“Worst water I ever tasted, sonny,” he said to the Bahamian officer. “This horse piss or what?”
The black man just grinned.
“Two suits, whiskey, and cigarettes for nine gallon watah,” he said.
“No sale,” Captain Olly replied. “I’ll give you that blue suit there for all fifteen gallons, including the jugs.”
The black officer laughed and slapped his brown bare thigh below his clean white shorts.
“You crazy, mon,” he said, glancing at Katya with a grin. “Watah is gold. This suit’s just pretty shit. No way it’s gold.”
“Take it or leave it, fella. We got to get on to Puerto Rico.”
The black man glared.
“I sell you good watah, mon. You pay me whiskey, cigarettes, and suits. You want me arrest you?”
“Now, now, fella,” said Captain Olly, his wrinkled face breaking into its toothless grin. “I got an army of sharpshooters in all four cabins. Unless that there peashooter can shoot in four directions at once you ain’t arresting nobody, least not on this boat.”
The black man still glared, puffing out his chest and breathing heavily. The other three men looked on from their cockpit indifferently. The officer’s eyes abruptly narrowed and he scrutinized Captain Olly carefully.
“I sell you fifteen gallons without the jugs, for this blue suit, the whiskey, and the cigarettes.”
“With the jugs.”
“With two jugs, mon. I cannot give you more.”
“Okay, fella, you got yourself a deal.”
Captain Olly grinned and stuck out his hand. The officer grinned back, and they shook hands heartily. The three men in the other boat began laughing and talking, the whole atmosphere abruptly changing. Olly asked Katya to bring up three empty plastic containers to transfer the water from the three jugs, and the Bahamian officer called one of his men over to admire his beautiful new suit. Both men took a slug of the whiskey and then handed the bottle over to the two blacks who were still aboard the launch.
“Well, now, tell me, cap,” said Captain Olly to the officer, after taking a slug of whiskey himself when it was offered to him. “Why’s your government so fussy ’bout our landing and getting a little water?”
“I don’t know, mon,” was the reply. “Too many you Yahnkees, s’pose.”
“But you got plenty of water here, don’t you?”
The man frowned.
“Watah, yes, mon, but not food. Ships want food and can’t pay for it. They take our women too. You bettah keep your guns, mon, or you won’t have your women.” He looked over at Jeanne and Katya and grinned.
“Your government have other boats southeast of here likely to bother us?” Captain Olly asked.
“Doan’ know, cap’n,” the officer answered. “But it’s not us you ’av to worry about, it’s pirates. South of here the pirates so thick you can walk across their decks all the rest way to Puerto Rico. You ought to get to Nassau quick, mon. Pirates stay clear of Nassau.”
“Who are the pirates?” Olly asked, frowning.
“Everybody, mon!” the officer shot back, grinning broadly. “Everybody who’s got a boat. ’S only way a mon can make an honest living.”
Olly frowned again.
“Well, thanks, cap,” he said, and stuck out his hand again to the Bahamian officer. “We ’preciate your help.”
“That’s all right, mon,” said the officer, shaking hands and then getting back onto his launch with the others. After putting his new suit down neatly on a seat, he turned and gave Olly a big grin. “Welcome to the Bahamas, mon!” he said loudly, spreading his arms out wide, one holding the whiskey bottle. “Right?”
And the two vessels parted.
As the Bahamian launch withdrew toward the entrance to Marsh Harbor, Neil emerged from his cabin, ostentatiously wielding his pistol. The others soon joined him in the starboard cockpit next to Olly at the wheel.
“Well,” Neil said. “We’ve just survived our first pirates.”
“Shall we go to Nassau?” Frank asked, shaking his head and pursing his lips in disgust.
“We can’t risk it, Frank,” Neil replied. “It’s still on to Puerto Rico.”
“With only twenty gallons of fresh water?” Frank said, startled.
“If we go to Nassau we’ll never get out. They’ll take our weapons, make us barter away our equipment for food, and all we’ll get is extra water and two hundred extra miles of fighting off pirates. It’s not worth it.”
“But who knows if it’s any better in the Virgins or Puerto Rico?” Tony asked, joining them.
“Puerto Rico’s a lot larger,” Neil answered, “and they’re both presumably more friendly to Americans.”
“Isn’t there a chance Puerto Rico will have gotten involved in the war?” Jeanne asked. “We’ve got naval and air bases there.”
“And we can sail to either of them from Nassau almost as easily as from here,” Frank added.
“Not if they’ve taken our weapons,” Neil shot back, tight-lipped. “We’d be sailing a thousand miles through a sea of pirates armed with Olly’s gaff and a boathook. I’d prefer to die of thirst.”
Frank shook his head and paced into the wheelhouse and then turned around and came back.
“In Puerto Rico you’d be a draft dodger and Jim a deserter,” he reminded Neil.
“In a war in which all the fighting will be over,” Neil replied, “I doubt that by the time we get there anyone will care.”
“But can we go on much longer with so little food and water?” Jim broke in. “You told me yesterday we’ve got enough dried fish and water left for only three more days.”
Neil frowned, frustrated at facing three unacceptable alternatives. “I suppose we could try sneaking into one of the out-of-the-way cays,” he mused aloud.
“And if they catch us without clearance, they confiscate the boat,” Frank said. “There’s no way we should try that.”
“Can’t we land on an island at night, get water, and get away before daybreak?” Jeanne suggested.
“All the cays are buffered by reefs,” Neil replied. “We can only get in and out during daylight, when we can see the shoals and find the channels.”
“And we’d be spotted during the day,” Frank added. “The Bahamians probably have air patrols as well as cutters.”
No one spoke. They seemed to have reached an impasse. Frank paced into the wheelhouse, this time sitting down when he got there. Jeanne looked at him and then at Neil, finally at Olly, who stared forward humming lightly to himself.
“We should keep going,” she said quietly. “God’s put us in the middle of the biggest supermarket in creation, and if we can’t learn to eat and drink what’s out here we don’t deserve to live.”
When she stopped speaking, Frank ran his two hands through his thinning gray hair and stood up. He stared absently at Neil.
“The West Indies,” he said almost to himself. “Jesus, I bet by the time we get there, we’ll decide we have to go to Brazil.” He smiled mournfully at Jeanne.
Neil moved for the first time since the discussion had begun. He lifted up one of the new water jugs.
“I think we might begin planning on it,” he said.
“Well, Mac,” said Tony a few hours later. He loomed over Conrad Macklin, who was sitting in the side cockpit at the trolling rig. “How do you feel about our captain’s latest decision? You going to enjoy starving to death?”
Macklin looked up at Tony neutrally, then idly tested the drag on the nylon line. “Yes, I am,” he answered quietly.
“You are?”
“I enjoy starving,” Macklin replied, which made Tony stare at him uncertainly. “Considering the alternatives.”
“I still think we should try to dock in here and try to get some food.”