait for luck. I let my sail drop early. After I tie the sail, I paddle into the waves. For many hours, I fight the wind and the spray that whips across the deck. My arms are so tired, it is hard to hold my paddle.
When the storm ends, it is almost dark. I am glad to raise the sail again. I am tired, but all is well. Angelina does not cry, and during the rain I have filled one bottle with water. I look at the last fresh fish still dragging behind the cayuco. I will wait until tomorrow to eat this fish and hope that time does not make it bad. The last light from the sun helps me to feed Angelina. She eats a carrot, and three times she fills her mouth with soaked rice.
When Angelina finishes eating, I break off a small piece of candy for her. “This is for my Little Squirrel,” I say. “Today, you have played our game very well.”
She smiles the way a four-year-old girl should smile, and goes to sleep with both arms wrapped around the little broken plastic doll. When I look at Angelina, I also want to be young again. I want the thoughts in my head to go away with only the hug of a plastic doll.
But my mind still thinks about problems. We do not have enough food. If the last fish is still good in the morning, we must eat all of it before the sun makes it rotten. After that, we will have only a little dried fish and soaked rice left. We also have carrots, coconuts, and four oranges, but all the papaya, sugarcane, and bananas are gone. Again I look down at the sleeping face of Angelina. Her face is happy. I wish that she could stay asleep until this journey ended, but I know that tomorrow she will wake up. She will be sad when her stomach hurts again or when the waves grow big once more.
I am alone with my thoughts as I sail. I know that tonight luck sits beside me in the cayuco. The waves are smaller, and I am able to sleep. I thank the ocean for every moment it is kind to Angelina and me.
For two days the ocean does not change. I sit for long hours and fight the wind, the waves, my memories, and sleep. Nothing changes, except my blisters get bigger and we grow hungrier. My ribs push out from my chest like sticks under my skin. I keep Angelina under the deck, but still her skin dries and burns more each day. Her eyes and cheeks are becoming hollow like a skeleton.
The hot sun hurts us, and always now we are hungry. It feels like a dog is chewing on our stomachs. Angelina sits quiet, her eyes dull, her tongue swollen. I tell her to take care of the doll, but when she is this way, she lets her doll fall between the coconuts.
We are not well, but I know the ocean is not trying to kill us. Except for the heat and being hungry and tired, the ocean has been kind to us. I have made notches number nine and ten in the cayuco. I have also tried to sleep all that I can, because there will be times soon when we will not be able to find sleep.
Luck stays with us until the night after I make the tenth notch. That night begins well. After it is dark, the winds blow stronger and the waves grow, but not so much that I must lower the sail. The moon is bright, and all through the night, the cayuco stays straight and we move fast.
It is almost morning before trouble finds us. By then the waves have become weak and lazy. I am thinking this is good, because now I can close my eyes and sleep.
I will never know all that happens after I close my eyes because my mind does not remember. In the dark, a strange wave makes the cayuco turn. Before I can wake up and paddle, the sail loses air. I do not see the sail pole when it swings hard and hits my head with a loud crack.
There is a bright flash in my head, and then the whole world is tipping. Angelina screams, but the sound means nothing to me. I swing the paddle at the water like a crazy person trying to turn the cayuco, but I do not know what direction I must turn.
My head feels like someone is stepping on my skull. The taste of sweet blood fills my mouth and I spit. I try to think, but my thoughts mix together and when I talk to Angelina, it is like a drunk man trying to speak.
I do not know how the cayuco straightens itself
and faces into the waves. Maybe it sails without help, or maybe I help and do not remember it. I think there is a part of my mind that knows what I must do without thinking. Angelina pulls on my hair and screams. I feel her kick me.
The morning sun comes up, but I do not remember it. There is a loud sound in my ears like the motor of a truck running very fast. I think the truck is driving over my head. Angelina stops crying, and I feel her hands splash water on my face. When this stops, little fingers try to put something into my mouth. Then I throw up.
I am trapped in a world where it hurts to open my eyes and the truck engine fills my head. Still I taste sweet blood, and words cannot leave my throat. There is a voice inside me that tells me I will die if I do not paddle, but I cannot move. I do not feel the blowing of the wind or the crashing of waves. My mind is lost, away from my body in a place deeper than sleep. Maybe I am dying. I feel the heat of the hot sun, and then I am sick again. I keep throwing up, but nothing comes from my stomach.
When my eyes open next, I can only look up and think about one thing at a time. The sky is blue and without clouds. The sun burns my skin. Angelina stares down at me, her cheeks wet from tears. I am lying on the floor of the cayuco, my head leaning back against the seat. I look over the edge of the boat for waves, but there are no waves. Only the gentle lifting and falling of the swells.
“What happened?” I ask, my throat dry. My voice sounds like a frog.
Angelina begins to cry when she hears me speak, but she does not cry loudly. Words rush from her mouth. “The cayuco almost tipped over many times,” she sobs. “You did not move or talk to me all day. You pretended you were dead, but still you breathed. I tried to feed you, but you threw up.” Angelina’s voice is angry now. “I tried to wash your head, but you would not stop bleeding. You did not help me very much.”
“Is that why you kicked me?”
She nods.
Above me the sail hangs loose. I look at the sail pole and I think I know what happened. Carefully I reach my fingers to my head and feel. Blood from a big cut over my right ear covers the right side of my face. Still the truck roars in my ears, and it hurts to open my mouth.
Again I look over the side. I do not understand where the waves are. They have disappeared. The swells are smooth as water in a bay.
“When did the waves leave?” I ask.
“When I shouted at them like you do,” Angelina says.
Slowly I pull myself up until I lean against the seat. The ocean is calm, and I hold my head with my hands. “You have taken good care of me,” I say, groaning. “You have played our game very well.”
Angelina does not smile as she scolds me. “You scared me,” she says. “You quit moving like Mama and Papa.”
“I am okay,” I tell Angelina.
“No, you are broken like my doll,” she says.
Again I feel the cut on my head. I lay my head back on the seat and smile a sad smile. “Yes, I am broken like your doll.”
22
BAD FISHHOOK
HOW CAN THE OCEAN BE SO CALM today after it tried to kill me yesterday? This question I cannot answer. I know only that I lie still in the bottom of the cayuco and the sun cooks my skin like a tortilla. Above me two small clouds hang without moving, as if someone painted them on the sky. There is no wind. The air moves only enough to flap the sail. Except for the lazy swells that roll past very slowly, the ocean is flat like Lake Izabal in the morning.
I do not know if I should like the calm ocean or hate it. There is more time to think and to heal, but also more time for the sun and hunger to try and kill us. Maybe it is better to fight an angry ocean. Then if we live or if we die, the end comes quickly.
All I know is that today, I am glad the ocean does not fight me. My head is cracked open like a coconut. Even now, blood leaks down across my cheek. I wipe at it with the piece of shirt I still wear. My hat keeps the sun off my face but not off my body. My feet reach under the deck. Angelina sits above me on the seat.
When I sit up late in the afternoon, I count ten notches in the cayuco. I pick up the machete and make one more. Swinging a big knife is not safe when I cannot think well, but this is very important to me. Now the cayuco has eleven notches.
“What do we eat?” Angelina asks.
I know she is hungry, but my head cannot think to answer her.
“What do we eat?” she asks louder.
“Anything,” I say.
Angelina digs in my pocket for the candy.
“No!” I grunt.
“But you said I can eat anything,” she argues.
I do not answer her, and she crawls under the deck. She knows I cannot argue. When she comes back into the sun, she carries the two dried fish. These are not big fish, and they have much salt covering them.
“Scrape the salt off,” I say. “The salt will only make us very thirsty.” I know that these fish are the best food that we have left, but maybe now is a good time to eat one.
Angelina holds the machete between her knees and pulls the fish across the sharp blade to scrape off the salt. I know it is not safe for a little girl to use a machete, but I cannot move to help her. With great care, she pulls the fish apart. For a long time she picks at the bones with her fingers and pokes food into both of our mouths. She even sucks on the dried head to make sure there is nothing more that she can eat.
The fish tastes good, and I can think and sit all the way up on the floor when we are finished eating. But I know that now we have even less food. All we have left is one more fish, a few oranges and carrots, the small bag of rice, and a little candy. That is only enough food for two or maybe three more days. I do not know what I will do then.
We still have the coconuts, but chewing on coconuts only makes us more thirsty. Because of the hot sun, we have used much water and have little left. Until it rains again, I cannot let Angelina drink very much, even if her lips are dry, cracked, and swollen. I decide we can eat coconuts only after we find more water.
“Fish can fly,” Angelina tells me.
“No,” is all I say, because it hurts to talk.
“Yes,” she says. “This morning, when you did not want to wake up, I saw fish fly over the boat.”
Because I am older than Angelina, I know that fish do not fly. Maybe it is sea gulls that she sees. “Catch one,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says, her voice stubborn.
Eating gives Angelina more strength, and she crawls around me in the boat. I do not let her crawl on top of the deck, but she sits behind me on the seat, holding the paddle like she is sailing. Still she wears the water bottles around her chest. She has moved both bottles around to her back, so she looks like a little angel with big fat wings sitting above me.
When Angelina crawls past me to go under the deck, her hat and the bottles hit me, but I do not want to say angry words to her. It is good that she is moving, and I think this will help her skin. Both of us have many sores now that do not heal. When Angelina sits still, she scratches at her wet sores and picks the scabs off the dry ones.
I do not know why Angelina crawls around and talks today when I am hurt. Yesterday she sat very quietly. Maybe she knows she must be strong and help me. I lean against the seat with my eyes closed.
“Look,” she shouts. “More flying fish.”
I do not open my eyes or answer her, because I need to sleep.
When I wake up, it is dark. Angelina is asleep beside me with her head on my shoulder. Still there are no waves or wind. It is like the sky holds its breath. Or maybe it is taking a deep breath so tomorrow it can blow harder. I look up. The black sky is like a dark blanket that is pulled over me. The stars make a thousand little holes in that blanket. I close my eyes again and fall asleep. Because the ocean is calm, I sleep harder than any night since the sky turned red over my village.
When morning comes, my body does not want to wake up. I hear and I feel Angelina crawling near me. She talks more about flying fish. This does not stop my sleep. When I finally ope
n my eyes, the sun has already made the air hot. Angelina sits behind me on the seat. She lifts the hat that she has laid across my face and giggles. The bright sun hurts my eyes, and I squint.
I learn why Angelina giggles. She holds a small silver-blue fish in her hand. She sits above me and lets the fish touch my nose.
I push the fish away and grunt, “Where did you get that fish?”
“I said that fish fly, but you did not believe me. This one flew into the boat.”
My muscles hurt but I sit up. I do not want to play a game this morning. “It did not fly,” I say. “It jumped in.”
Angelina shakes her head. “Look,” she says. She holds the fish up and spreads out long thin fins from behind the head. The fins spread in her fingers like wings.
Me, I do not want to argue, but I am still thinking in my mind that a fish does not fly. Then behind me, there are splashes.
“See the fish fly!” Angelina screams.
I turn and stare. Small fish are jumping from the calm water. After they jump, their silver wings flutter, and the fish fly far through the air before splashing back into the ocean. One fish flies across the boat.
I do not know what to say. What else does the ocean have that is magic? Maybe I will believe Angelina the next time she speaks.
I cut the flying fish into thin pieces with the machete. The fish is not big, but it is soft and easy to swallow. The meat is almost sweet. When we finish, we eat one orange. The candy is almost gone because the salt water has melted it away. Still I break off a small piece. “This is for you, Angelina,” I say. “Because you have saved my life today.”
“Does that mean I am playing our game well?”