A Dolphins Dream by Carlos Eyles Read Free Book Online Page B

tension was palatable and felt by the boy who found refuge in his father’s arms whenever Compton drew near.
    Mustering up the courage to leave, Compton was preparing his “Goodbye, I’m sorry” speech when in through the back door, with a rush of sea wind, walked a tall Fijian man wearing a blue skirt and a tee-shirt so filled with holes that it clung to his back like a spider web. An oversized red, white, and blue striped Rasta knit cap drifted over one ear nearly touching his shoulder.
    “Bula,” he said to James, smiling through a missing front tooth. James broke into a wide grin and they shook hands formally and spoke rapid Fijian. As they talked, the man’s almond-shaped eyes continually glanced in Compton’s direction, absorbing everything they fell upon. He was lean and muscular, built along the lines of a basketball player in prime condition, yet his eyes indicated someone much older than his body. A wispy moustache graced his upper lip and contrasted with a strong jaw line. He spoke with confidence in his animated discussion with James, who shortly brought the man over and introduced him as Moses.
    “Bula, Michael, welcome to Fiji,” said Moses who, with an irrepressible smile, extended his hand exposing a crude tattoo of a dagger running the length of his forearm. The hand was heavily callused and enveloped Compton’s as if it were a boy’s. Moses made a one pump shake and said in crisp English, “You wish to come to Qamea, eh?”   
    “Well, I hear it’s quite beautiful.”
    Moses appraised Compton with a bemused smile. “You have come a long way to find your dream, eh.”
    The remark both charmed and unsettled Compton, for he couldn’t think of a retort or even why this man would say such a thing. What dream was he talking about? The dream? Instead he asked, “How long will it take to get to Qamea?”
    Moses flashed the gaping hole in his smile. “Who knows about the sea? Some days longer than others.”
    Compton nodded. He should have known better than to ask such a question.
    Moses spoke to James in Fijian, turned back to Compton. “I must have fuel for the boat, then we go.” He stood expectantly for a long moment before Compton realized that he was supposed to pay for the gas and pulled out two twenties, American.
    “Will this be enough?”
    “Yeah, yeah, plenty.” Moses slipped the money into his pocket and went out the back door where he picked up a ten-gallon plastic jug and a string of fish from his boat and disappeared around the corner. The instant he vanished, Compton recalled Esther’s warning about giving him money and wondered if he’d made a mistake and if, in fact, he would ever see this Moses again.
    Turning to the co-conspirator, James, Compton asked, “So how far does he have to go for the fuel?”
    “Not far, to the Indian store. Come, we load up the boat.” James carried Esther’s bundle down to the boat and Compton followed with his gear over the sea wall where a wooden, twelve–foot skiff was tethered to a length of rusting rebar in the mud beyond the wall. The hull of the skiff had once been painted yellow green and red, but now all three colors merged into a dull brown. The gunnels were gouged and darkly stained with what was probably blood. A relatively new fifteen-horse outboard powered the boat. Compton followed James into silt filled shallows that sucked a shoe from his foot. Bending to find it, his gear bag rolled off his shoulder and into the water.
    James set his bundles in the bow among spools of fishing line, rags, buoys, gaffs and a plastic bucket of rusted hooks and lures. Pushing aside the debris, he made room for Compton’s gear. Compton found his shoe and threw it in along with the gear. Conspicuously absent from the debris was any evidence of emergency equipment.
    While Compton contemplated his next move, the possibility of grabbing his things and bolting, James covered the front section of the boat with a vinyl sheet, firmly securing the