A Dolphins Dream by Carlos Eyles Read Free Book Online

undetermined model and vintage, painted in garish colors with what appeared to be a burnt out Dead-Head, awaited Esther and Compton in the morning. Esther spoke Fijian to the middle-aged Indian driver as they climbed aboard. They then rattled north down the washboard dirt road past the airfield another ten minutes before stopping in front of a small building randomly painted in lavish colors of red, turquoise, white and navy blue.
    “This is the Indian store,” announced Esther in a soft voice. ”We go here first for the gifts.”
    Inside, goods were crammed from floor to ceiling, everything from cookies to chainsaws, marbles to Frisbees, fresh fruit to calendars. An Indian boy with a mini-calculator ran the store for his father who, from a room attached to the rear of the store and separated by a curtain of beads, observed the proceedings while stoically seated in a high backed chair.
    Esther purchased a two-kilo bag of rice, a bag of sugar, a sack of flour, a loaf of bread, some leaf tobacco and a bottle of cooking oil. Compton offered to pay and she accepted, placing the goods in a large blanket, bundled it up and pointed up the road. “We go to my cousin James’ and wait for Moses.”  
    Compton stumbled along the rocky dirt road toting his backpack and what little was left of his dive gear in its deflated bag. “What happened to the cab?” he asked Esther, who was fairly prancing along in her bare feet with the blanket of goods thrown over one shoulder.
    “It’s gone,” she said. “Jes‘ a short walk, eh.”
    “Don’t these sharp rocks cut your feet? I don’t know how you can walk over them.”
    “Fijian have tough feet. Strong backs and tough feet.” She laughed a choking, cough-like laugh that ripped through her lungs. “And that’s all they have.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “No brains and lazy. Fijian don’t work unless they have to.”
    “Well, you seem bright enough. You have a job.”
    “There’s always one in every family who does the work. Who pay the bills and send the children to school. I’m the one. See, no brains,” she coughed out a chuckle at her dilemma.
    “You come from a large family?” inquired Compton.
    “Two brothers, five sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, all over.  Everywhere there is family.”         
    “How many on Qamea?”
    “Moses, my mother, and two sisters.
    “Does Moses have a job?
    “He fishes, but don’t give him money. He’s no good with money, jes’ spends it on fuel and my mother and sisters never have anything.”
    “Does he catch fish?”
    “Of course he catches fish.” Esther’s face screwed up at the foolishness of the question. “Thet’s where he gets the money.”
    They arrived at a whitewashed house trimmed in turquoise. A tall, beige colored man with a pleasant, clean-shaven face and wide dark eyes came forward to greet them. He wore a tattered pair of flowered shorts and a plain green shirt open to the navel. In his arms was a small boy with a weeping gash down the length of his shin.
    “This is my cousin, James,” said Esther. “This is Michael Compton from America. He is going to Qamea with Moses.” James extended his hand and gave Compton a single shake.
    Smiling broadly, he gestured with his free hand. “Come in and have some tea.”
    Compton followed them inside the house which, save for an old sofa, a card table, and a single chair, was bare. A rear window had broken out and a breeze from the sea blew through. The floor was laid in remnant patches of linoleum and a newspaper had been stuffed into a hole in the wall just above the doorway. Compton glanced at himself in a discolored mirror that hung alone on the near wall. Though the house had not seen a coat of paint but once in its existence, its floor was freshly swept and the sparse kitchen was clean and uncluttered. James and Esther went into the kitchen and left Compton with the boy, who stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment that Compton attributed to