Innocent on the run. Part 42.

The driver pulled up at a large oil tanker flying the British flag, and Ricky read the name off the stern. 'Norcombe,' registered in London. Ricky thanked the driver and climbed the gangway. The crew were out on deck and directed him to the Chief Officer who was on the bridge amidships. He was a large fat man with three gold stripes on the epaulettes of his uniform shirt. He had enormous white shorts on and a peaked cap. His face was beetroot red, and he mopped it with a handkerchief. 'Aha,' he said, laughing out loud. 'Our passenger. They tell me you've had a bit of a journey getting here.' `Yes, sir. It's taken a while.' The Mate chuckled, good naturedly. 'The Captain will see you now. He'll sign you on as a D.B.S. Come this way.' He waddled off and led the way down a deck to the Captain's cabin and knocked on the door. 'Come in,' a voice said. The large Mate opened the door and went in, holding it open for Ricky. 'Our wayward D.B.S, Sir.' he announced, grinning hugely. The Captain was a small, thin man in his sixties. He was sitting at his desk and he turned to look at them. 'Thank you Mr. Preston,' he said. The Mate went out and closed the door. The Captain took out the large sheets of official paper which were the Ships Articles. He asked Ricky's particulars, wrote them in the columns, and told him that he would not be paid for this trip, as he was D.B.S, but that he would be expected to work for his keep. 'Yes, Sir. That's fine.' Ricky agreed. 'Right, then the next thing you do is report to the Bosun on deck. He will settle you in to a berth, and put you to work.' 'Thanks very much Captain.' Ricky said, happy to be at last on a British ship. He found his way out on to the deck. It was a very much bigger ship than Llanerin had been, with the Officers' accommodation amidships and the crews' aft. There were catwalks connecting the forecastle and the amidships superstructure, and the amidships to the after accommodation. It was very much easier than climbing down to deck level, then walking along and climbing back up to the accommodation level. The crew were busy painting the tops of the tank hatches, and Ricky asked for the Bosun. He was a small, sour faced man in middle age, and he had a dirty pair of shorts on and a cloth cap. He put down the paint brush and wiped his hands. 'You're the supernumary are you ?' `Yes. The D.B.S.' One of the crew laughed. 'Welcome to the ship from hell,' he said.The Bosun ignored the remark and led the way aft. `You'll be in a cabin with the galley boy. Once you've changed into your working gear, come back on deck.' `I don't have any working gear with me.' `Then you're going to get those dirty, aren't you,' he replied, pointing at Ricky's clothes. The cabin was in the bowels of the ship, three decks down at the stern, and he followed the Bosun down the ladders. The room was tiny, cramped, with a pair of bunks and two lockers in it. The lower bunk was a jumble of bedclothes, and the upper had just a mattress on it. 'Get your bedding from the steward later,' the Bosun said. 'Come on, back on deck and start work.' Ricky followed the Bosun back on to the deck where he was given a paintbrush and a pot and told to get busy. He joined the other crew members and started painting. They were a quiet, morose lot, and kept themselves to themselves. Ricky tried to talk to the man working near him, but he just turned away without answering. They continued in silence until the Bosun, who was watching their every move, looked at his watch, waited a minute, studying the watch face intently, then clapped his hands and said, ‘Smoko.' The crew put their brushes down and filed into the accommodation, Ricky following. They silently set about getting themselves a cup of tea or coffee and sat at the mess room tables. There was very little of the normal banter or jokes that you would expect from a crew, and Ricky sat at a table on his own, in silence, until the galley boy came in whistling. 'Stop that whistling.' The Bosun roared. 'Are you trying to whistle up the wind.' The boy was unabashed, but he stopped whistling and sat next to Ricky. He held his hand out. 'Malcolm. ' he said. Ricky shook his hand and told him his name. ‘What's wrong with them all?' Ricky asked him, indicating the glum looking crew members. The boy spoke in a low voice. 'The Captain's a bastard, and the Bosun's a worse one. It's a very unhappy ship. They don't bother us in the galley though. I try to ignore that old bastard most of the time.' He nodded across at the Bosun. 'So you're in my room with me are you.' he said in a normal voice. ‘Yeah.’ `I'll throw some bedclothes in for you when I go down, then.' 'O.K, thanks.’ The Bosun looked at his watch again, slammed his mug down on the table and bellowed, ` Right, lets get back to it.' Malcolm whispered, `He won't give them an extra minute. Everything's done by the clock.' Ricky followed the crew back to the deck and started painting. He stripped his shirt off when he got too hot and hung it over one of the large valves that controlled the flow of oil into the tanks. The Bosun came across to look at his work, but after watching for a while he walked away without a word. Ricky got on with the job, humming to himself. His headache had gone by now, and his stomach had settled down, so he was a lot happier than he'd been that morning. He wondered how Earl and Winston had got him out of the club and up to Winston's little house ! All he could think of was that they carried him out and got him into a taxi. If he ever came back to Jamaica he would have to look them up and thank them. They knocked off at five o'clock on the dot, and cleaned up for dinner. The food was not very good, but Ricky ate with relish, glad to be back eating British food again, even though it was steak and kidney pie with boiled and roast potatoes. British cooks were all the same, he thought, the temperature in the eighties and piping hot meals on the menu. After dinner Ricky went out on deck for some air. A sign had been hung on the gangway and he crossed over to read it. Vessel sails at 0100 hours, it said. Alongside the 'Leave expires at' notice, was chalked, NO LEAVE in bold letters. No wonder the men were moody, he thought. They weren't allowed ashore. Malcolm came out to join him on deck, and Ricky pointed the notice out to him. 'Yes,' he said. The old man won't let anyone ashore, 'cos he's scared they'll jump ship. Two men jumped in Maracaibo two weeks ago. If he loses any more he won't have enough crew to work the ship. That's probably why we're going back to U.K. this time, so he can pay this lot off and get a new crew.' 'Are things that bad on here then ?' 'They're not really all that bad, but when you've been cooped up on a ship for seven months like these blokes have, the slightest thing can upset you. The Bosun gets more than his pound of flesh out of the men. He keeps them at it all the time, and because one man was late on deck one day, he reported him to the Captain, who stopped him a day's pay and cancelled everyone's beer ration. He said if they didn't have beer, they wouldn't get drunk and oversleep.' Ricky said, 'So they get no shore leave and no beer aboard the ship . No wonder they're miserable.' `Yeah. Oh, I threw some bedding on your bunk, so you can make it up when you want. There's some books in the top drawer under my bunk, if you fancy a read.' `Thanks, Mac.' `That's O.K.' He stretched and yawned. `Well, must get back to work, there's just the clearing up to do now.' Ricky followed him back in to the accommodation. The Bosun was in the mess room and he beckoned Ricky over. 'The engineers could do with a hand down below,' he said. 'Report to the Second Engineer in the engine room.' 'Now ?' Ricky asked. `Yes, now,' he shouted. 'There's no room for passengers on this ship, lad.' Ricky turned away, seething with anger. He was glad of this trip home, and he was glad to work his passage, but there was no need for the little bastard to be so nasty. He entered the engine room and climbed down the ladders to the bottom. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 41.

Chapter 15. Ricky came around slowly. It was dark with a few chinks of light shining through something. His head was splitting, and the sharp needles of light made him shut his eyes again quickly. He looked out from under lowered lids, but couldn't make anything out in the gloom. He sat up and winced at the pain in his head. Chinks of light were coming from around what looked like a door in the far wall. He crawled over to it on hands and knees, and collided with something soft on the floor. It groaned. It was a person. Ricky climbed over it and it snored. He got to the door and opened it. It was a shed door. He held his hand up to his eyes as the sunlight blinded him, and he looked downwards. He was still crawling. He used the side of the shed as a support to raise himself to his feet. Turning unsteadily around, he looked back into the shed and could see Winston, sleeping on the floor on a quilt. It was morning. My God, he thought. What time was it? His watch told him that it was ten forty five. The Consul. He had to be there at eleven. But where was he? The shed he'd slept in was on a hillside surrounded by dwellings which all looked like garden sheds, made up from odd bits of wood and corrugated iron. His head was bursting, but he had to find a taxi, so he staggered down the hillside, feeling like death. Jamaicans were sat outside their huts, laughing at him as he stumbled on, desperate to get to the consul. After ten minutes he came to a built up area and managed to flag down a passing taxi. 'British Consul. Quick,' he croaked. There was something wrong with his throat, he could hardly talk. The taxi driver grinned at him, and put his foot down. It was eleven fifteen when they pulled up outside the Consulate, and Ricky paid the driver and ran into the foyer. The same clerk was behind the desk and Ricky told him his name, which he checked against his list. Ricky had hardly sat down to wait, when the door of the same office that he'd been in the day before opened, and the fair haired man came out. He glared at Ricky and shouted across the foyer, 'Davies, come.' Ricky got up and went into the office. The man stared at him. 'You're late.' he bellowed, and Ricky cringed at the noise. `And look at the state of you,' he continued. `You're worse than you were yesterday, if that's possible.' Ricky looked down at the crumpled state of his clothes, and the alcohol stains that were all over him. He must stink to high heaven, he thought. `Accident,' he managed to say. `Accident , my foot. I smell alcohol, and you're obviously hung over. I'll be glad to see the back of you, Davies, I really will. What a disgusting state to come into the consulate in. You deserve to get no help at all, but as we want to be shot of you as soon as we can, I can confirm that the Shipping Company you worked for has verified your story about missing your ship. They have sent a telegram to your parents, telling them that you are well and where you are. I'm sending you home, laddie. There's a British Tanker sailing tonight and you're going to be on it.' Ricky 's spirits soared. He grinned at the consul. `Wipe that stupid grin off your face, it won't be a picnic. I've told the Captain to put you to work, and work you shall. You've caused untold extra work for us, and the sooner we see the back of you, the better we'll like it.' Ricky was so relieved, he said ` Thank you very much.' The consul picked up the phone. ` Have the car brought round,' he said into the mouthpiece. `That's all Davies,' he said. `Get your gear, if you’ve got any. The driver will take you to the ship.' Ricky turned to go, happy to be on his way. As he was going out of the door, the consul said, `If you miss this ship, you're on your own, Davies. Don't come back here.' The car was waiting outside and Ricky directed him to Betty's house. He went in and Betty came out from the back room to meet him. `Where you been, son? ' she said, a worried look on her face. 'Sorry, Betty,' he said. I met some friends and got a bit carried away. The car's waiting to take me to a ship. I'm on my way home.' `That's good,' she said. 'Thanks a lot, Betty. I'll just get my things and be off.' He ran up the stairs and gathered his few items together. His head was still banging like a drum, but he didn't seem to mind it now. He was going home at last. He raced down the stairs and thanked Betty for all that she’d done for him. He was embarrassed when she took him in a bear hug and told him to look after himself. All the Jamaican money that he had left, he'd put on the bedside cabinet in the room. It wouldn't be any good to him now, and he knew that Betty wouldn't accept it if he offered it to her. She had a tear in her eye as she bade him farewell at the door. He waved to her from the car until she was out of sight. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 40.

Ricky went back through the street market to his digs. His clothes had been washed and ironed and he changed into them. It was nearly dinner time and he washed and combed his hair. He wondered how long the gang in Galveston had waited for him to reappear again, and smiled to himself now that he was safely out of their clutches. The meal was ready and Betty called up the stairs to him. He was the only guest and Betty had spoiled him. There was Jamaica Pepperpot Soup, a thick combination of spinach, pig's tail, garlic and onion, thickened with coconut milk. This was followed by fried fish, with flat hotcakes, smothered in butter. The main course was roast pork with rice and peas, and yams baked in the skins, dripping with butter. After eating this assortment Ricky was stuffed, but Bette insisted he try some fruit as well. He leaned back after his first decent meal in a week and thanked Betty very much. `How long you stayin'?' she asked. `I don't know,' he replied. 'I have to report to the consul tomorrow at eleven. They're trying to send me home to the U.K.' `Why, what you done ?' `My ship sailed without me, so they have to send me back as a Distressed British Seaman.' `Oh, well. You can stay here long as you like. I got plenty of room.' 'Thanks, but I don't know if I've got enough money to stay very long. The consul might give me some money, but he didn't seem to like me very much. I wouldn't like to ask him for any favours.' `You don't need no money here. I'se glad of de company. Since my ol' man died an' me boy got married an' moved out, I been lonely. Never thought I'd miss me ol' man so much. He was a lazy good for nothin,' but it sure is quiet without him.' She busied herself clearing the table. `Can I help.' Ricky said, rising from the table. `Nope, you go out an' enjoy yourself. Dere'll be some dancing down on de beaches tonight. Go find some friends and have some fun.' Ricky thanked her and went out. The market traders were just finishing for the day and packing up their stalls. He went back to the beach where he'd been in the afternoon and sat on a bench. There was a stall selling drinks on the promenade and after a while he crossed to it to get a drink. The names were all written up on a board and were very exotic sounding. He didn't have a clue what any of them were, but there was a noisy group of Jamaicans gathered around the stall and they shouted at him to go for the coconut punch. It sounded good. The glass was filled with a clear liquid and topped off with sprigs of some green stuff, and slices of fruit. It tasted great, just like cool coconut milk. He took it back to the bench and sat down, watching a band setting up their instruments on the beach. They started to play lively dance music and pretty soon a crowd gathered . They shuffled around, dancing in the sand and joining in the songs. Ricky finished his drink and started clapping his hands in time to the music. He felt great. He was relaxed and happy. The world seemed to be a marvellous place, and even the British Consul wasn't such a bad stick after all. If he came along now, Ricky thought, I'd buy him a coconut drink. He went to the stall and bought another drink, dancing the few yards back to the bench. He sat down and giggled! A Jamaican youth of about eighteen sat down alongside him. 'Take it easy on that juice man,' he said. `What, this,' Ricky said, holding the glass up, 'It's coconut water.' The youth laughed. `Yeah, right.' he said, winking. `What's your, name, man.' `Ricky.' He belched. `I'm Winston. You on holiday, Ricky?' 'No, waiting for a ship to go home.' `Right. Hey, there's a dance in town tonight. You want to go?' 'Yeah, why not.' `O.K. Finish up your coconut water,' he said, grinning all over his face. Ricky emptied the glass. ` Wow, that was good,' he said, sucking the last few drops out. They walked back into the town, Winston chattering away for all he was worth. Ricky was happy to answer his questions about his home town and the lifestyle they had. Winston wanted to go to the U.K. one day and find work, as he thought it was the land of opportunity. Lots of his family had settled in London, working in the hospitals, and on public transport. The club that Winston took him to was in a side street and it was humming with life inside. A reggae band was playing and the dance floor crowded with couples swaying and shuffling around, holding each other tight. Ricky felt great. He started swaying to the music as he got in the mood. Winston shouted in his ear, `You want another coconut water ?' Ricky nodded and gave him the thumbs up. He loved coconut water. Winston gave him the glass of fruit cocktail and he took a long swig. It was hot in the small club, and the smoke was making his eyes water, but Ricky didn't care, he was enjoying himself. The atmosphere was fantastic, with everyone having a great time, laughing and joking with each other. One of Winston's friends came over and was introduced to Ricky as Earl. Earl was a big man of about twenty and he insisted they join him at his table. There were two Jamaican girls on the table, called Doris and Evie. Earl got a round of drinks in and Evie got Ricky up to dance. He tried to protest that he didn't know how to dance, but she got him up anyway, and showed him how to sway around the floor, holding her with both his arms around her waist. She was a tiny little girl, the top of her head just coming up to his shoulder, but she was a marvellous dancer. He felt a little dizzy after a while, but it passed, and he felt better. When they got back to the table, there was another coconut water waiting for him, and he thanked Earl and drank thirstily. Ricky sat down heavily ! His legs felt weak and the room was swaying a little. Winston looked at him, grinning all over his face. ` You alright, Rick?' He asked. Ricky's head lolled to one side. ` Yeah. Fine.' He hiccupped! Earl laughed. `Too much coconut water, man.' he said. Ricky tried to focus on his face and found that the image kept coming and going. He blinked and Earl's face was in focus again. Ricky laughed.`How did you do that,' he said to Earl, and they all roared with laughter. The music got faster and louder, as the band went into a fast jazz number. People were dancing furiously, jumping and gyrating, the men swinging the girls around with their skirts billowing out and their bare brown legs flashing. Ricky jumped up and grabbed Doris. ` Come on, Doris,' he yelled above the noise. ` Let's go.' He was caught up in the mad excitement of the moment and Doris went along with him to the great amusement of the others. Ricky whirled and danced around Doris, copying the dance he'd seen at the party in Port Arthur, all those weeks ago. She loved it. She was laughing and keeping up with his movements, clapping her hands and shouting, `Yeah, yeah. Go, go Ricky,' and swirling her skirt around with her hip movements. He felt marvellous. He'd come alive, and he danced like a madman, inspiration coming from he knew not where. All he knew was that it was so easy to dance free and uninhibited, and he made the most of it. People were stopping what they were doing to watch him, and laughing at his frantic movements. It was great fun, and when the music stopped, the dancers went back to their tables, sweating and panting for breath. Ricky collapsed into the chair, and drained his drink, as the others clapped him on the back and applauded his dancing. Winston put another drink down in front of him and he raised the glass and drained it in one. `My shout,' he said and tried to get to his feet, but his legs weren't working properly, and he sank back into the chair. `Sit down,' Earl shouted. ` Fred Astaire don't buy drinks !' And he went to the bar and came back with more coconut water. ‘Thanksh,' Ricky slurred. `Cheers,' Earl said, and they all raised their glasses and drank. `Ish good. Thish stuff.' Ricky said, holding the glass up. The others roared, finding Ricky's drunken state hilarious. He laughed along with them, not knowing what the joke was. The four Jamaicans got up to dance and Ricky watched them on the floor, having a good time. He was feeling dizzy again and the heat was making him feel sick. He tried to get up from the chair, but he staggered sideways and fell, knocking the drinks off the table which smashed to bits on the floor alongside him, drenching him in alcohol. The last thing he remembered before passing out, was that he had to get up again, but he couldn't. Copyright Deric Barry. 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 39.

Chapter 14. The Jamaicans were ecstatically happy as they trooped down the gangway to make their way to their homes. Ricky watched them go. They had been great fun to be with, and he had shaken hands with all of them as they left the ship. Immigration officials and a representative from the sunken ship's owners had come aboard when the cattle boat had docked. They had told the crew to be ready to be called on if necessary at the enquiry in Cuba. In the meantime they were free to go. As for Ricky, he would have to see the British Consul in the morning. He would stay aboard the boat for the night and would be sent for when the Consul was ready to see him.He went back to his bed of straw for another night. This time with only the pigs for company. They hardly smelled at all now. He was up quite early in the morning, and leaned on the guardrail looking at the view. It was a beautiful island, rich in tropical vegetation, brilliantly coloured flowering shrubs, bougainvillea, oleander and shower of gold, and many varieties of multicoloured birds and parrots. He could see some large low buildings in the near distance and some cylindrical oit tanks further on. Fields of vegetables and orchards of fruits stretched to the foot of some sharply rising hills in the background, where villas and large houses were partly hidden in the lush palm trees and foliage. To the left around the curve of the bay were the distant buildings of the city, reflecting the strong rays of the sun. It was a beautiful setting, the city nestling at the water's edge in a natural bowl, formed by the hills rising around it. At eleven o'clock a car pulled up at the ship and a Jamaican driver came aboard. The Captain talked to him then called Ricky over. ` Dis driver will take you to de consul.' he said. Ricky thanked the Captain, and followed the driver to the car. He set off towards the city, past the industrial sites, then through the suburbs, past the railway station and into the residential area. They drove slowly through the crowded streets of Montego City, where throngs of people jostled each other in the crowded markets. Huge varieties of fruits and vegetables, bread, cakes, and meats were on sale. Clothing, hardware, electrical, mechanical and handicraft stalls all vied for business. The driver sounded his horn constantly, creeping through the throngs of people who grinned at him and waved. He pulled up outside a white colonial style building, and told Ricky to go inside. There was a desk with a Jamaican behind it in the foyer, and Ricky approached it nervously. `I've got to see the Consul.' he said. `Name, please sir.' `Ricky, er Richard Davies.' The clerk looked at a list of names in front of him. `Yes, Sir. Please take a seat.' He indicated the easy chairs scattered around, and picked up the phone. Ricky sat in one of the chairs and waited. Half an hour later a tall, fair haired young man of about twenty five approached him. `Davies?' he asked. 'Er, yes.' The young man grimaced. 'Pooh, you stink.' Ricky flushed. ‘Yes, it was a cattle boat, you see,' he started to say... `Come!' the man said, putting his handkerchief up to his nose. Ricky followed him in to an office. It was quite spartan, with only the desk and one chair behind, and one in front of it. The man sat behind the desk. Ricky was about to take the chair in front when the man barked, `Don't sit. You've already dirtied one of the easy chairs.' He put a printed form on the desk in front of Ricky. `Fill that in.' he said. Ricky took the pen and filled in his details. When he'd finished, the man took the form and read through it, then threw it to one side. `Why did you stow away on the Jamaican ship ?' he shouted. Ricky was startled. `I, I wanted to get home to Wales,' he stuttered.'It was not going to Wales, it was going to Jamaica.' 'I didn't know that.' 'You should have made sure before you committed a criminal act and stowed away on a ship.' he shouted. `Why did you stow away, did you not have a return ticket ?' `No, I didn't. I was stranded when my ship sailed without me.' ‘What ship?' `The Llanerin. She was in Port Arthur.' `Why did you not go to the consulate. He would have sent you home D.B.S.' `D.B.S? What's that?' Ricky asked. `Distressed British Seaman. We have to do it all the time for drunken British Seamen like yourself,' he glowered. `Because of your behaviour, the British Merchant Navy is despised in every country in the World. You're animals, and a cattle boat is where you belong. If I had my way I would send you home in a cattle boat.' He threw some paper across the desk. 'I want a full report. The name of the ship you were on, the owners, the Captain, your reason, or excuse for missing it, and your home address and next of kin.' He bellowed, `Now write.' Ricky's hand was shaking as he wrote. D.B.S.He'd never heard of that. He could have gone to the consulate in Port Arthur and been put on another vessel going to the U.K . He'd gone through all this running, hiding, subterfuge, lying, getting shot at, for nothing. What a nightmare. He put down as much as he dared, giving his reason for ending up at Corpus Christie as flight from the police, who he thought would lock him up as an illegal immigrant. When he'd finished he handed it to the blonde man. He read it through and grunted. 'Well, at least you've admitted you were drunk and missed your ship.' he said. `Now I have to telegraph U.K. and check out your story with the shipowners. Have you any money?' `Yes, about thirty dollars.' `Then I suggest you get a room for tonight at one of the guest houses. They are cheap and clean. Have a bath and launder your clothes and be back here tomorrow at eleven.' He waved his hands in a dismissive movement, 'Shoo.' he said. Ricky walked out, seething. The bastard, he thought to himself. Snobbish, hoity toity bastard. If he's like that tomorrow, I'll punch his toffee nosed head for him. Outside, the sun on his body, and the thought of going home soon restored his sense of humour, and he went in search of a guest house. There was a row of houses in one of the side streets with vacancy notices in the front windows, and he knocked on the door of the first one. A large, round, black lady answered his knock, and to his request for a room, she grinned and opened the door wide. 'Come in, man.' she said. She showed him the room, a spotlessly clean, bright bedroom. It was perfect. The lady looked him up and down. 'You been working on de farm, man ?' `Cattle boat,' he answered. `Whee,' she said. `You'se best give me dem clothes, and I'll wash dem for you. Wait here a minute.' And she disappeared to reappear with a shirt and some trousers, socks and underwear, all beautifully clean and ironed. `Dese is my son's ' she said. ` He don't live here now, but you can borrow dem.' `Thank's very much.' Ricky said. `Now, you get changed. Have a shower first, it's right across the hall. Then you call me, and I'll wash your stuff. Just holler, Betty, when you'se done.' `O.K. Betty, thanks a lot.' Betty rolled out of the room, her great hips swaying. The shower was marvellous. Ricky stayed under for a long time, luxuriating in the sweet smelling soap, and the hot water which washed the stink of the pigs off him. He dressed in the clean clothes, which were baggy on him but clean, and he felt miles better. Betty came up the stairs when he called down and she gathered up his dirty clothes. ` Dey'll be dry and ironed by tonight.' she said. `An de front door is always open. Just come an’ go when you like. We eats at seven o'clock, so don't be late.' Ricky went out into the sunshine. He walked through the crowds in the market, smelling the flowers and fruits that were on offer. It was good to be clean again. He offered a stallholder an American dollar for some fruit, but she said, ' No, we take only Jamaican money. You must change it in de bank.' There was a bank in the next street, so he changed the thirty dollars he'd got from the skipper of the fishing boat, and went back to the market for his fruit. He walked past the library and the Coral Theatre, and along Gloucester Avenue to the beach. There was a steel band playing on the beach, the men dressed in colourful shirts and trousers, playing on cut down oil drums, each section of the drum top beaten out to produce a different note. The sound was fantastic, and people were dancing and swaying to the lilting music. Ricky sat on a bench and ate his fruit, watching the happy people on the beach. There was an open air bar under a thatched roof, and people were sat on the stools around it drinking from tall glasses decorated with fruit. Two poles had been set up with a long stick separating them about three feet off the ground, and some tourists, pink from the sun, were taking turns, trying to get under the stick in a Limbo dance. They were falling flat on their backs in the sand, until one of them mastered it, and the attendant lowered the stick another six inches. They shouted in glee, as the one who had done it, tried again and fell over backwards. The Jamaicans loved it and were hooting with laughter at the antics. The tourists made the attendant do it himself to show them how it was done, and he lowered the stick to one foot off the ground ! They all clapped in time to the music as he slid his body under the bar without touching it. A great shout went up as he completed it and he leapt to his feet, dancing around, singing ` Limbo, Limbo, get de Limbo beat.' Further on there were some boys playing cricket on the hard packed sand near the water's edge, so Ricky walked on a bit to watch. They were as keen as the men on the cattle boat had been, every stroke played with great concentration, and every ball bowled with ferocious determination. When the ball was knocked into the sea, three of the players would run and dive in after it, splashing around and having great fun in the breakers. People were swimming out to the larger breakers on flat boards, and standing on them when a big wave came along, riding the surf back into the beach. They were expert, riding up and down the huge breaker as it approached the shore and tumbling off the board into the shallows, before the wave dissipated it's power on the white beach. Ricky watched them for a long time, laughing at the antics of some learners who came along. They spent more time under the water than on top of it. It was obviously exhausting, as they tried three or four times to get up on the board, then lay on the beach recovering. He turned away eventually and walked back to the town. There were some really beautiful old buildings dating back to the late 1700's and early 1800's, and he stood in Charles Square looking around him. An old Jamaican man came up to him. ` Dey's beautiful old buildings, aint dey? ' `Yes, magnificent.' `Dat one over dere,' he pointed to a magnificent building. `He de Old Court House. Dat where hundreds of black slaves wuz sentenced to hangin' in 1832. Dey mutineed against de bosses. Dat building opposite, dat de Cage, which was de jail for de slaves. Dis whole place is a shrine to the hundreds of slaves who died in the uprisin', an' a memorial to the great Samuel Sharp who preached that all men is equal. He raised his eyes to the sky and shouted, 'Hallelujia,' before shuffling off, muttering 'De bad old days, ' and shaking his grizzled old head.

Innocent on the run. Part 38

Ricky ran to the dockside and to his great relief saw that the ship was still tied to the quayside. The only problem now was to get back aboard without the guard stopping him. He waited behind some packing cases trying to work out how to slip back aboard past the guard when a large box van pulled up at the gangway. The driver got out and opened the rear doors. ‘Muchachos,’ he shouted up to some crew members leaning over the side. ‘Por Favor.’ The crew trooped down the gangway and started unloading boxes from the van and carrying them aboard. Ricky slipped out from behind the crates, slid a box out of the van and carried it aboard. **** One week later, they were still confined to the ship in Havana. Most of the survivors had settled down into a routine. The time passed quickly if there was a little work to do, and Ricky had joined the crew of the freighter in painting the ship. The cargo was being unloaded and would take only another day, then they would start loading cargo for the return trip to Mexico. Ricky had asked the Mate if he could help in the painting, when he had got so bored that he felt like screaming. The Bosun had found some overalls for him and he had started on the superstructure. To go on the quay was out of the question as the guard was still at the bottom of the gangway. Ricky mixed with the crew at mealtimes and tried to learn a few words of Spanish. One of the crew could speak some English so they got along quite well. On the ninth day alongside the quay, they got the news that they'd all been waiting for. There was a ship sailing that night for Montego Bay in Jamaica, and they were all going on her. Everyone's spirits soared and the Jamaicans were in great humour, laughing and joking with everyone. Ricky had been with them so long now, that they treated him as one of them, and he was caught up in their enthusiasm. It was a very light hearted crew who filed down the gangway that evening, to board the bus that had been provided for them. The Spanish crew waved them off after they had all said their goodbyes, shaking everyone's hand as they left the ship. One of the Jamaicans started singing a calypso called, 'Time for man go home, ' and the others joined in, singing it all the way through the docks, to the ship that would take them to Jamaica. The bus pulled up at a large, smelly cattle boat that was resounding with the noise of pigs and cows. They filed on board and Ricky held his nose as the stench from the cattle pens assailed his nostrils. It was dreadful. The Captain came out on the wing of the bridge and shouted down at them to go inside, as they wanted to cast off. The smell of the animals was everywhere, a thick, cloying aroma that permeated every nook and cranny of the ship. It didn't worry the Jamaicans, but Ricky felt quite sick. They found the messroom and sat down to wait. The ship started getting under way, and after a few minutes the engine speed increased. The conditions inside the ship were terrible. The messroom looked as though it had never seen a mop or brush. Filth was ingrained in the deck and bulkheads, the furniture was battered, and stained from countless amounts of spilled food and drinks. A boiler for tea and coffee making was begrimed from being handled by very dirty hands, stained and blackened, with the piece of old oilcloth it was stood on, cracked and broken. Dirty and chipped mugs were scattered around, milk was spilled and left to harden in rings, and a bowl of sugar was lumpy and discoloured from numbers of wet spoons being left in it. Cockroaches scattered as people walked near them, scurrying back to their damp and dark dwellings, to hide before venturing forth again when the coast was clear, to suck at the sugar and partly eaten fruit that had been dropped on the floor and table tops. It was disgusting. Ricky stood rather than sit amongst this debris, holding his bag off the floor. The Captain of the cattle boat came in after a while, and told them that they would be four days on passage to Montego Bay. At the sound of the Jamaican port, a cheer went up from the survivors. They were very happy to be going home. The Captain grinned, exposing a huge mouthful of startlingly white teeth. He was a small round man with a black, cherubic face. ‘De boat look big,' he said. 'But most of it is for de livestock, so you have to sleep where you can find room. Of course, dere's plenty of room in de cattle holds, if you don't mind sleeping on straw.' He laughed, and his face split into a wide grin. `We had a complaint last trip, when a man slept with de pigs, that de smell was bad. It was de pigs what complained, man.' He roared with laughter, and the Jamaicans joined in. It was a huge joke, and they fell about, tears streaming down their faces. `Help yourself to the food and drinks,' he said and left them to return to the bridge. Ricky went exploring the ship to see if he could find a place to sleep that was not covered in filth. The passageways and ladders were encrusted with dirt, and he was reluctant to touch the handrails. There was no lounge that he could find, and after ten minutes of looking for a place, he gave up and went back to the messroom. One of the Jamaicans had been searching the boat as well and he came back and told them that he'd found a good place to sleep. A crowd, including Ricky, followed him and he led them down a deck and through a door. It opened out into a hold and there were pigs penned off at one end. The rest of the hold was free and there were plenty of bales of straw lining the bulkheads, so the men started laying it out on the floor, and laying down in it. Ricky did the same. There was no alternative. It was either suffer the unspeakable filth of the mess room or sleep in the straw, and the straw was much cleaner. Someone started singing calypsos, and the others joined in the choruses. They could make up songs about any subject that was named, and they had a great time singing about home, and bananas, ships and love. They eventually quietened down, as one by one the singers tailed off and slept. During the night Ricky was awakened by some tiny insects biting him, and he lay there slapping various parts of his body, until he fell asleep again. In the morning his legs and arms were covered in little red bites, from the fleas that had infested the straw. He ran to the bathroom and ran a shower, but all that came out was a trickle of rusty water, so he had to dress again, still dirty. Breakfast was some fruit that had been dumped on a table in the messroom. Ricky grabbed a Banana, an orange and a slice of melon, before they were all snatched by the Jamaicans. He took them up on deck to eat them as the smell below was dreadful. Not only was the odour from the ship bad, but twenty five unwashed bodies crowded into the mess room had their own aroma. The breeze was very welcome, as it was fresh air and also cooled the body a little. Though it was still early morning the sun was hot. Later in the day he would not be able to stay out in it for very long. The sea was as calm as a mill pond, the sun's rays beating down from a cloudless blue sky, heating the decks and sending small clouds of water vapour up as a fine mist. Ricky sat on a fairly clean part of the deck with his back against the superstructure, and ate his breakfast. He wondered if at last he was on the start of his homeward trip. It seemed like he'd been away for years. He was certainly more mature than when he'd left home a young, inexperienced boy. The experiences he'd gained and the situations he had found himself in, in the past two months, had done more to make him grow up, than years at home would have done. He'd had to think for himself, form his own judgements, and act on them, as well as to discipline himself to obey orders. He dozed off in the hot sun and woke with a start, as someone kicked his foot. `Come on, man,' one of the Jamaicans called as he went down the ladder to the deck. `We'se playing cricket.' They had chalked some stumps on the bulkhead and half a dozen of them were fielding, while one used a stick as a bat and another bowled a tennis ball at him. Ricky fielded out, and joined in the shouting when the fielders thought the man had been bowled out. The pitch was across the ship and people were perched on handrails and stood in the cattle pens as fielders. The cows looked at them impassively and continued chewing, while the fielders rustled around in the straw to find the ball. One of them had the others in stitches when he grabbed a handful of cowdung, when looking for the ball. They fell about laughing at his horror stricken face, as the dung dripped off his fingers. He wiped them in his trousers! There was nearly a calamity when Ricky, who was sat on the hand rails, leaned backwards to catch the ball and nearly fell over the side. One of the others alongside him caught him by the legs and two more rushed over to pull him back inboard. They all roared. They thought it was hilarious. Ricky was shaken for a while but the Jamaicans' sense of fun soon restored his spirits. `Hey, man,' one shouted ` Dat's no way to take a bath.' They played until lunchtime when one of the other Jamaicans came out to call them in to eat. It was rice and cold ham, cut into cubes, and one had to be quick to get a share, as it was placed in the middle of the table. The routine was to grab a plate and spoon, and dig into the bowls of food before someone pushed you out of the way to get his share. It was chaos, but done in good humour and high spirits. After washing his plate and spoon in the bucket of water provided, Ricky went back on deck. There was very little for them to do on board, so he followed the example of the others and sat in the shade, dozing. Once the sun had lost some of its power in the late afternoon, the men got the bat and ball out again and resumed the game of cricket. They were fanatical about the game, and not only knew the names of all the West Indian team, but also the English, Indian, Australian and South African teams. The game was, that if you got the batsman out, then you took over as batsman, and there were some hotly contested decisions, as the enthusiasm of the players wanting to bat, gave rise to some doubtful calls. Ricky caught a man out , so it was his turn in to bat, and he made such a wild swing at the first ball that three of the fielders grouped around him giving him advice on how to play defensively. They taught him the forward defensive movement, taking a step forward with the bat straight and the left elbow up in the air, and the rear defensive movement, swaying backwards on to your heel, covering your wickets, again with the bat straight up and down. They showed him the wrist movements to control the bat, deflecting the ball to either side neatly, and how to step out to meet a short ball and hook it for a boundary. They were very keen, and had been taught from a very early age how to play the game properly. Even with a piece of wood as a bat, and a tennis ball, their concentration when taking a stroke was absolute. The game ended when it got too dark to see properly, and they trooped in to the mess to get the fruit that had been left out for them. Once their supper had been eaten it was time to turn in again, and Ricky went back to the hold and lay in his bed of straw. He was getting used to the smell of the pigs by now, as it didn't seem to be quite so bad as it had been. The straw was comfortable enough, and he wasn't bothered by the fleas that night. Maybe they recognised a kindred spirit? He slept well after all the fresh air during the day. The following day passed very much the same as the previous one had, dozing and playing cricket. The food was exactly the same. On the third day they turned South into the Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola, and headed Southwesterly around the southernmost tip of Cuba , making for Jamaica. The constant breeze was beautiful, and Ricky spent hours in the bows, breathing in the fragrant perfumes brought on the wind, breaking off only to eat. The Jamaicans also were spending their time looking out towards the horizon, waiting to get a first glimpse of their homeland. It was only with reluctance that they turned in that night, hoping that in the morning the beautiful island of Jamaica would be there in view before them. They were not disappointed, and at first light they were up on deck dancing with excitement at seeing their island off the port side. The ship was steaming well within sight of land and throughout the day they were able to name the towns and bays that they passed. Buff Bay, Port Maria, St. Ann's Bay, Salem, Falmouth. The coastline was very beautiful, with the lush green of the vegetation contrasting with the azure of the sea. Sugar cane, coconuts, bananas and citrus fruits were in great profusion along the coastline, standing back from the perfect white beaches. They sang songs and calypsos about Jamaica, until finally in the late evening they rounded the point at Donald Sangster International Airport, and steamed into Montego Bay. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 37.

The brandy had gone to Ricky's head and he felt a sensation of floating about a foot above the ground. He grinned hugely, overjoyed to be walking arm in arm with a beautiful older woman. Her scent was intoxicating and one of her breasts was pressing against his arm. He felt wonderful. Maria led him out onto the main boulevard and they walked through the throng of people happy in the company of each other. Maria was singing a Spanish love song and the young lad glided along as if on the crest of a wave. He loved the world, he loved Maria and he loved every person who passed, grinning at them all as if he’d known them for years. He had no idea where they were going and he didn’t much care! As long as he was with Maria he would go to the ends of the earth and back. She steered him up a side street and through an alleyway to a block of flats. Maria’s flat was on the second floor and she opened the door and led him in. The flat was beautifully clean, the floor polished to a high gloss, the covers on the settee newly washed and ironed. Pictures of Jesus Christ and the Madonna decorated the walls, and ornaments of Jesus bowed down under the weight of the cross as he dragged it through the streets stood on the mantelshelf and sideboard. Maria threw her purse on the table and went through to the kitchen. Ricky heard drinks being poured into glasses and ice being broken from the mould, tinkling into the glasses.  She reappeared carrying two glasses and gave on of them to Ricky. Holding her drink up to him she said, ‘Salud.’ ‘Cheers,’ Ricky answered and took a drink. It was delicious. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Cuba Libre, Rum and coca cola.’ ‘Mmmm, its lovely.'Caribbean Rum Tasting (Google Affiliate Ad) He took another sip. She indicated the settee. ‘Sit, please, Ricardo.’ Ricardo! He swelled with pride. Ricardo! Better than Ricky any day. He sat on the settee and Maria snuggled up to him. She held his hand. Her hair was brushing his face as she had leaned her head on his shoulder. He drank to hide his confusion. He was getting hot, sweat breaking out on his brow and he could feel the hot blood in his face as he looked down and saw the front of her blouse sagging open, almost exposing the perfectly formed and slightly heaving breasts. She sang softly in Spanish. He said, ‘You are beautiful,’ in a slightly drunken slur, and she giggled. She raised his hand and placed it on her naked breast, raised her face to his and kissed him on the lips. ‘Ricardo is beautiful,’ she whispered. Her other hand came across his front and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers played up and down his body, feeling the muscles of his stomach. She felt the money belt. ‘What is?’ she asked. ‘Oh, ah, valuables. Seaman’s book, passport,’ he babbled. She pushed his shirt back and kissed him on the chest. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a thrill of ecstasy shivered up his spine. ‘Come,’ she said getting up from the settee and pulling him to his feet. She took him into the bathroom and started the shower running. He watched in amazement as she started taking her clothes off. When she was naked she stood in front of him. Her breasts were beautiful with large brown nipples, her waist narrow and her belly curving downwards to two long, shapely legs. She was gorgeous! ‘You like?’ she asked. ‘I love,’ he answered. She crossed to him and started undressing him, dropping his clothes and money belt on the floor. When he was naked she led him into the shower and started soaping him down with sweet smelling soap. She gave him the soap and he did the same for her, marvelling at the way her beautiful breasts wobbled. They stood under the jet of stinging water, locked together, kissing until they were breathless. Maria turned the water off and reached for some towels. Wrapping one around herself she dried Ricky off and led him to the bedroom. She threw the covers off the double bed and lay down, opening her arms wide to him. ‘Ricardo,’ she whispered. The eager young lad nearly dived into the bed. She slowed him down by whispering soft noises in his ear, cooing to him and gently stroking him. Then, when he thought that he would explode and disgrace himself, she gently guided him into her and gave him his first lesson in lovemaking. Afterwards he collapsed, exhausted on top of her, and she ran her fingers up and down his spine, stroking, tickling, massaging, kissing his face and ears tenderly until he felt himself once again responding. She was magnificent, slowly and gently making love until, with sweat pouring out of the both of them the pace quickened, their breathing became faster and faster until at the crescendo she cried out long and low, her heels drumming on the mattress, her arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly against her. He collapsed exhausted again. Ricky awoke with a start. For a second he panicked, not knowing where he was. Then it all came back to him and he stretched luxuriously and yawned. Maria was at his side sleeping peacefully. The bedside clock told him that the time was 0750 hours and he realised with a sudden shock that he had to get back to the ship in case they found a vessel to take the shipwrecked mariners to Jamaica, and he would be stranded once again in a strange country. He jumped out of bed and raced into the bathroom, found his clothes and hurriedly started dressing. He was putting his boots on when Maria appeared in the doorway rubbing her eyes. ‘What you do?’ she asked sleepily. ‘I have to get back to the ship, Maria. She may sail without me.’ ‘Stay with Maria,’ she pouted. ‘I’d love to, but I must get back.’ He hopped on one foot, pulling his boot on. ‘Why you no love Maria?’ ‘I do love you, Maria. I think you’re wonderful.’ He fished inside his shirt and took out a note. It was a hundred dollar bill. He held it out to her. ‘Look, Maria, buy yourself something.’ She looked at the banknote and flushed scarlet. Her eyes blazed and she knocked his hand away. ‘You think Maria a bad girl? You think you have to pay? She snarled, anger contorting her beautiful face into a mask of hatred. ‘No, Maria, no. But I want you to have a present.’ ‘You think Maria a whore? she screamed. ‘A whore.’ She raised her hand to slap his face. ‘Out ,’ she yelled. ‘Out of my house, bastardo.’ She swung at his head but he ducked and she missed. Her head swung around looking for a weapon. Grabbing her hairbrush she lunged at him and slammed the brush down on his head. ‘Bastardo,’ she screamed. ‘Get out. Get out!’ And she lambasted him as he dashed for the door. ‘Maria, please,’ he shouted, covering his head with one arm, trying to unlock the door with the other. She continued slamming the brush down on his head and arm. ‘Maria not whore,’ she yelled. ‘Maria good girl. Out, out bastardo.’ The door opened at last and Ricky leaped into the passageway. Maria’s foot caught him in the backside and he limped to the stairwell with the furious girl still pursuing him, raining blows on him and screaming hysterically. He leapt down the stairs and ran for his life! In the alleyway he slowed to a walk and found that he was still clutching the hundred dollar bill in his hand. He thrust it back in the belt. Christ, she’d been furious, he thought. What a change in a woman. One minute tender and loving, the next a spitting hell-cat. He shivered. What a temper. He grinned to himself; then laughed out loud! She was magnificent. It had been well worth a few bruises. She had made a man of him. Now he was a real sailor. He turned back to face the block of flats. Maria was nowhere in sight but he waved to her anyway. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 36.

Chapter 13. Ricky searched the lounge in panic, but the holdall was nowhere to be found. One of the Jamaicans sat up on the floor and said, `What you doin' man?' 'My holdall's gone from the cupboard. Did you see who took it ?' ‘De steward came in earlier and was cleanin' dat cupboard out. Maybe he took it.' Ricky dashed out of the lounge and down to the mess room. The Steward was just putting his cleaning things away. `My holdall,' Ricky shouted. ` It was in the cupboard.' The Steward shrugged his shoulders, not understanding English. Ricky opened a cupboard in the mess room and mimed picking up a case in his hand. 'Ah,' the Steward said, and mimed throwing something. Ricky looked at him in horror. `Thrown away.' he shouted. 'Si. Trash.' and he pointed through the porthole. Ricky ran to the porthole and looked out. There was a rubbish container on the quay. Thank God. He dashed outside and looked over the side into the container. There it was. Along with a load of other rubbish including the junk that had been in the cupboard. But the Cubans had placed an armed guard at the bottom of the gangway to make sure none of the Jamaicans went ashore. Ricky looked around for something to use as rubbish and picked up a cardboard box that was on deck. He carried it down the gangway, hoping that the guard didn't know he was with the survivors, and he walked past him with his heart thumping and his stomach in a knot. The guard was leaning on the gangway smoking a cigarette, and Ricky, remembering the Spanish that Doc had used, said `Bueno Noches,' as he passed him. The guard grunted. At the skip a dirty and dishevelled tramp was standing in the rubbish at the far end, rooting through the junk for anything of value. Ricky climbed up on the side and threw the box in, grabbing his holdall and pulling it out from under some kitchen refuse. It stank. The tramp looked up as the holdall was pulled free and, with a roar of rage, he dropped the rubbish he was holding and tried to run towards Ricky, shouting, ‘Mio, Mio!’ The lad turned away from the furious tramp whose arms were reaching out to grab him, and fled. Thoughts raced around in his mind. If he ran aboard, the tramp would follow him and catch him. The guard wouldn’t stop him as he was standing with his hands on his hips laughing uproariously at them. It was entertainment to him. Ricky dashed across the quayside and out into the roadway, dodging cars and buses, the tramp in hot pursuit. He made it safely to the pavement on the far side and raced through the crowds of people, pushing and shoving, barging into people, scattering them out of his path in his haste to escape the clutches of the furious tramp who was shouting, ‘Alto, Alto.’ Spying a department store on his left, the lad dashed into the shop and mingled with the crowd of shoppers. Luckily the shop was crowded and he made his way to the far end of the ground floor. He waited behind a large pot plant and peered out from the foliage. The tramp was nowhere in sight. After waiting five minutes he came out from behind the plant and made his way to the side entrance of the shop. He walked out and was about to step off the kerb to cross the road when he spotted the tramp on the corner, looking around him. He dashed back into the shop without being spotted and watched the tramp through the window. He was mouthing something to himself, turning his head slowly from left to right. With a gesture of disgust the tramp finally gave up and crossed the road to the skip. Ricky watched him until he was out of sight then walked out of the shop and turned left, away from the dockside. He would have to lay low until the tramp gave up searching the rubbish skip. The street that he was in was narrow with tall buildings on either side. A few cafes and bars were doing good business, laughter and loud music coming from the open doorways. Ricky wandered on, clutching his bag. He glanced quickly inside the bag and found that the money was still there so he took some bills out and shoved them in his pocket. It would be best if he got rid of the bag, he thought. It was too conspicuous and also awkward to carry. Another worry was that he could get mugged at any time. There were some desperate looking characters in the streets. The brightly lit shops were crowded with Cubans and Ricky looked into a lot of shop windows before finding what he was looking for. It was a shop selling leather goods. He went in and inspected the range of leather belts on display. Some were thick leather with enormous buckles, others interwoven with leather strips and others fancily decorated with coloured beads. There were plain leather ones and others with intricate tooled designs. He eventually found what he wanted. A soft leather body belt with pockets sewn into it, big enough to conceal banknotes yet slim enough to go undetected under a shirt. He picked it out and paid for it at the counter. There was a bar next door, crowded and noisy and the lad went in and crossed the floor to the door with the figure of a man painted on it. The toilet stank with a breath-catching rawness, and he nearly gagged on the stench as he locked the door and transferred the money from the bag to the body belt, lining up the notes neatly before sliding them into the pockets. He tightened the belt around him and tucked his shirt in, before threading his way back through the bar and out into the street. The fresh air outside was like nectar and he gulped it down into his lungs gratefully. In a side alley up the street he threw the bag into a pile of rubbish awaiting collection. At a loss to know what to do to kill time, he wandered back the way he’d come and walked among the crowds on the main thoroughfare. The Cubans were a very happy crowd, nearly everyone smiling and talking to their friends as they walked. At a road junction, Ricky turned left again and walked up a wide avenue. The road had been pedestrianised and was decorated with palm trees and flowerbeds. Wooden bench seats lined the walkways through the sweet smelling flowers and people were sitting talking, laughing, some of them animatedly waving their arms about and gesticulating to get their point of view across.The cafes were full of people, the waitresses moving quickly around the pavement tables taking orders. There was a rich aroma of coffee and cigars in the air. Ricky sat at a vacant table and looked around. Most of the men were smoking large, thick cigars, blowing out clouds of thick, grey smoke. The waitress came to Ricky’s table and started speaking in Spanish. ‘Sorry,’ he answered. ‘I’m English. Well, Welsh, actually.’ ‘Ah,’ she exclaimed. ‘I spik inglis good.’ Ricky felt very relieved. ‘Oh, great! I’ll have some coffee, please.’ ‘OK. Coffee, cognac?’ He would have agreed with anything she suggested. ‘Yes, please.’ She scribbled on her pad and Ricky watched her as she wrote. She was beautiful with shoulder length raven hair, flawless pale skin, ruby red lips which were smiling at him in amusement, displaying perfectly white, even teeth. Her wicked, jet black eyes flashed with laughter as Ricky caught himself staring at her with his mouth open. He flushed scarlet as she laughed and turned away. Her blouse was cut very low and she forced her bosom out in front of her, tightening the thin white cotton material to breaking point. The tight, black skirt stretched across her hips and thighs rustled as she moved away and Ricky’s eyes followed her all the way into the café. She returned with a tray loaded with coffee a cup and saucer, cream and sugar  and a small glass of amber coloured liquid. She placed them on the table and sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘You are on vacation?’ she asked. ‘No. I’m on a ship in the port.’ ‘Ah! Sailor man. I like sailor mans.’ A man came out of the café, a dark, swarthy individual with a pock-marked face and a white apron tied around his waist. He called out to the waitress, ‘Maria, Maria!’ then followed her name with a staccato burst of Spanish. The girl with Ricky turned to him and shouted back at him in fast Spanish and he glared at her before turning back into the café. ‘He’s your husband is he?’ She burst out laughing. ‘That pig? No, but he want my body.’ She spat on the floor. ‘I tell him I kill him first.’ She raised her hand to her throat and made a cutting sign across it. Ricky took a drink from the glass in front of him. Immediately tears sprang into his eyes and he started coughing as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. Maria was convulsed with laughter as she got up and slapped him on the back. He croaked, ‘What is it?’ ‘Cognac. Brandy. It go with coffee.’ He sipped the coffee. ‘Wow!’ he said wiping his eyes. Maria picked up his glass. ‘Drink Cognac in one go, like so.’ She put the glass to her mouth and mimed throwing it down her throat in one movement. ‘Oh, right. Let’s try that then.’ He picked up the glass and shot the liquid down his throat. ‘Not bad,’ he whispered throatily as again, Maria roared with laughter. She stood up and picked up the glass. ‘I get you more,’ she said as she went across to the café. Ricky sipped the coffee, soothing his burning throat. Maria came out of the café shouting something over her shoulder at the owner. ‘He pig!’ she said, sitting down. ‘What you name?’ ‘Rick.’ ‘I Maria.’ ‘Yes.’ He agreed. She was much older than him, probably in her mid twenties, he thought. ‘How old you?’ ‘Eighteen,’ he lied and she nodded in acceptance. He had grown in height and filled out bodily since the start of the trip so he could easily be taken for eighteen. His tan had helped to age him also. ‘You come shore alone?’ she asked. ‘Yes, none of my friends could get away. They’re all on duty.’ ‘Oh, poor boy.’ She made her lips pout. ‘Maria cheer you up, yes?’ ‘Yes, please,’ he answered eagerly. ‘Drink up, then,’ she coaxed, and the lad took the glass and threw the contents down in one swallow. She clapped her hands in glee when he didn’t choke this time. ‘Good, good,’ she encouraged. ‘You learn quick.’ The owner of the café came out again ‘Maria,’ he bellowed, and again, ‘Maria.’ She leaped to her feet with an oath in Spanish and stormed across to him. Ricky watched in amazement as she stood in front of the owner with her hands on her hips and berated him in front of the customers. Everyone listened to her ranting at the poor man, they couldn’t help but overhear, as she was shouting so loudly. Some were laughing and some applauding her. Maria waved her fingers in his face and spat on the floor in front of him. She ripped the apron from around her waist and threw it in his face before storming into the café with the owner following behind, placatingly calling her name. She reappeared carrying her purse with the owner still pleading with her but she ignored him and crossed to Ricky. ‘I quit! Finish,’ she said. ‘Come, we go.’ Ricky stood up. ‘My bill?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t paid yet.’ ‘Forget bill,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘We go.’ Copyright Deric Barry 2005.