“Hey Rick,” I said looking over my shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think any Jehovah’s Witnesses survived the storm?”
“What?”
“You know, Jehovah’s Witnesses, the guys in white shirts and black ties. They always seemed to show up around dinner time trying to save souls.”
“What about them?”
“I’d bet a bottle of Mohamed’s moonshine that if any of them had survived, then they’re still out there somewhere knocking on doors and pissing people off.”
I heard him laugh and I kept paddling.
Twenty minutes later we reached the dock. William was waiting for us, his bony legs dangling over the edge. Rick coasted in beside me, and I saw the concern in his eyes when he saw his son.
I had arrived at the resort on the same day as Rick and Sarah. I came here to do some serious fishing.
They had come here on their honeymoon to do some serious fucking. I guess we both succeeded. Nine months after we arrived, William was born into this dying world and I was still fishing.
Despite my best efforts, the kid ended up calling me Uncle Aron. Don’t get me wrong, I liked William. He was smart, a lot smarter than any ten-year-old I had ever known. But the kid was like a tick. He kept showing up uninvited in unexpected places.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Rick said as he climbed onto the dock. “You’ve been here all night again… haven’t you?”
William lowered his head, hiding his bright hazel eyes behind his long, blond bangs.
“I told you last night to go back home and get some sleep.”
“But I wasn’t tired.”
“Don’t give me any of that crap. Your mom’s probably been up all night worrying about you.” Rick glowered at him. “Come on William, you know how sick she is. What if she needed help in the middle of the night and you weren’t there for her?”
William looked up and glared back.
“Take it easy on the kid,” I said. “He’s here now, so put him to work.”
Rick’s face softened and he said, “It’s just that hanging out on the dock all night by yourself is dangerous and… look at you.” He pointed at William’s legs. “You’re covered in mosquito bites.”
William shrugged and studied his dirty bare feet.
I’ll be goddammed if William didn’t look just like his old man. They both had that stupid cowlick that stuck straight up and bounced around like a spring. Even the scowls on their faces were identical. I chuckled.
Rick looked at me and asked, “What’s so funny?”
“The two of you. You’re like different versions of the same software.”
Rick smiled and then looked over at William. “Alright, you heard your uncle.” He pointed to a stack of plastic buckets next to the old bait shack at the foot of the pier. “Go bring a couple of those buckets over so we can unload the fish.”
William ran over and returned a few seconds later with the buckets.
We worked as a team. Rick and I tossed him the fish and he dropped them in the buckets. His face lit up when he spotted the stingray in the bottom of my kayak.
“Wow!” he said. “Everyone said they were gone, everyone except Mr. Thompkins. He said the stingrays and some of the other fish would return once the weather got better. Do you think he’s right? Are they coming back?”
“I’m sure they are,” Rick said, giving me a cautionary glance.
He must have sensed that I wanted to tell William that Mr. Thompkins was a dumbass. And like the other dumbasses who thought things would get better, he handed out false hope with a stupid smile. Instead, I tossed William a fish. He caught it, but he paused to study my face before dropping it into the bucket.
“What the hell do I know?” I said. “I’m just a dumb computer geek. You should listen to your dad. He’s the college professor.”
When we finished unloading the fish, I picked the stingray up by the tail and said, “Let’s get these fish to Helen before she comes out here after us.”
We walked in single file up the hard-packed sand through the dense jungle foliage. Rick led the way, followed by William. They each carried a bucket of fish. I brought up the rear holding the stingray.
I watched William stagger up the trail, bending from side to side as he tried to counter-balance the weight of the bucket. He looked like an omnidirectional antenna: tall, lanky, and wobbly. Despite his wiry build, he managed to lug the heavy bucket without stopping.
“Doing okay?” I asked.
“Uh huh,” he grunted.
I smiled.
The path soon opened up and the dining hut came into view. Six thick wooden poles held up the thatched roof like some kind of Tiki circus tent. The sides were open, allowing the breeze to pass through. A dozen years ago, this place had fed up to three hundred hungry tourists who’d wander in from the beach to graze on the gourmet buffet. Now there were under two hundred people left on the island and no one ate in the main dining room anymore. People only came here to pick up food from Helen and then take it back to their huts to eat.
We worked our way through the empty, large, round tables and headed for the door on the back wall. Light peeked through the cracks and I could hear the clanging of pots and pans, along with the unmistakable sound of Helen humming some Australian folk melody. Rick pushed the door open and the familiar sweet smell of fresh baked plantain bread filled my nostrils.
Helen turned from the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. She gave us a warm smile and said, “G’day boys. What have you got there? No wait… let me guess. Is it fish?”
A smile spread across William’s face. Helen had a way with William. Hell, with all the kids. She was their surrogate grandmother and she took the role seriously. Most of them were born after the storm and she knew they would never meet their real grandparents.
William set his bucket down, ran over to me, and snatched the stingray out of my hand. “Guess what Helen?” Without giving her time to respond, he held it up. “Look!”
She put her hands on top of her overripe breasts, which sat on her barrel shaped belly. “That will make a marvelous brekkie! It should keep everyone’s mind off of today’s small catch.” She glanced at me over her bent, wire-framed glasses.
After twelve years on the island, I still couldn’t understand all of her Aussie lingo, but I sure as hell understood that look.
“Don’t blame me,” I said, pointing at Rick. “The honorable Council member over there wouldn’t shut up and kept scaring away all the fish.”
“You’re not pinning this on me,” Rick said, “You were the one who was splashing around.”
Helen shook her head and said, “My old Bob used to say that fishermen were born honest, but somewhere out on the water they learned to get over it.” Helen and her husband had come to the island to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. After Bob died from a heart attack a year after the storm, Helen had busied herself by becoming the island cook.
She barked out some orders and we followed her directions. After setting the buckets down by the sink, Rick and William put on an apron. They each grabbed a knife and started filleting the fish on the stainless steel counter next to Helen. I dropped the stingray on the wooden butcher block that sat in the middle of the kitchen and I prepared to cut up the prize catch.
“So Rick, why were you out fishing this morning?” she asked. “Don’t you have to head back to Male for the Council meeting?”
“Nope. It’s postponed for a week while they find a replacement for Hans Garrettson,” Rick replied.
“Oh my, another one quit?” she asked.
“That’s what they told me,” Rick said.
From the tone of his voice I knew that he didn’t believe it. There was obviously something behind the recent string of Council members quitting. Rick had tried to talk about it a couple times, but I had managed to change the subject. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Council of Thirteen.