Paul Theroux - The Mosquito Coast

"Ever been there before?"

Father said, "I met a savage who lived there once. And I once ate a banana from Honduras. That tasted mighty good, so I figured why not migrate?"

But the captain ignored him. He said to Mother, "In most ways, Honduras is about fifty years behind the times. La Ceiba's a hick town."

"That suits me," Father said. "I'm a hayseed from way back. But we're going to Mosquitia."

Mother stared at him. It was news to her.

"That's the Stone Age," the captain said. "Like America before the pilgrims landed. Just Indians and woods. There's no roads. It's all virgin jungle."

"America's verging on jungle, too," Father said, and frowned again.

"And swamps," the captain said. "They're so bad, once you get in, you never get out."

"It sounds perfect," Father said. He seemed genuinely pleased. "You know it like the back of your hand, do you?"

"Only the coast, but that's bad enough. You wouldn't catch me inland. Some of the crew come from those parts. One's in the brig at the moment. I'll pay him off in port and he won't set foot on another ship again. A lot of those fellows give me headaches, but I'm in charge here."

"Must be nice to be king of your own country," Father said.

The captain stared at him, and yet I was sure that Father was serious and paying him a compliment.

"Gurney Spellgood's got a mission there. His church is somewhere upriver."

Father said, "I think his theology's shaky."

"What line of business might you be in?" the captain asked, annoyed by what Father had said about Rev. Spellgood.

But Father didn't reply. He hated direct questions, like Where are you going? What are you doing? and What's it for? We never asked.

Mother said, to break the silence, "Allie — my husband — used to be quite interested in the Bible. He and Reverend Spellgood were discussing it. That's all he means. He's the only person I know who actually invites Jehovah's Witnesses in the house. He gives them the third degree."

Father said, "I've tinkered with it, in a general sort of way. It's like the owner's guide, isn't it? For Western civilization. But it doesn't work. I started wondering. Where's the problem? Is it us or is it the handbook?"

"And what will you be doing in Mosquitia with this fine family?"

A direct question. But Father faced him.

"Growing my hair," Father said. "You might have noticed I have long hair? There's a reason for it. I've done a lot of traveling, but I like to keep to myself. It's hard in America — all those personal questions. I can't stand answering them. What does this have to do with hair? I'll tell you. It was the barbers who always asked them the most. They used to give me interviews. But after I stopped getting haircuts, the questions stopped. So I guess I'll just go on growing it for my peace of mind."

"We had a fellow like you on board a few years ago. He was planning to spend the rest of his life in Honduras. He went ashore. We took on our cargo. It was pineapples. The fellow came back with us. Couldn't bear it. He lasted two days."

"Don't you wait for us," Father said, "unless you want your pineapples to rot."

The captain said, "I brought my family along on one run. They spent a few days up in Tegoose, and then visited the ruins. It was a nice take-in."

"I don't feel we're going to ruins so much as we're leaving them," Father said. "And speaking of bitter and hasty nations, just before we came down to Baltimore we had a little shopping to do. We went into Springfield, one of those shopping centers that are more like shopping circumferences. We were buying shoes, and when I paid the bill I looked through the stockroom door where there was a bulletin board for the employees. A slogan's written on it in big letters. It says, 'If you have sold a customer exactly what he wanted, you haven't sold him anything.' A shoe shop. It made me want to go away in my old shoes."

"That's business," the captain said.

"That's ruins," Father said. "We eat when we're not hungry, drink when we're not thirsty, buy what we don't need, and throw away everything that's useful. Don't sell a man what he wants — sell him what he doesn't want. Pretend he's got eight feet and two stomachs and money to burn. That's not illogical — it's evil."

"So you're going to Honduras."

"We need a vacation. If we'd had the money, we would have gone to the island of Juan Fernandez. But we didn't want to sell the pig."

Mother laughed at this. She often laughed — she thought Father was funny.

"My family's grown up," the captain said. "My wife's happy where she is, which is Verona, Florida. And this ship is my home. But I've put into a fair number of ports — the East Coast, Mexico, Central America, through the Canal and up the other side, and I'll tell you, give or take a few palm trees, they're all the same."

"That's a kind of fear," Father said. "When a man says women are all the same, it proves he's afraid of them. I've been around the world. I've been to places where it doesn't rain and places where it doesn't stop. I wouldn't say those countries are all the same, and the people are as different as dogs. I wouldn't go if I thought they were all the same. And if I was a ship captain I'd stay in my bunk. I expect places to be different. If Honduras isn't, we'll go home."

"Gurney sings its praises. Bummick works with the fruit company. That's another story, but he must like it or he wouldn't stay."

"If there's space we'll be happy. We ran out of space in America, and I said, 'Let's go!' People don't normally say that. Ever notice? Americans never leave home? People say they want a new life. So they go to Pittsburgh. What kind of new life is that? Or they go to Florida, and they think they're emigrating. Like I say, I've done a lot of traveling, but I've never met any Americans who planned to stay where they were, apart from a few cripples and retards, who didn't know where they were. Most Americans are homing pigeons, and none of them has the conviction to do what we're doing — picking ourselves up and going to a different country for good. I suppose you think it's disloyal, but a man can only take so much. Me? I feel better already on this ship. That's why I'm telling you what I couldn't tell anyone back home. If I'd said I was leaving, they'd call me an outlaw. Americans think that leaving the States for good is a criminal act but I don't see any other way We need elbow room, so we can think. Right," Father went on — and now he was laughing—"as you probably noticed, I think with my elbows!"

All the time, the twins, Jerry, and I were jammed against the wall, our arms bumping as we ate. The twins had crumbled crackers into their soup because the captain had. But they had not eaten theirs, because it looked like swill. And Jerry, who hated sausages (Father always said they put horses' lips and cows' ears into them), hardly touched the main course, except for a few peas. The kids were also kicking each other under the table. I was so ashamed of them, I ate everything that was put in front of me by the black waiter. I was at the captain's end of the table and he complimented me, saying I had quite an appetite and I was going to grow up to be a big fellow and did I have a hollow leg?

He said to me, "If you like, I'll show you the bridge. I've seen you fishing from the stern. We've got sonar. You can spot fish on the screen and you'll know the right time to use your line. Want to come up?"

I asked Father if it was all right.

"You heard him, Charlie. The captain's in charge here. This ship is his country. He can do as he pleases. He makes the rules. All these men and bilge pumps are his, whether they work or not."

"I fly the Stars and Stripes, Mr. Fox," the captain said. "I don't run my country down."

"Nor do I," Father said.