CHAPTER 3

Heavenly Bodies with a Brief History of Hell Thrown In

The boat cruised into pristine little Cat Cay harbor where a dozen yachts and dive vessels waited with their yellow quarantine flags unfurled before they were officially allowed in the Bahamas. There was also a U.S. Coast Guard cutter with a high superstructure like the one that chased the refugee boat in Miami. A small section of the harbor beside the cutter was crammed with more boats.

Everyone filled out cards and gave Gun their birth certificates or passports to gain entry. I still didn’t know people very well, Killis least of all. That changed while Gun was at customs and I remained on the top deck with the ex-Special Forces guy. He was reading a book and glanced at me. Up close he appeared to be growing a grayish goatee but below the neck he was hairless with ripped muscles. Now was a decent time to strike up a conversation, but unsure about liking him I risked offending him a little. “You have those freckles, Killis, how come? Did one of your parents have them?” His lips opened and I saw his complete surprise at my query. “Oh, I’m sorry, Caleb’s my name.”

“Yes, I remembered,” he greeted me back, and squeezed his brows together as if puzzled. “My freckles… I’m part Irish.” His grin looked insincere. If he was putting me on it was annoying but my curiosity was aroused about those non-Irish letters he was writing.

“Oh, yeah, Irish, that’s cool. What’s the other part?” I wanted my question to sound like it should be answered, and he adjusted his position in the chair.

“My mother’s from Northern Africa,” he replied at length.

I couldn’t expect straight answers from this top-secret type. “Oh, yeah? From Egypt?” Hopefully he’d get annoyed now. “Lybia?”

“Around there...” Then, he turned to me with a studious face and closed his book partway. “Morocco, actually. So, you are Caleb, besides Joshua the only man allowed by God to enter the Promised Land.” Killis’s biblical reference to my name surprised me. “And, what’s that song, ‘Ca-leb, my belle’…like the captain sings?” He scanned the harbor with a squint. A small police vessel flying the Bahamian flag, a black triangle with blue and yellow stripes, patrolled the crowded section of boats near the cutter. Then Killis reopened his book, Bill Gates’ The Road Ahead.

I didn’t like what I heard about “Bull” Gates. He bundled government spy-ware and Trojan Horses into all his programs. Maybe that’s why Killis liked him. So, I said, “Don’t know about that Bill Gates guy, all his software is so vulnerable to viruses and hackers. On the other hand, isn’t Linux almost invulnerable?”

“Um... I guess. Yes. And, no. But, I’m not really sure.” He was a true top-secret type, never a straight or honest answer, which made it official, he bugged me.

Joni and Carl climbed back up and overheard us.

“Who are you talking about, Bill Gates?” Joni peeked at the cover of Killis’s book. “He contributes to a lot of charities.”

None other than slender Ally, my AWOL watch-partner, also pulled herself up the ladder to the bridge and took the only seat next to Killis. She scrunched her eyes against the sun as she peered around the harbor. I finally got a good look at her body. Her thighs were dimpled with cellulite in a few places but all her tanned flesh was firm, seldom jiggling when her feet hit the deck. Sitting beside Killis she looked like she could be part-black herself, or else she had achieved the absolute darkest shade of brown skin tan over time. “What is your name?” she asked me for the third time.

“Caleb. You asked me before, remember?” I guess we were just going to pretend I never fell into her bunk, either. “This is Joni, Carl, and Killis.”

“I’m terrible with names,” she replied. “I’m only on this boat because someone cancelled. Maybe I paid too much, what did you pay?” she asked me.

“Around three-fifty.” I lied in case she overpaid.

“I got on for two-hundred,” Joni announced. “But I help the captain a lot,” she was quick to add. “Three-fifty is a good deal.”

“Really?” I was stupefied by that.

“See that boat there?” Ally pointed to the immense streamlined catamaran now entering the harbor, none other than The Rapture, two decks atop two giant pontoon hulls. She resembled a huge layer cake as white walls alternated with wrap-around windows of dark reflective glass. “That boat is five thousand bucks for five days. I called, but they were all booked up with a charter for young women scientists.”

Just what you would expect to see on a yacht like that, attractive women sunbathing on deck, entering and exiting from doors, laughing with the men as usual, and taking pictures.

“Luxurious,” Joni pointed out.

“I’ll bet...” I said, examining my grimy fingernails.

Carl added, “That there is an ‘all-inclusive’ dive boat. They fill your tanks for you, tell you where and when to dive.”

“Might be worth it.” I tried not to stare at the women aboard The Rapture. One girl was handling dive equipment.

“Depends on what you want,” Joni answered with an eyebrow raised. “Look at that girl with the big boobs and the black suit.”

“Yeah.” I tried not to sound enthusiastic.

“She’s more interested in her tan.”

I looked for Captain Briefly and the drop-dead gorgeous blond who were aboard last night. They weren’t around. But, Ally was across from me in baggy knee-length shorts slung around her hips, red thong underwear showing above the belt, loose tank-top sans bra with cheap rubber sandals. She stared at the Coast Guard cutter near the area of separated boats. I wondered why they were crowded together while those in the rest of the harbor were not.

“What’s with all the boats jammed up in there?” I inquired.

“Oh, jammed up is right! It’s the spoils,” Joni replied. “Big Brother America inherited them from the War on Drugs.”

“Ha. If this War on Terror is as successful as the War on Drugs we’re in big trouble,” Ally remarked. “Okay, enough. It’s too hot up here,” she quickly concluded. Almost as fast as she came she descended the ladder and was gone again.

“She’s a little weird, don’t you think?” I said to no one in particular.

Joni grinned. “I was on another dive trip with her. She doesn’t remember faces, either. Takes a lot of pictures underwater, stays to herself. That’s good if she’s taking pictures.” Joni went astern with a sly grin. “I have knives to sharpen.”

“Do you think that Ally girl is beautiful?” I asked around to the guys.

“Are you making up your mind?” Carl said.

“I don’t know,” I said with a gaze at the beautiful smooth lines of The Rapture. “She’s one of those people that confuses you in some ways, and interests you in others.”

I resumed my concentration on the yummy scientists aboard The Rapture. But Joni returned with several boning knives. She popped my bubble by nudging me on the shoulder to say, “You think that skinny girl’s tits are real, you don’t, do you?” She pointed with a knife, and surprised me further by staring into my eyes like my opinion about it mattered.

“Which...the one on the top deck?” I made a peering expression toward the most endowed passenger. “Looks like real cleavage.”

Joni proceeded to sharpen the first knife edge. “She’s defying gravity. Do you like it when their boobs stick straight out?” she asked me.

I replied with a shrug, “No, I guess not. Not really.”

“Tits aren’t supposed to be too firm.” She talked and sharpened. “They’re supposed to hang down...very soft.” She made a semi-graceful ballet movement with the knife in one hand and her other palm opened up.

“They don’t feel right,” Killis spoke without looking up from his book. “Like squeezing a balloon.” He surprised me by commenting about sex since he was so reserved about everything.

“So, it’s a turn-off?” Joni seemed to inquire.

No one commented immediately. “Yeah… No, probably still feels pretty damn goo-od, though!” Carl snickered and beat a quick retreat down the ladder in case Joni was insulted.

Joni just grinned while grinding the stone against another blade edge. All her knives had worn or cracked handles caked with the gooey fish guts and fresh blood from their use this morning. Killis continued reading.

“So, you never went to see your friend yesterday?” she spoke to me in her cheerful way, but I was confused. “You know, silly boy, the one in her cabin?” She reminded me by nodding at Ally who was now on the bow right below us.

My mind returned to the accidental fall into Ally’s bunk and the emphatic heave back out. “It didn’t seem like the right time,” was my only reply.

“That type”—she flicked her knife at Ally who was examining a camera—“they actually fight over getting the best pictures of fish.” I wondered how that could be. “A bunch of them, they see a rare fish and gang up on it to get the best close-up. Sure, they kill tons of fish, too. But, they’re real snooty about it. When they find a cool fish they elbow each other out of the way for the best shot, kid you not!” She finished one knife, then picked up another. “They prefer killing the shots for others so no one else gets the perfect shot they have.”

“Wow...” I saw Rapture girls taking pictures of each other with some guys. “Really?”

“One time with the picture-takers, they backed a fish up against the wall, yanking its tail, hitting it to arrange the pose.” Joni held one knife up to the sun. The fine edge flashed. “They stuck lenses into the anemones. No respect for the environment. They be eeeg-norant to the hilt.” She used island slang.

My only thought was, yin-yang, everybody fights about something. Then, I caught Ally looking up at me on the bridge. Our eyes settled comfortably on each other for a few moments before she went back to the cameras without acknowledging any connection between us. Joni scrubbed knives. The dirtiest parts were the hilts and the serrated teeth, fish bits got lodged in there, real smelly. Even those insignificant fish bits figured into life’s puzzles by affecting my feelings in their little way.

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