Authors: Luke Rhinehart
`Then you fish,' the pudgy officer answered. 'New immigrants aren't eligible for food assistance unless they surrender all their belongings and live in the refugee centre out in Capo Gorda.'
After the launch had motored off, and their guns and ammunition hidden behind a false partition at the back of Jeanne's berth had not been discovered, they prepared to go ashore. Jim got out the dinghy and he and Macklin began to inflate it. Jeanne and Katya were talking about the chances of finding a home on St Thomas when a man and a woman suddenly appeared beside Vagabond in a little eight-foot rowing boat. Ì say, you chaps going ashore?' the man asked. He was a round, red-faced man, his big chest and belly heavily matted with dark hair, although the flesh sagged on him as if he had recently lost weight. Both he and the woman, a bleached blonde, were in their forties and were wearing rather spare black bikini bathing suits.
`We are,' Frank replied. 'Why?'
`We own the little blue Wharram catamaran over there,'
the Englishman said, pointing. 'Always willing to lend a hand to a multihull sailor, you know.'
`We appreciate it,' said Frank.
`Philip felt you might need some advice before you go ashore,' the women said, smiling. '
He's very good at advice.'
`We've been at sea for more than two weeks,' said Frank, feeling an unexpected pride as he spoke. 'I guess we can use some advice about what the landworld is like these days.'
Ìt's a bloody mess is what it is,' Philip countered, holding on to Vagabond's coaming with one of his big hands. 'I know it's a bit presumptuous of me to come over here like this, but the world's become awfly small, and where there's a chance to find a friend I like to take it.'
Ì see,' said Frank, his mood wavering uncertainly between suspicion and acceptance. He moved aside to let Olly take over helping Jim pump up the dinghy.
`Fact is,' said the Englishman, 'if you're going ashore for food and petrol and water there'
s a bit you might know first, right?'
`Would you like to come aboard?' Frank finally asked. `Don't mind if I do. Take the oars, Sheila.'
The large Englishman and his petite and pretty wife climbed nimbly up on to Vagabond and introductions were made all around: they were Philip and Sheila Wellington of the catamaran Doubloon. A beer was brought up from Vagabond's 'wine cellar' (the bilge) and passed to those who seated themselves around the wheelhouse.
`Bloody marvellous,' said Philip. 'Haven't had a good warm beer in more than two weeks.'
`Supplies are tight here, too?' Frank asked.
`Tight?' Philip snorted. 'If your whole wealth consists of your bare boat then your food consists of seaweed, shellfish, rain water, and fish.' He looked at his wife with a warm smile. `We had no gold or silver and pawned Sheila's jewellery ten days ago to buy sailcloth and a week's worth of food. And beer doesn't exist here these days.'
`Can food be bought,?'
`Some, I suppose - with gold, silver, diamonds, jewellery,' Philip replied. 'And, ah, with pot and pussy. Such are at present the six coins of your nation's former realm.' Frank and Neil looked at him uncertainly. 'You'll have to barter first with the precious metal dealers, then with the individual merchants. Very few shopkeepers will barter themselves, except a few will deal in dope and a lady's favours.'
Ìs there much chance we can stay here, make a home here?' Jeanne asked. Philip looked at her, grimaced, and looked away. 'Not bloody likely,' he replied. 'I'm afraid the world here is becoming a bit of a black and white thing, you know? Blacks don't seem to appreciate the fact that whites are blowing up the whole world and . . . uh .
. . then the survivors running to the blacks for help.'
`But the Russians started it,' said Tony from the port cockpit. Àh, well, I'm not certain too many blacks are sure of that.' `St Thomas is all black?'
Jeanne asked.
`Pretty much so,' Philip replied. 'And most of the refugees are white or now Puerto Rican. The rich whites who live here are holed up in various enclaves - those that haven't left, that Is.'
`What are your plans?' Neil asked abruptly from his seat in the corner of the wheelhouse. The big Englishman frowned. 'The bloody war's got too close,' he said slowly. 'I suppose you know San Juan got hit? . . . We've decided to leave. We want to be part of a fleet.'
À fleet?' Neil asked.
`Pirates. You can't go twenty miles in any direction without having them all over you. Bloody trouble is you can't know who to trust. A friend of mine sailed off with another ship four days ago and yesterday his ship turned up stripped and foundering while the other ship is reported sailing
happily onwards a hundred miles from here. The world's not a nice place these days.'
`But where are you going?' Neil persisted.
`Thought we might try Australia,' the Englishman replied softly, staring at his hands. Àustralia!' Frank exclaimed.
`My boat's too small, I know', said Philip, looking up intently. 'But I have a friend who's got a fine old wooden sloop, fifty-five-footer, she is, and . .
`But Australia . . .' Frank said again. 'Jesus. That's quite a sail.'
Ìt's quite a world, Frank.'
`Yes. I guess it is.'
Èngland doesn't much exist any more, you know,' he went on intently. 'And since they bombed Puerto Rico and Venezuela and the whites were massacred on Dominica, no one feels too bright about this whole area. Everyone who can afford it is getting out. Food was short before on all the islands. Now it's almost non-existent here. Things can only get worse, right?'
`Have you stocked much food?' Neil asked.
Philip snorted out a half-laugh in reply. 'There are two types here: those who've got their gold and silver and those who haven't. The rich are selling all to fly out of here now. And the rest of us fish.' He laughed and, though his belly shook, his eyes weren't twinkling.
`What are you people planning to do?' asked his wife suddenly. Frank didn't answer and a strained silence ensued. `Survive,' Macklin finally growled. Òh yes, I know . . .' said Sheila. 'But
. well . .
Ì'm sorry, Frank,' said Philip. 'But I suppose I've got to ask also whether in this new world you're rich or poor.'
`We're poor,' Jeanne said. 'We have little food left, and none of the mineral wealth that passes for currency. We could never barter for enough food to go to Australia.'
`Bit sticky for us all, commented Philip.
Ì'm glad you're poor, Jeanne,' Sheila said. 'Anyone who has gold on his boat seems to have a lead anchor in his heart. Phil was saying as we rowed over here, "Hope to Christ they're not hoarders." '
Ìt's a paradox I guess you'd say,' commented Philip. 'The way things are, if you had plenty of gold you'd be the type that doesn't share, whereas since you, ah, haven't gold, we're likely to help each other.'
`How do you figure to help us?' Frank asked.
`Well, for one thing, give you advice on what you can and can't sell. For another, I've been here for almost a month and know not only St Thomas but what's been happening throughout the Antilles. For example, when the war started a few ships left for some of the islands south of here, but later starvation and revolution and civil war devastated two or three of the islands, and a lot of ships came back. And now after the explosion over San Juan, a lot of ships have departed again.'
`There seem still to be quite a few,' Jeanne said.
Philip looked briefly out at the ships at anchor around them. 'About a third less than on Thursday,' he said. 'And half of these ships here are motor yachts. Almost all of them lack fuel to go anywhere even if they wanted to. Some came in yesterday from Puerto Rico.'
Ìs it possible to rent a house?' Jeanne asked.
Ì suppose anything is possible if you have the means to pay for it,' Philip replied. 'But you won't be welcome.'
`Can we at least get water free?' Neil asked. 'We've less than three gallons left.'
`Water's rationed. You'll get some, but not enough for a voyage.'
`Jesus, what's happened to traditional Caribbean hospitality?' Frank asked, frowning. Ìt was obliterated, Frank,' Sheila replied, her face as gloomy as those of the others, 'the day the white man began
bringing disease and death south with him instead of tourist dollars.'
Her husband frowned too. 'And of course the other reason we're feared is the plague,' he said.
`The what?' Frank exclaimed.
`You'd best watch where you get your water from,' Sheila explained. 'There's some sort of mysterious disease on the islands, not many cases yet and worst on Capo Gorda, that kills about half the people it strikes.'
Ìs that why the Customs people took our temperature?' Neil asked.
`Yes,' Philip replied. 'It seems the disease is carried by Americans from the mainland, or so they say.' He was frowning and didn't raise his head to look at the others. There was an awkward silence.
`Rain water's safe,' said Sheila.
There was another silence.
`When it rains,' Philip added gloomily.
It only took them a few days on St Thomas to realize that conditions were appalling. Black antipathy to all whites was palpable in glances and gestures at every moment. In the month since the war the food shortages had already taken their toll. People looked gaunt, walked slowly, squabbled violently over the tiniest disagreement about food or water. They soon realized that the black men fishing at every bridge and breakwater and along most docks were not fishing for leisure, but for survival. The street vendor haggling over the price of two oranges was haggling not because of 'cultural tradition'
but from economic desperation. The voluptuous black mother spending twenty minutes in the private office of the store manager was not coldhearted or neurotic but only a human being spending thankfully her last discovered economic asset. In this world there were no luxuries, only necessities.
Human society on St Thomas was falling apart. The government was still paying its employees in paper dollars, which were no longer being accepted by the few farmers, fishermen and merchants who had things worth selling. Consequently, government employees, once the island's elite, were now working for nothing, whereas most other workers -half the population was unemployed - bargained to be paid in food and water. Pot-smoking and prostitution were now public and open since there were no facilities to jail offenders in, no food to feed them with, and only unpaid, disgruntled policemen to arrest and guard them. Bicycles and mules were the popular vehicles of the new world. The airport was usually deserted of both planes and people since most private planes had flown south and regular commercial flights to
anywhere had ended through lack of fuel or the piracy of the commercial aircraft. The sight of a plane over St Thomas two days after Vagabond arrived had sent such a rush of people from town to the airport that when Neil saw it he thought he was witnessing some annual island bike race: over a hundred people pedalling out to the airport as if their lives depended on it.
Everyone who could afford to leave either had left or was trying to. With food inadequate on all the islands, the poor, with nothing to lose, were beginning to demand forcefully their fair share of the little that was still left. On their first walk through the streets of Charlotte-Amalie Neil, Frank, and Jeanne had seen the broken and unboarded windows of supermarkets and grocery stores, all of which were now empty and deserted. Some downtown blocks had so many looted and abandoned stores it seemed 'the revolution' must already have occurred, and yet the local whites they were able to talk to still spoke as if they feared a black uprising and takeover. There were tanks parked all along the waterfront. Except for the three white enclaves outside of town and the St Thomas Hilton, Neil didn't see that there was much left on St Thomas of value to 'take over'.
Settling on St Thomas began to seem increasingly unlikely. In their first few days Frank was offered houses in exchange for Vagabond, but the desperation and hopefulness with which the two different owners advanced their offer sobered Frank considerably. He discussed with Neil the possibility of selling Vagabond to raise enough gold to fly most or maybe all of them to Brazil, but the prospect of arriving destitute in Brazil was unpleasant, and worse, they would have to sell the boat before they could have any sort of an assured flight.
And to complicate their situation more, the news from the other Caribbean islands and from the rest of the world was dismal. Although the war seemed no longer to be being fought, conditions worldwide were still getting worse. No one dared pronounce the war over; no government proudly
announced victory or abjectly offered surrender; but reports of new fighting had ceased - at least among the major powers. Battles for food and between refugees and neutral countries trying to keep them out were increasing. US government officials, still speaking from some unidentified underground headquarters, now, after three weeks of exhorting its citizens to rally to defeat the Soviet Union, spoke only of steps to be taken to save the surviving population. Although the government spoke, there was no evidence that anyone was listening. From what could be gathered from the shortwave radio and an occasional newscast on the local A. M. station, the country seemed to be divided up into areas and pockets, each struggling independently of the others to survive their particular problems. Reports seemed to imply that more than two-thirds of the US population was already dead.
Starvation on the mainland of the US was not yet reported. It was July, and survivors had plenty of natural growing things for nourishment - if they lived in areas uncontaminated by radiation - but throughout much of the rest of the world it was the problem. Other diseases were now beginning to claim as many victims as radiation sickness and burns. Dysentery, typhoid and cholera were increasingly appearing throughout those areas of the world where loss of electricity and overcrowding meant reduced and polluted water supplies. Worst of all, the mysterious disease from the western United States was spreading to places untouched by missiles, as it had to the Virgin Islands. Colombia, Venezuela and four Central American countries had outlawed all immigration from the north, quarantining or exiling anyone caught illegally within their borders. The '