Red Midnight (6 page)

ALONE
.

That is how I feel, so alone that it hurts. Maybe it would be better to be dead with my family. For a short time, I sail into the night thinking this thought, but then I think, No, Santiago, you cannot be sad if you are going to be strong. And so I look ahead at the ocean.

It is night, and still the warm rain falls, but I know my journey begins well. The waves are not big, and out here on the ocean I am not so afraid of being lost or running into military ships. Wind comes from behind me and lets me sail with the waves.

I turn and look behind me at the lights to see if anybody has seen me. I am not the only one who does not sleep tonight. Even now, in the middle of the night, people walk along the shore. The sound of their laughing and talking floats over the water like crickets in the
night. As the wind pushes me farther from shore, the voices become harder to hear. I feel safer now. If anyone has seen me, maybe they think I am only a fisherman going home in his cayuco after drinking too much in the city.

Behind me, the lights grow smaller. Soon they blink like fireflies on the shore. A new, strange force begins to lift and drop the cayuco gently, as if a big hand is under us. It is the waves, but these waves are big swells of water that pass under the boat like hills.

Angelina sits quietly on the bottom of the cayuco between my knees. “I am hungry,” she says.

“Remember, you are my Little Squirrel,” I tell her. “Can you find the bag with tortillas? I think it is on this side.” I point under the deck to the left.

Angelina nods and crawls under the deck.

Because of the rain, water leaks through the deck boards and slowly fills the bottom of the cayuco. I reach under the seat and find the plastic bowl that is used to empty water. Below the deck, Angelina moves and bumps against the boat.

“Did you find the tortillas?” I call.

She crawls out from under the deck with empty hands. She shakes her head. “I think there are pigs in the cayuco,” she says.

“No,” I say, laughing. “There are not pigs in the cayuco. If you wait until morning, I will help you find the tortillas.”

“Okay,” she says, “but maybe there are pigs in the cayuco.”

I am still laughing as I look behind me. The lights on the shore are only little specks like stars now. I dare not go any farther out from shore because clouds do not let me see the North Star, and I have no way to look at the compass in the dark. If the lights disappear, I will have only the wind and the waves to guide me, and they can change. Carefully, I let the sail swing wide so the wind and current can push me to the north. Now the waves grow bigger.

Maybe it is good that I cannot see the ocean the first hours of this trip. I think I would be even more scared. Waves taller than my head pass the cayuco. When the cayuco does not lift from a wave fast enough, the next wave splashes hard across the deck and showers water through the deck boards. Spray wets my face, and I taste salt. Tomorrow I must find a way to fill the gaps in the deck.

Angelina crawls under the deck to escape the wind and spray. “Go to sleep,” I tell her, but I know the water and the waves will not let her rest. I dream of sleep as I empty more water from the cayuco with the bowl. Sometimes a wave turns us to the side, and I must use the paddle very fast to turn straight for the next wave. When I am not fast enough, we almost tip over.

I am so tired. My greatest enemy on this trip will not
be pirates or storms or finding food. It will be fighting sleep, I think. If sleep comes at the wrong time, it can kill us.

I do not know how long this night has lasted, but already my whole world is changing. Now my world is the cayuco and the water around me. It is not my village, my family, the killing, my escape, or Enrique. Those things have become only memories from a different life that I lived at another time. Now all that is important is the next wave, the next stroke of my paddle, the next breath, the next meal, the next sleep. And always there is Angelina.

Before morning, the rain stops and the waves become smaller. Uncle Ramos has shown me how to find the North Star by following the lip of the Big Dipper. Stars blink through broken clouds, but there are still too many clouds to find the North Star. Once I see the moon, and it is a thin tired eye that is open just enough to watch us.

Angelina begins to cry quietly, so I let her sit again on the floor, leaning against me. It is hard to steer this way, but it is harder to hear her cry.

The lights on the shore disappear, and I think maybe I have sailed too far from the land. But then I see the black sky to my right turning to gray with the coming of morning. I feel good that I have lived through the first night. I pick up my machete and make a single notch along the side of the cayuco. Already I know that
time will be very hard to remember on the ocean, so I decide to make one notch each morning when the sun comes up.

In the mountains where I am from, mornings come slowly. Here on the ocean, the morning comes fast. Soon the sky glows red, and it is not because somebody has burned a village. The red becomes a burning gold, and soon the sun breaks above the ocean like a bush catching fire.

Something floats on the water ahead of us. The cayuco passes through a long patch of floating branches and palm leaves. Maybe they are from the last bad storm. I take the paddle and lift as many palm leaves onto the deck as I can reach. This palm is called
pamac
. I do not know how I will use it, but I think everything I find out here on the ocean can be used.

Because I know this is only our first morning on the ocean, it scares me to think of how many nights and days Angelina and I will face. Enrique is right: thinking about time will only make the hours pass slower.

I decide I will do something each day to make the next day in the cayuco better. If I do this, maybe I will live long enough to finish this trip. I know that during the night, much water washed across the deck and leaked through the deck boards. This, I decide, is what I will try to make better today. But first I must eat and feed Angelina because she is awake.

“My Little Squirrel,” I say. “Do you want to find the
tortillas now?”

She nods her tired head.

I look under the deck and see the blue plastic bag with the tortillas. “There,” I say, pointing.

Angelina crawls obediently over the coconuts and soon brings the bag and places it in my hand. I open it and find that many of the tortillas are wet with salt water. Carefully I take the wet ones and lay them on the wood deck to dry. “These we must eat first because they will not last as long as the dry ones,” I say. “No food must be wasted.”

When Angelina tastes a salty, wet tortilla, she wrinkles her face and closes her eyes, then spits out what is in her mouth.

“No!” I say with anger. “If you want food, then eat what I give you. This is not your birthday when you can eat only what you want.”

Angelina begins to cry. Still angry, I pick up a salty tortilla and take a big bite. I force myself to swallow. Now I know why my sister spit hers out, but I am too tired to play games with her. I can use the fish line to try and catch a fish, but I do not think she will eat a raw fish either. Soon she will know that this trip is not a game. I force myself to finish the tortilla. Still, I feel bad for how I have spoken to Angelina, so I say, “Do you want a coconut?”

Angelina keeps crying, so I reach under the deck and grab a coconut. It takes many hard swings of the
machete to cut the coconut open. Milk spills from inside, but I break off a small piece of white coconut from the shell and poke it into Angelina's mouth. She tries to spit it out, but I keep it in her mouth until she tastes it and begins to chew.

I know coconut is hard to swallow after it is chewed, so I let Angelina drink milk from the shell. This I know she likes. After chewing more coconut, she stops crying, but I know that coconut does not stay long in the stomach of a child.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Angelina tells me.

I try to steer the cayuco straight into the waves as I help her lean over the edge. When she finishes, there is no paper to clean her. I cannot let her use salt water to wash herself. The salt will make her skin very red. Next I think of the drinking water and decide this cannot be wasted. The palm leaves I pulled from the water are too rough and soaked with salt. I have only the clothes that I wear.

I tear a sleeve off my shirt, and let Angelina use this to clean herself. If it rains, I will try to wash the sleeve because I know we will have to use it many times on this trip.

As the cayuco lifts and drops with the waves, I try to fill the cracks between the deck boards with strips of palm stalk. Using my machete, I force the stalk into each crack. I can only reach the cracks behind the mast. The cracks in front of the mast will have to wait until the water is
calmer.

The clouds and rain are gone now, and a big sun climbs into a clear sky. The air becomes hot. All of my life I have worked outside in the fields, and the hot sun does not hurt my skin. But this heat is different. As the sun climbs higher, the water around the cayuco becomes like a mirror and makes the sun burn from all sides. The bright reflection hurts my eyes.

Angelina is hungry, but she is even more lonely. “I want Mama,” she cries. I try once more to feed her a salty tortilla, but she will not eat. I do not want to use up the fruit we have right away, but finally I let her eat a banana. We both drink water. Maybe tomorrow I will let Angelina feel how much hunger hurts if she does not eat what I give her.

I know I need to find something for her mind to think about. I look up at the hot sun and at the palm branches I pulled from the water. When an indígena girl is only four years old, already she knows how to make tortillas and how to weave. She carries firewood and water. I know Angelina can do many things.

“Can you make us big hats with these leaves?” I ask Angelina.

She picks up a palm leaf and looks at it in her little hands. She nods, and begins to work. Soon her crying stops. She is small enough to lie under the deck in the shade while she works. When she grows tired, she sleeps, and then works more.

Me, I cannot sleep or escape the burning sun. The thought of sailing another night without sleep scares me. But for sleep I will need an island or calm water. The ocean does not give me either, yet.

ON THE OCEAN
there is much time. Also much work. As Angelina weaves the hats with her small fat fingers, her lips bunch together with thought. She does what I must do—I must stay busy. Always my mind must think. This will help time to pass more quickly, and it will help me to forget the reason that I am here.

When the sun is straight above me, I take another drink with Angelina and I pull the back of my shirt over my head to keep away the sun. This sun can kill. My mother has told me many times that the sun is the heart of the sky and the father of all people. I think when the sun is this hot, it is not a good father.

My mind tries to think how many days this trip will last so I do not use the food too fast. All I know is what Uncle Ramos has told me. Maybe twenty days is how long he thought this trip would last. I take out the map
and stare at the shapes and colors, but I do not know exactly where I am. This is the first map I have used. I cannot read it well.

I do not give up. I place my finger on the map where Uncle Ramos has told me Guatemala is, and I let my finger move to the north like the cayuco. Very soon the color on the map changes. This must be Belize. And to the north of that, when the color changes again, that is the Yucatán of Mexico. These things I remember from Uncle Ramos. The blue color is ocean, and there is much blue between the top of the Yucatán and the United States of America. Also on the map, many small islands follow along the shore to the north. Tonight I must find one of these islands to sleep.

I see blood on the map. The blisters on my hands are bleeding from the rough wood of the paddle. I rip strips of cloth from the bottom of my shirt and wrap these strips tight around the handle where my hands will be. I think this will help.

The waves are not bad now, so I crawl across the deck toward the front. The cayuco rocks in one-meter waves as I force palm stalks into the cracks in front of the mast. When the boat rocks hard, I grab the mast. I must be very careful and not fall from the cayuco. If I fall, the sail is tied in place so the cayuco will sail away with Angelina. That is a very bad thought. Maybe next time I should tie a sail rope around my arm.

When I finish filling the cracks on the deck, I climb
back to my seat and try to rest. I think the ocean is like my mind and never rests. Always my mind is thinking.

Angelina weaves what looks like a bowl. She makes me try the bowl on my head often as she weaves. I know when she finishes the bowl of the hat, she will weave the wide shade next. I watch Angelina work. Every moment that she thinks about the hats is one moment she does not have to think about being hungry or afraid.

In the afternoon, when the sun drops low in the sky, clouds build above me. Soon winds blow and the waves grow bigger. I think this is the afternoon storm that Enrique has told me will come on many days. As rain begins to fall, I make sure the plastic bowl is ready to empty water from the cayuco.

Angelina crawls under the deck, but she keeps weaving. The small cayuco splashes into each wave and sprays water over the front. I work hard to keep the cayuco straight. Now I must decide if I want to lower the sail. I remember Enrique's warning. If I wait very long, it will be too late. I crawl onto the deck and untie the rope that holds up the top sail pole.

As the sail and pole fall, the cayuco turns sideways to the next wave. I jump to the back and fight hard to keep the cayuco from tipping over. Angelina falls backward and hits her head on the side of the boat. She begins to cry, but I cannot help her. I am still fighting to turn the cayuco.

The next wave hits, and the cayuco rolls far enough
to let water wash over the side. When it rolls upright again, I am able to turn. Now I dip water fast with the plastic bowl. Angelina cries harder. I think maybe I will bring the sail down even sooner next time.

Between waves, I tie the sail and poles together. The heat of the sun is gone now, and the rain falls harder. The wind makes the waves grow until they become white on top. I keep paddling. The brave little cayuco meets each new wave with the sail poles swinging and bumping against its mast. The ropes slap against the wrapped sail.

Again and again, waves hit the front and spray salty water high into the air. Sometimes when the spray hits me, it is like a fist beating my chest. The deck keeps out the water that washes over the cayuco, but much water comes into the open boat where I sit. This water I cannot stop with palm leaves.

Always between strokes, I empty water from the cayuco with the plastic bowl. I know I am scared because my fingers hold the paddle so tight that my hands grow numb. Maybe a person does not win against the ocean. Maybe all I can do is fight back and try to stay alive.

I remember this as the storm punishes the small cayuco. I work to help the cayuco fight back. Each wave teaches me something different. Some waves are small and they make me think that I am a good sailor. Some come at the cayuco like a rolling bus. The ocean has many moods. Yesterday it was like a little old lady sitting
down to visit. But today the ocean is angry and wants to hurt me. It does not let me run away. So I must be strong.

When big waves come, I tell them, “No, you will not sink me. This is not something I will let you do.” If the wave is very big, I scream loud and paddle harder. I must not show that I am afraid.

But I am afraid, and Angelina knows this. Her cries hold much fear. I cannot tell her not to be afraid when I am so scared that I cannot swallow. I am afraid of death each time a wave washes water over the deck and each time the spray slaps my face.

Angelina stares at me, fear burning in her eyes like fire. I am all that she has. I cannot let the ocean kill her and take her to another world. Not today. I bite my lip until I taste blood. I do not know what will happen tomorrow, but today our world is the ocean and the cayuco. Our world is the rain and the sun and the wind and the hunger. I must fight to stay in that world until we reach the United States of America. Again I pull hard on the paddle and face the next wave.

I am still fighting the waves when a small mangrove island appears, ahead and to my left. The island is far away, but I must try to reach it before dark. It is my only chance: I cannot stay awake another night. Even now, my arms do not want to lift the paddle.

As we angle across the waves, I tell Angelina, “Come and sit between my knees. I do not want you under the deck if we tip over.”

Angelina obeys but she is crying, “I want Mama! I want Mama!”

I do not answer her because I cannot give her what she wants. The storm still blows as we struggle toward the small island. The cayuco tips far with each wave, but I do not stop. We must cross the waves this way to reach the island. The wind blows harder as if to stop me. I fight the waves so hard, I do not see the sun leave the sky. It goes down quickly, and soon it is dark. I keep fighting with each stroke toward the dark shape ahead.

I have almost reached the island when the storm decides to stop. The rain keeps falling, but the wind and waves give up trying to kill me. I do not know how long the storm has lasted. That is like asking me how many tears Angelina has cried. I know only that my body is very weak when at last the front of the cayuco bumps against the mangrove branches. I pull up the sideboard, and I paddle into the thick mangroves until we stop. Then I crawl forward over the deck to the front.

Angelina's cries have changed to hiccups. “I want Mama,” she cries again and again.

“Do not stand,” I tell her loudly.

I know this island is not made of land. These mangrove trees grow from under the water and sit on a reef. Still they will protect us from the waves and the wind so that we cannot sink or tip over. I hear birds flying in the branches around us. I pull on the branches to float the cayuco deeper into the mangroves.

I tie a rope around a big clump of branches to hold the cayuco. Now we will not drift away as we sleep. Then I climb into the back. The sleeping mat is wet, and water has made a puddle in the bottom under the coconuts. But this does not matter. We will sleep on the coconuts. “Come, Angelina,” I say. I push my feet under the deck and slide my body in until the deck keeps the rain from falling on my face.

Angelina crawls in beside me. Tonight I do not need to tell her to lie down and go to sleep. She clings to my side. I hug her and then close my eyes. Coconuts poke our bodies like big fists, and then sleep swallows me.