Dark Bahama

Chapter 1

1

FOURTEEN miles off the tail end of Andros Island in the Bahamas lies the island called Dark Bahama—which, says the guide book, is a natural paradise.

Day and night the golden sand beaches, the calm inlets, the palms, the cats-tail trees, are bathed in sunlight and moonshine—especially moonshine. It is always summer except when a half-hurricane strikes in the season and the drunks have another excuse for nerve troubles.

Many people—people not looking for trouble—have discovered that they can find plenty of it in a place where the atmosphere is filled with sunlight and happiness, moonlight and love, calypso melodies, hard liquor and what-will-you.

Love, light and laughter live on Dark Bahama, and if these lovely attributes are gently interrupted by the soft sea-winds sighing in the palm trees and between the jacaranda groves, it may well be that the same sweet sounds are no louder than the cries of those ladies and gentlemen who have discovered that some minds are impervious to the beauties of nature and that it sometimes pays to watch your step even in a natural paradise like Dark Bahama.

Of course things are not like they were in the good old prohibition days when anybody with a sixty-foot motor-boat and enough money to take aboard a cargo of hooch at Jamaica could make a fortune if they were smart enough to run past the U.S. Coast Guard cutters that lay, like sharks waiting for a bite, off the Miami coast.

Dark Bahama is a small island. Thirty-six miles by eleven, it is a slice of heaven in a summer sea. A place of sweet rest and what-have-you-got-baby.

And you can always buy what you want if you want it, and if nobody else is a trifle more interested in having it too.

If you see what I mean.

A SMALL WIND was blowing when Mervyn Jacques—a coloured gentleman with plenty of what-it-takes where dark lady lovers were concerned—came out of the Green Cat saloon, walked down to the quay, boarded his fishing motor-boat, sat in the stern and lighted a cigarette.

Jacques was of middle height. As n*****s go, he was good looking. He wore a pair of rope-soled shoes, dark blue, gaberdine pants and a thin silk shirt. He moved like a cat and you could see the muscles ripple under his thin shirt. On his black, curly hair he wore a red skull cap with a long peak. He sat there, smoking his cigarette, drawing deep breaths of tobacco smoke into his lungs. After a while he threw the cigarette stub over the side. He began to sing "Nut-brown Baby." He had a quiet, rather soothing, tenor voice. He liked singing. It made him feel happy.

"Nut-brown baby, you got rovin' eyes.

You don' say nothin' but yo' sure is wise...."

Jacques turned his head when he heard Mellin's footsteps on the quay; Mellin was tall; thin. He was a white man with a sun-browned skin.

He said: "Hi, Skip...." He jumped into the stern; stepped up on to the narrow passage-way that ran past the pole-supported awning; went forrard. He called out: "Where's the customer, Skipper?"

Jacques lighted another cigarette. He said: "You tell me! When ah think of all the goddam time ah stick around here waiting for that no-good bastard...."

Mellin said: "He'll be along."

Jacques heard the click as the ship's lights went on. He said: "Hey, Mellin, you get some whisky out, see? Ah reckon when he comes aboard he's gonna have a skinful and he'll want more. Ah reckon he'll start bawlin' for whisky."

Mellin said: "You seen the straps on that fishing seat?"

"Ah seen 'em," said Jacques. "What's the matter with dem straps?"

"They're sorta frayed. Another thing, those straps was all right two days ago. Maybe somebody's been messing around with this boat."

Jacques shrugged his shoulders. "Ah'm not gettin' excited."

Mellin said in a surly voice: "If it's O.K. by you, it's O.K. by me. What do I care?"

"That's right, boy. Don't you care about anythin'. Ah don' care about anythin', an' ah'm the skipper. So what do you have to care?"

Mellin, who was right forrard, leaned on the canopy, looking over the top towards the quay.

He said: "Boy, here he comes. Jeez... an' is he high...!"

Jacques got up. He walked between the two steel-girdered fishing seats in the stern of the boat. He jumped up on to the stern.

He called out: "Hi, Mister Sandford... ah'm glad to see you... thought maybe you wasn't comin' with us."

Sandford lurched on to the boat. He was big, burly, over six feet tall. He jumped at the stern slope; fell into the cockpit. Jacques, moving like a cat, caught him before he hit the floor.

He said: "You take it easy, boss. You take it easy.... Look, let me give you a little straightener...."

"Goddam you, nobody has to tell me to take it easy." Sandford's voice was thick. "And what the hell are we waiting for? Let's get the hell out of here."

Jacques said softly: "Yo're the boss, Mister Sandford." He hollared: "Hey, Mellin. You got that blood aboard?"

Mellin said: "Yeah.... I got it forrard here... four buckets."

Sandford said: "What the hell's all the talk about? Do we have to stay here all night?"

He sat down on the board seat that ran round the cockpit. He took a flask from his pocket; unscrewed the stopper; took a long swig.

Jacques said: "Here we go, boss." He moved forward in the cockpit; switched on. He let the engine run, came back to the stern and cast off. The boat began to move, slowly at first, then gathering speed. A mile off the island Jacques took her in a half-circle, round the bottom of Andros Island. He headed in the direction of Cat Island.

Sandford was trying to light a cigarette. Over his shoulder Jacques watched him trying to get his lighter somewhere near the end of the cigarette. After several attempts he succeeded. He leaned back, drawing on the cigarette, trying to pull himself together.

Jacques began to whistle softly to himself.

Sandford said: "For crissake!... Why don't you get yourself another tune. Every goddam time I come near you you're whistling or singing 'Nut-brown baby.'"

Jacques said: "Sorry, boss... sorta like that old song. It's got somethin', you know, Mister Sandford."

The moon came out from behind a cloud. The sea was quiet, but the air was hot and there was a restlessness about. Mellin, making some coffee forrard, thought it was one of those uncomfortable things. The heat was occasionally relieved by a sharp breath of cool wind. Mellin thought when the wind came it felt like an icebox, and when it wasn't there the night was like an oven. You sweated or chilled, but most of the time you sweated.

He brought the coffee. Sandford drank it in great gulps.

Jacques said: "Mister Sandford don't want no coffee. He just had some whisky. What the hell he want with coffee?"

Sandford seemed a little better. He asked: "Where're we going? I want a big one to-night—a real one, see?"

Jacques said softly: "Ah know exactly how you're feelin', Mister Sandford. Ah know.... We'll get one. They been around here to-day—amber heads an' all sorts." He busied himself preparing the line. When it was ready Sandford lurched into the fishing seat. He heaved himself into the chair and sat back.

Jacques said: "You play it quietly, Mister Sandford, an' you'll sure get a big one, ah promise you." He went back to the wheel; cut the engine. Now the boat was moving slowly in a wide circle. Mellin was still standing forrard leaning on the canopy.

Jacques said: "You put the blood overboard, boy. We'll play around it."

"O.K.," said Mellin.

Sandford, sitting in the stern, watched the scene drunkenly; heard the splash as the buckets of blood went overboard.

Jacques kept the boat moving slowly in a wide circle. Mellin put his head under the canopy. He said: "He's sitting in the port seat—the one I told you about."

Jacques said in a low, quiet voice: "Go fry an egg, you goddam punk. What you worryin' about... hey? Why the hell don' you keep that goddam trap shut? You make me tired.... Yes, sir... an' how!"

Now the moon came out of a cloud. For a few minutes it was bright. The moon lay across the calm waters like a silver dagger. Jacques began to narrow the circle the boat was making, in the centre of which Mellin had thrown the blood. The boat circled easily. There was little sound. Then the moon went behind a cloud. The sea was dark again.

Quietly, Jacques began to whistle, almost under his breath: "Nut-brown baby..." Mellin was forrard. He sat with his back to the bow, looking over the canopy watching the stern. He saw the shark's fin.

He yelled: "Here she comes!... Here she comes, Mr. Sandford...."

The shark's fin showed fifty yards astern of the boat. Jacques cut the speed to nothing. He stood, one hand on the wheel, half-turned, watching Sandford.

The shark dived; took the hook.

Sandford said: "Jeez... a big one...." He leaned forward in the seat. Then, as the line jerked, he went out of the seat; shot across the stern. He knelt in the stern sheets, his face stupid. He tried to get to his knees.

The line jerked again. Sandford went over the stern into the sea. A split second later Jacques, the cigarette stub still hanging from the corner of his mouth, saw the fin and the twist of the tail as the shark turned.

Mellin said hoarsely: "For God's sake..." He ran towards the stern; knelt, hanging over, looking into the water.

There was a fearful shriek, a flurry of foam, then quietness.

Mellin, white-faced, turned. He saw that Jacques was lighting a fresh cigarette. He moved towards the n***o.

He said: "Well, it's got him. He didn't even get the belt done up. If he had it wouldn't have been any goddam good to him." He was sweating.

Jacques looked at him in the half-light. The moon came out from the clouds. Jacques looked over his shoulder at the sea. It was calm and moonlit.

He said: "What d'you always get so goddam excited about? It ain't the first time a shark got a fisherman, is it—'specially when he's high an' don' know what he's doin'? See what I mean?"

Mallin said: "Yeah, I ain't worrying. It's not my boat."

Jacques said: "You won' never have no boat. No, sir... you won' never have no boat, boy, because you get so goddam excited. An accident can happen—can't it? Ah reckon it's no good us stickin' around here. We can't do nothin'. Maybe we'll put back." He went on: "You get yourself a cup of coffee, Mellin. Ah'm mighty sorry about this... mighty sorry! Mister Sandford was a great guy... ev'body like Mister Sandford."

Mellin said: "Maybe... except when he was drunk... and he was always drunk."

Jacques said: "That's a silly thing to say. Ah reckon Mister Sandford wasn't drunk to-night. No, sir... he was sober all right. Ah never seen him so sober. See, Mellin?"

Mellin said slowly: "Yeah... yeah.... I guess he was sober."

Jacques smiled. He showed his even, white teeth. "You good boy, Mellin. You never know... maybe you keep your nose clean an' one day you'll get a boat—a boat like this. A swell boat, see?"

Mellin said: "I'm going to have some coffee."

Jacques jumped on to the narrow passage-way that ran round the boat. He took off his left canvas shoe. He put his foot under the canopy and took the wheel between his black toes. He stood there, hanging on to the side of the canopy, steering the boat towards the lights of Dark Bahama.

He began to croon. He sang softly: "Nut-brown baby, you got rovin' eyes...."