Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

The forty-foot launch arrived precisely at eleven. The boat’s wooden hull was varnished like antique furniture. The large open cockpit had a covered forward area that served as a pilothouse with raised seats on either side of the companionway stairs that led down into a cabin. The steering wheel and instruments were located in front of the port seat. The wiry captain jumped onto the dock, tied up the boat then approached Diane. “Doc-tor Rose?”

“How did you know?”

He smiled. “By the picture, Senora .” He extended a weathered hand. “I am Fernando.”

Diane shook his hand. “I am happy to meet you, Fernando.” She tried not to look puzzled, but didn’t remember Gabriel ever taking a picture of her.

Fernando took Diane’s overnight bag and helped her aboard. She looked from bow to stern and experienced a feeling of well being; it was good to be on a boat again. The Carreras had offered to transport her by helicopter, but she chose the sea route to the island. Fernando untied the lines, jumped aboard and pushed off. He handled the boat with ease, steering it along the channel, following the navigational markers, giving wide berth to an arriving cruise ship.

Diane looked back at the city. The palm trees and glitz of Aruba’s capital contrasted sharply with the rugged interior. She studied the colorful resorts, casinos, restaurants and boutiques that crowded the waterfront and looked forward to doing some shopping when she returned.

Fernando exited the harbor and followed the coastline to the northwest. Diane leaned across the companionway. “You speak English very well.”

Fernando beamed. “My parents took me from Cuba to the United States when I was very young. I grew up in Miami where I learned all about boats. I met Senor Gabriel at a marina there when he was passing through.”

“You are very good at boat handling… I’ve had some boating experience.” She hoped for an invitation to take the wheel.

He looked over at her. “That is good,” he said, then turned back to his steering.

She’d have to be a little more direct. “Do you ever let guests steer? As long as you’re watching them, I mean.”

Fernando raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses. “You would like to take the wheel?”

“I would love to.”

Fernando clicked some controls and slid from his seat. “She is on autopilot.” He gestured for Diane to sit behind the wheel. Diane happily settled into the helmsman’s seat.

“She will be easy for you to handle now. But soon we will come out from behind the protection of the island. Then we will be exposed to the winds and waves of the open sea. So, do not get too relaxed.” He clicked off the autopilot and pointed to the compass. “Stay on a heading of two eight zero. Depending on seaway, that should take us to the south end of Carrera Island.”

Diane gripped the steering wheel, checked the compass then looked through the windshield at the expanse of sea ahead.

Fernando pointed over the port bow toward a dark mound on the horizon. “That is our destination,” he said.

The wind began whistling. The waves swelled. The boat rolled slightly. Diane tightened her grip. Fernando told her to turn up wind a little more. She corrected course.

Built for heavy weather, the boat muscled her way through the growing seas. Diane gave Fernando a thumbs-up. She could only remember being this exhilarated on a sailboat. But she shook off those memories and concentrated on her steering.

Just as the waves began spilling their crests, Diane steered the boat into the lee of Carrera Island. What a ride it had been. She looked forward to the trip back.

The island presented as a rocky mass jutting from the sea. As they neared its cliffs, Fernando took the wheel praising Diane’s “helmsmanship.” Then he became the tour guide.

He pointed to a one-story white stucco house on the cliff to their right. It was Gabriel Carrera’s house. His father Carlos lived in a hacienda on the other end by the harbor, Fernando told Diane.

They passed a settlement of small pink stucco and wood houses. “That is where I live,” he said proudly.

Now they approached the marina. It was tucked into a C-shaped curve of stone that must have been twenty-five feet high. Just then a helicopter approached from the south with the obvious intention of landing on the island.

“The pilot is Santos. He and Senor Gabriel are bringing the other guests who will be spending the day.”

“Other guests?”

“They are some dignitaries who were invited to meet you.”

“Oh, great,” Diane said, raking her fingers through her hair, “I need a hairbrush.” She jumped down the steps into the cabin to retrieve her overnight bag.

Fernando had turned into the harbor by the time Diane climbed back up to the cockpit. Ahead she saw the starboard side of an enormous yacht and to the left, up on the cliff, a magnificent white stone mansion overlooked the harbor.

“Wow,” she said.

Fernando pointed to the yacht. “That is the Maria . She is named for Senor Carlos’s deceased wife. They say Maria was a great lady. She is also a great ship.” His chest puffed out. “I am her captain.”

Diane smiled admiringly at Fernando. “You’re a fortunate man.”

Fernando nodded gravely as he steered toward the dock. “I was lucky to be available when Jaime, her first captain, went away. Jaime was not so lucky I guess.”

Carlos Carrera wore his tropical whites to greet Diane when she stepped from the launch. He kissed her hand and welcomed her in a near reverential tone. As in their first meeting, Senor Carrera’s Old World charm made her wish she had been born in another era.

Carlos escorted her up a gently curving stairway chiseled into the cliff. Huge potted palms stood on outcroppings about every four steps. Under the trees sat incredibly lifelike carvings of macaws—or so Diane thought. Then one bird squawked, then another. Startled, she jumped back.

Carlos laughed. “Do not be offended. They are our sentinels. They frighten off strangers.”

They fluttered their colorful plumage at her, showing their displeasure at her arrival.

“Very effective,” Diane said, moving to the center of a step.

When they reached the top, Diane didn’t know if it was the climb or the view that made her breathless. She stepped inside the veranda railing and looked up at Carlos Carrera’s two-story hacienda. Its architecture with its arched windows and doors surrounded with dark wood had a heavy Spanish influence. She turned around slowly and surveyed its dominion, the gleaming turquoise sea.

Carlos interrupted her sightseeing.

“Would you like to freshen up before you meet our other guests?

“Yes, please. ”

Carlos handed her bag to a long-haired man who wore a white sarong and sandals and had the demeanor of a monk. “Banji will show you to your suite. No ropa de etiqueta; we are going on a picnic.” He gestured toward her white Capri pants. “Those are quite appropriate. When you are ready, please come down to the atrium garden.”

Banji held open one of the massive double doors and Diane entered the mansion. Inside, everything was stone and heavy wood supported by massive columns. Banji seemed to float ahead of her in an aura of silence. They crossed the foyer and entered an enormous atrium of plants and splashing fountains, surrounded by tall windows and ornately carved doors. Overhead, a balcony ran around the second story. They turned right just inside the atrium and headed up a stone staircase.

Diane was assigned a corner suite with balconies overlooking the marina and the sea. In addition to beautiful antique furnishings, her living room held a grand piano and a bar.