Home by Another Way by Robert Benson Read Free Book Online

on the table. I have always felt it would be bad form to mention that he might be tardy. I have always secretly wondered if it might affect my discount. The price is always discounted when we show that we are prepared to pay in cash, in advance, and in U.S. currency. It is the size of the discount that is in question.
    We fill out the forms for the temporary driving license. We get a map and a business card with all the telephone numbers that we may need to get hold of Victor when the car breaks down. We make a plan about where and when we will leave the car and where we will hide the key when it is time for us to go home. The car is always parked at the dock, and the key is always in the ashtray.
    “Won’t somebody steal it?” I asked him once.
    “This is a small island. Where are they going to take it?” he replied. “Besides, everyone on the island knows these are my cars. Someone will call me and tell me they have seen my car in someone else’s driveway. Then when I need it again, I will go and pick it up.”
    Then we chat for a few minutes as though we are old friends. He asks me about the things that we will do while we are here, and everything I mention brings a recommendation to patronize a business owned by one of his family or close friends. I have a hunch that his discounts at those establishments are affected by how many visitors he sends their way.
    Then there is another cheerful honk in the driveway, announcing that Victor’s ride is here, and he is off. Our first appointment is concluded, and we pretend the second one—the one where the boat starts us off toward the winter—will never come.

    At least once during each week on St. Cecilia we will forgo the sunning round and go riding around. We put the top back on the Jeep and mop up the water that came in when I could not get all of the snaps done up before the daily rain. It takes less energy to bail out the Jeep than it does to figure out all of the snaps and zippers that hold the roof on. What we cannot bail out, the sun and the wind take care of.
    Sometimes we have a destination in mind; other times we do not. We grab some binoculars and the camera and the map, and off we go. We wander our way down the hill and along the little lane that leadsto the main road. And then we make a choice—right or left.

    St. Cecilia is not a very large island. It is only thirty-six square miles altogether, and a fair portion of that is rain-forest-covered mountainside that falls down around a volcano in the center of the island. The crater of the volcano is about thirty-two hundred feet above sea level. Rugged spines of hills—the shoulders of the volcano, so to speak—run down toward the sea and eventually spread out into flatlands.
    There is only one main road, and it circles the island, pretty much hugging the shoreline from north to south, the leeward side of the island, and then running along the edge of the mountain back from south to north along the windward side.
    The majority of the people and the shops and the restaurants are spread out along the western coast,protected from the winds by the volcano and its surrounding hills. Along this leeward side of the island, the breeze is gentle, and the Caribbean glistens peacefully in the sun. It is also the side of the island where the road is smooth and well paved.
    The eastern side of the island has a wild and desolate feeling. The wind blows hard and straight; the windward beaches are lined with rocks and not sand; the reefs cause the surf to crash wildly into the shore. The road has been neglected over here. There are potholes and bumps, and the speed-limit signs, which are ignored on the other side of the island, are unnecessary here.
    The map of St. Cecilia is as much fun to look at for what you cannot find as it is for what you can find.
    There are no shopping malls and no movie theaters. There are no water parks and no stoplights. There are no four-lane highways and no big discount stores. There are no