"My friend. He will take you," he said, then turned and spoke something fast and guttural. The young man smiled as well, and nodded. He looked at Monica, and she stepped back into the sun.
"You give this," the merchant said, and handed Jessica a piece of paper. Then he picked one of the necklaces from his table. "You buy necklace now?"
Jessica laughed. "Not me. But Monica, you do it. It's not like you can't afford it."
Monica, resigned in irritation, opened her pocketbook again.
They followed the young man for what seemed like an hour, and the more distance they put between them and their tour group, the deeper Monica's dread became.
"Do you really think this is a good idea?"
"Stop being a baby. It's going to be fine. You wanted an interesting trip. I'm just finally making it happen."
"An interesting trip, yes," she said quietly, hoping the dark-skinned man in front of them couldn't hear, "but not a dangerous trip. Haven't you heard about what happens? About people being kidnapped and sold as slaves?"
Jessica snorted. "Have you looked at yourself? No one's going to buy you." She laughed, and their guide turned for a moment and laughed, too. Monica hoped he hadn't understood the joke.
And it wasn't that funny a joke. Considering the size of Jessica, Monica felt positively svelte. She could stand to lose a few pounds, true, but she thought she still looked as thin as she had back in her school days. Jessica, on the other hand, had ballooned since then.
Monica frowned, trying to keep her anger in check. She was sorely tempted to leave, but didn't want to deal with Jessica's whinging. It had been so far unbelievable, the amount that she complained about everything. The two of them had planned their trip out over a year before, at a time when both their lives had fallen into a funk. During that intervening year, however, Jessica had managed to find herself a new job and circle of friends, and as the months passed the two of them had grown distant. If not for the trip, Monica doubted they would have continued talking. And, yet, even after Monica gave the woman chance after chance of pulling out of their shared vacation, Jessica wouldn't do it. She spoke of how much closer it was going to bring them, how it was going to reignite their friendship, and Monica didn't know if it was her loneliness or something else but for some reason she let herself be convinced. Yet, her worrying seemed all for naught; everything went fine… until their plane left the runaway. As though a switch were flipped, Jessica's attitude turned, and Monica was blamed for taking her away from all her new friends — as though Monica should feel guilty, and at the same time privileged, that Jessica was spending this time with her. Halfway through their trip, when Jessica finally stopped talking and started sleeping, Monica contemplated how easy it would be to grab a pillow and hold it down over Jessica's face. She doubted any court would convict her once the evidence was presented.
They were walking past boats lined upon along a pier, the dark men on board juggling nets and equipment and staring at the two pale women walking past, when Monica heard the tinny electronic sound of a Latin rhythm. The young man produced a cellular telephone from one of his many pockets, and spoke a few words into it that Monica couldn't understand. Jessica seemed oblivious to the eyes that scoured them, and pointed skyward at a pair of large grey gulls circling overhead. The young man shut his telephone and motioned towards the end of the pier, to a small ship docked there. Monica's fears eased somewhat. Then, he held out his hand impatiently.
Jessica looked and said, "You're the one who gets paid the big money, not me."
Monica sighed and produced a few more bills from her shrinking wallet. She gave them to the young man who nodded, then jogged away.
"Don't worry, Monica. You're going to love this. Have I ever steered you wrong?"
Monica bit her tongue.
The ship was far from being the dirty boat Monica had expected. It was at least one hundred feet long, and on its deck was a handful of other North American tourists. When Jessica and Monica reached the ramp, a young native man in a white sailor suit came to greet them, and spoke further words Monica didn't understand. Jessica stepped up, holding the note she'd been given. "We were supposed to show this to you," she said. The steward read the note, and then studied the two of them. Monica felt the needles of worry. He turned to Jessica and held out his hand.
Jessica smiled and turned to Monica.
Monica sighed and paid the man more of their money, and then he disappeared up the ramp.
"I hope this works," Jessica said. "Or else I'm going to wring that guy's — oh, there's the captain."
The man approaching from the ship could be no one but the captain. His face was broad and weathered, trimmed with a thick white beard that contrasted his tanned skin. When he reached them, Monica could tell right away he wasn't originally a local.
"I'm Captain Lethes, and you two must be our new special guests. Please, come aboard. We'll be leaving momentarily."
As they followed him up the ramp, Monica saw the crew working on the pier, untying the long ropes, untethering the ship from what held it.
Up close, it was clear that the ship had seen its share of travels. There were signs of rust on the metal railings, and they stained the peeling white paint. Nevertheless, none of the other few passengers seemed to mind. In fact, they looked quite contented, chatting amiably amongst themselves as they sauntered across the deck or lounged in deckchairs. There was a sudden awful scream and it made Monica jump, before she embarrassingly realized it was the sound of the ship's whistle. The crew ran past with a practised step, and after a moment there was the smell of burning oil. Then the ship jolted forward and the pier where it had been docked slipped slowly away.
"Isn't this exciting?" Jessica said. "I bet you're glad I decided to take us on this detour. What would you do without me?"
Monica gritted her teeth, and wondered how hard it would be to push Jessica over the railing. Or, better yet, feel that fat loose skin between her fingers. She shook her head, surprised at herself.
"I'm going to take a walk around the ship," she stammered. "Maybe take some photos."
"Good idea. I'm just going to sit down here for a minute." Jessica eased herself into a vacant lounge chair. "My head is starting to hurt."
It felt good to get away from Jessica, if only for a few minutes. Monica walked past a couple holding hands and she smiled. At least someone was having a good vacation. They looked like newlyweds, and for a moment Monica wondered what it would have been like to be in that position. She was struck with the urge to take a picture, but faltered, knowing it was the last thing of which she wanted to be reminded. She didn't mind being alone, of course, but as time went on it felt less and less by choice.
She stopped at the prow of the ship, and looked ahead to where they were travelling. She could see an island there, its peak raised from the deep blue water, pointing toward white clouds. It looked like something from a postcard. She reached into her bag for her camera and came up empty-handed. She must have left it behind at the hotel, and cursed herself for being so forgetful, especially as it was one of the few things over the last week she wanted to remember. She sighed and checked her watch. It would probably take another fifteen minutes to reach the island. Perhaps she should stay there for a little while longer and try to commit the sight to memory.
"Hiding, are you?"
Monica turned upon hearing the voice. Beside her stood Captain Lethes, his smile highlighting the creases that covered his face. He cleared his throat, and then spoke conspiratorially. "It's okay, I won't tell."