H2uh0

I heard a knock on the hull followed by a soft whistle. I poked my head out, sweaty and reeking of gasoline from cleaning the carburetor in Genny, my portable gas generator. Four boys in their early teens peered up at me with round brown eyes.

“Podemos atar a su velero para pescar?”

“Si, por su puesto,” I replied. I took their line and wrapped it around the mid-ship cleat. I really wanted to fix the carburetor, but I could tell my new neighbors were less interested in the fishing than talking to the strange gringa alone on the sailboat. I fielded questions and passed out cookies and crackers in exchange for fresh coconuts.

“I want to learn how to climb the coconut trees,” I told them. The three pointed to the smallest boy at once. Apparently he was the best at it.

“Manana, quiero aprender,” I told him. They were thrilled at this and we agreed to meet the next day in the afternoon by the medium-sized palm tree by the pier.

“It was like, like 15 feet…it was huge,” the sun-burnt guy in the internet café bragged to Diego, who ran the place. He was facing Diego but I could feel his words aimed at the back of my head. He spoke with loud inflections and dramatic hand jives towards the ceiling about the size the waves had been that day. I stared at the computer screen doing my best not to make the slightest visible reaction to his commotion. I listened carefully to each word for signs that he couldn’t surf and was probably exaggerating. The words stung. I knew the swell was pumping. I was trying to let my ears heal by resting alone in Puerto Jimenez, where the waveless waters had less of a magnetic pull on me. This lobster-faced, hotdogger had to tell his story loud enough for the entire galaxy to hear. I tried not to let it get to me, but he jabbed my most tender point of weakness and finally pushed me over the edge. I silently devised a plan to sail across the bay at first light. Long drive to the left, huh buddy? I paid and thanked Diego and walked out into the cool, wet night.

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