Robert Stone - A Flag for Sunrise

“Boy come up from town,” the guard told Pablo. “Got a letter for Mr. Negus.”

Pablo turned around and saw that the bulk of the iron shed stood between him and the Cloud ’s bridge.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

“You Mistuh Negus?”

“That’s right,” Pablo said. “Just give it here.”

The man with the bicycle spoke again. He, too, wore a pistol on a web belt around his waist.

“This man say the boy come from the city. Twenny mile. Got to give him sometink.”

Pablo reached into his pocket for a handful of island bills. Gulden. He put a wad of them into the rider’s hand. He had no idea of how much they might amount to; they turned out to be enough.

While the guard and the armed rider stood by, Pablo walked to the light from the shed’s doorway and stood where he was still out of eye line from the shrimper’s deck. He took a note out of the manila bank envelope and read by the naked bulb.

“Deer Fredd,” said the note, “I muste tell you in haaste. Thees jung pog Pablo ben by Naftalie and that man by him morded. Sure bad you knowe it yeerself. You know brudeer I ben skipping wit you everie ways but thees onie gone be deadt ver us. I doont daar mov vom this place I een. Policia ben versoor. I tinkie say mouten to olde mann. Beterie saaf yoorselv. Die Shell tug standen byheer we get outen byher. Olde mann got to see hees oun way outen. We get to Curacao and thats de ende to it. Thees Pablo a ritt bastad.

“Ritten in Jesus Christ, Valentine.”

Pablo put the note in his pocket. The bicycle rider spoke again.

“Dey tell de boy wait for an answer.”

“No answer,” Pablo said. “It’s all right.” Pablo pursed his lips in outrage. “Damn lucky you got up here,” he told the blank-faced rider. “Really appreciate it.”

In the wheelhouse, Mr. Callahan was setting his Rolex to the time signals from Corn Island. Negus ran his hands through his thinning hair as though the steady double beats from the receiver were flaying his nerves.

“If Tino doesn’t show,” he told Callahan after a moment, “I’m not going.”

“We’ve just concluded that he isn’t going to show,” Callahan said. “Have we not?” Deedee Callahan looked in turns at Negus and at her husband, the shell of a pistachio nut clenched in her white teeth. “Stop it, Freddy,” Callahan said. “Don’t be an old woman.”

“You’re a damn fool,” Negus said. “That’s what you are.”

“Where is our sloe-eyed boy?” Callahan asked his wife. “Where’s he got to?”

Deedee put her head out to see.

“He’s up on the hatches,” she said. “Looks like they’re about done.”

“Go and stroke him,” Callahan said. “Keep him out of harm’s way. Freddy and I have to talk.”

He watched his wife smooth her hair as she went forward.

“If you don’t go, Freddy, I can’t go. And God knows I’ve set my heart on it.”

“You have to know when not to go. Callahan. I do if you don’t.”

“Freddy,” Callahan said, “you owe me one.”

“Not my bloody life, Jack. I don’t owe you that.”

Callahan rolled up the chart he had been studying and put it in a drawer beside the map table.

“I can’t go just me and Deedee and that kid from nowhere. Those bastards on the coast — they’ll take the weapons and then they’ll board and sink us. I need at least one man I can trust.”

“Don’t go.”

“My dear man, I have to go. I must. I bet the ranch on this run.”

Negus looked away from him.

“Remember what happened to Otis in Grenada, Freddy? Him shorthanded and his boat full of M-1’s?”

“He made it to St. Eustatius,” Negus said absently. “They’re good people there.”

“Now here we are,” Callahan said. “We’ve paid and we’ve loaded cargo. We can’t quit now. I can’t.”

“I can,” Negus said. “Tino did.”

Callahan closed his eyes, rested an elbow on the chart table and put his hand over his eyes.

“Listen to me, Freddy. We won’t have money on board until we deliver. Pablo wants to do us, it’s the money he’s after. We can keep him in line until then.”

“Maybe. What about then?”

“Then,” Callahan said, “kill him. In fact he’s yours for the whole run. If you seriously feel he’s more trouble than he’s worth, deep-six him. I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

Negus was silent for a while. Callahan turned in his seat to read the tide tables.

“No chance of paying him off now and turning him loose?”

“No chance,” Callahan said without looking up.

Negus leaned in the hatchway, his teeth set in a rictus of unease.

“Shit, if it’s up to me I’ll put him over as soon as we clear the reef.”

“No, you won’t, chum. You’ll be patient. When the balloon goes up you may learn to love him.”

“When Deedee Callahan came back, Negus turned on her in surprise.

“Where’s the kid?”

“He’s right where he was,” she said. “What’s happening, gentlemen? Are we setting forth or not? Because this vessel’s all loaded and the dock boys are wondering what we think we’re doing.”

“Take her out, Freddy,” Callahan said.

Negus put his fishing cap on, went out on deck and shouted at Pablo to let go the mooring lines.

Callahan took the whiskey down from a pantry shelf and poured himself a shot. “And how’s our young man?” he asked.

“He’s in some kind of sulk. You ever see a speed freak trying really hard not to talk? That’s how he is.”

“In the words of a great Irish wit,” Callahan said, “it’s not enough to opt for silence. You have to consider the kind of silence.”

“Ah,” Deedee said, “that’s very good. But you know something, Jack baby, I don’t like this too well.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“He is bad news. He is, he is.”

“Then we’ll kill him,” Callahan said. “Stay close to him. We’ll want to know what’s on his mind.”

“He’s not dumb. Remember that.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Not at all. He’s pretty fucking clever.”

“Too bad,” Callahan said.

“So this time it’s me who gets to drink if I’m supposed to stay close to him. And it’s you that stays sober. Because he’s not dumb and you better be on top of things.”

“You’re right, of course.”

“Damn straight,” Deedee said. “Some fun, hey, boss?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Callahan said.

All night they steamed with the stabilizers down, rolling almost dangerously before a dying northeast swell. At dawn a roseate raft of clouds was massed over a solitary mountain to southward. Clouds there seemed to slip away reluctantly on the wind and were replaced by others that, singly or in packs, came over the flat far horizon and made straight for the veined slopes that were brightening to green. It was San Ignacio, once English, then Colombian and Panamanian by turns, now its own, or anyone’s, island.

Pablo had settled in the lee of the after hatch; sleeping in short fits, sliding into undersea dreams, awakening to the stars. Spray had started him once and he had lifted his head to see white water racing under the rails and felt the vessel’s boards tremble from the power of the engines and a steady slap of the bow against the sea ahead. They had been making a speed which he could not calculate but a speed of which no shrimper on earth was capable. When she settled down to her accustomed fifteen knots he had gone to sleep again.

The rumble of the Lister engine raising the stabilizers woke him to morning. He backed off to the rail and turning, saw in the distance a white reef line and green hills fading into cloud. The deep black valleys among the hills were inlaid with rainbows.