Seas of South Africa (5 page)

I put the cap back on, turned to go, and froze. There was a little old man sitting on the sand in the dark not more than fifteen feet away from me. He had been watching me the whole time. He looked as though he had been hired to watch the dinghy, yet he never did anything. I looked at him to see if he was going to yell out, but he just stared as if he were staring right through me, as if he didn't even see me. I figured he didn't want to see me. He didn't want to get caught in the middle of trouble. And he must have known there was trouble coming.

I ran back to the kayak, jumped in, and paddled away. I paddled all the way around the island and back to the fort. Along the way, I saw a sailboat motoring towards the south of the island from the open sea. It was hard to see in the dark, but I thought I saw the silhouettes of several people on deck. There were no lights on the boat, which was strange, though I didn't give it much thought at the time. I paddled back to a spot just beyond the sub, tied up the kayak, climbed the wall, and jumped into the fort.

I would have liked to walk around the fort, explore the dungeons, and climb the cannon, but I couldn't stop now. I had to find the police station. Maybe I could explore on my way back. I cut through the big courtyard, climbed over the front gate, and headed towards the centre of the island. I was hungry now. If Mozambique Island had 12,000 people, maybe it had pizza, too. Maybe I could find one after talking to the police.

I crossed a sandy soccer field and a treed park and found myself on a street with houses. There were people sitting outside as I went down the street. I smiled and waved at them, and they smiled and waved back. I had learned that people in other countries will always be friendly to you if you smile at them. Most of the people in the world are really friendly.

There were lots of houses, and a few stone buildings with shops and offices in them. Everything was old. All of the roofs on the houses were thatched, but the roofs of the buildings were made of clay shingles. It was a warm night, and the atmosphere in the town was relaxed and friendly. I heard music. Then, I saw a few cafés. I knew I had to watch out for the pirate now. But he would be easy to spot. He would stand out from these people like a rotten cabbage in a field of strawberries.

But I never saw him. I came upon a café where they were grilling fish out front, and the smell was so good, I thought I would die if I didn't eat some. There were chairs around a picnic table, and a waiter pulled one out and gestured for me
to sit, so I did. Then, he brought me a plate of fish and a tall glass of fresh pineapple juice to wash it down. I don't think anything ever tasted as good as that meal. But all the time that I ate, I kept a lookout for a large man in the street.

As I was leaving the café, I asked the waiter if he could tell me where the police station was. A very friendly man, he suddenly looked concerned. He pointed quickly in one direction, then frowned and lowered his head. When I paid for my meal, I gave him a dollar for a tip. He shook my hand, hugged my shoulder, and shook my hand again. He said something else about the police station, but I didn't understand. Then he lowered his head again, and shook it. I took that as a warning not to trust the police. It didn't entirely surprise me. In some countries you can trust the police; in others, you can't. Richer countries can afford to pay their police force. Poor countries sometimes can't, so the police officers have to make their money some other way, which isn't always legal. I thanked the friendly waiter and walked away.

Two streets west, I found the police station. It didn't look like much. It was just a small building with one light on. I was standing across the street, wondering whether I should listen to the waiter and leave, or take a chance and go in, when, suddenly, the door opened and out walked the pirate!

I didn't know if he saw me or not. I backed up into the darkness of the trees. He looked angry. He stormed down the street towards the beach. A policeman stood in the doorway of the station and watched him go. I waited until the police-man
went back inside, then followed the pirate at a distance. He was too big and heavy to catch me at a run, and I noticed now that he had a bit of a limp. But I had to stay out of his knife-throwing range; that was for sure.

He went down a few more streets and turned into an alley that led to a café. The music was loud, and so were the people. Through the trees, I saw a few rougher types, like him. They were standing around with bottles in their hands, yelling and laughing and slapping each other's backs. He disappeared amongst them.

I was about to go back to the sub then, and leave, but there was one thing I wanted to know. Why had he gone to the police station? Was it possible he had tried the motor of his dinghy and discovered it had been sabotaged? Was that it? It was kind of hard to believe that a pirate would complain to the police though, unless the police were corrupt too, which was what the waiter had been suggesting. But the whole thing didn't make sense, and it made me so curious I thought I'd swing by the beach and just take another peek at the dinghy.

The old man was sitting in the same spot. I knew he saw me when I came over; I saw his head turn. He was just pretending not to see me. In the dark, I wasn't sure if the dinghy had been moved or not. I thought maybe it had. “Did a big man try to move this boat?” I asked the old man. He didn't answer. I reached into my pocket, found a dollar bill, and put it down on the sand in front of him. He picked up the dollar, looked up at me, and nodded. Then he got to his feet, pulled
his thumb across his neck as a way of warning me to be careful, and disappeared in the dark. Now I knew. It was time to get out of here.

Just as I was about to leave the beach, I noticed the dark sailboat motoring down from the north of the island. It looked like a ghost on the water. They must have gone right around the island when they discovered the bridge in their way. I stepped closer to the water to try to see them more clearly. Then I heard heavy feet in the sand. I never had a chance.

Chapter Six

THE FIRST BLOW STRUCK
me on the head and knocked me down. I hit the ground at the edge of the water and got wet sand in my face. Before I had a chance to get up, he grabbed hold of me, pulled me halfway up, and hit me again. He struck me on the side of the head and I went flat against the sand. My ears were ringing and I was seeing black and red spots. He hit me really hard. Then he grabbed me, pulled me up, and I saw his knife flash through the air. He's going to stab me, I thought. I'm going to die.

“Pour sand into my motor will you, you little crook!”

Who was he calling a crook? I was so dizzy now I thought I'd faint. I hoped he didn't hit me again.

“You sank
Maggie's Delight
! What did you do with Maggie? Did you kill her?”

He pulled me around so he could look me in the eye. One side of my face was burning and swelling. “You know a lot more than you should, kid. You and me are gonna get better acquainted. The first thing you're gonna do is show me that little submarine you've got. Then maybe I won't cut your liver out, which is what I was going to do. Or maybe you think I won't do that, do you?”

I knew he would. I knew he would do anything. Now I felt certain he had killed Maggie, and probably other people, too. I also knew I had to escape from him, somehow, somewhere between here and the sub. He had been drinking. I could smell it on him. Perhaps he would trip and fall. Perhaps I could push him or trip him—anything just so I could run. He couldn't throw the knife at me in the dark. He probably couldn't throw straight when he was drunk, either. For now, I just had to go along with him.

“I'll take you to the sub. It's at the north of the island, outside the wall.”

“Kid, if it's not where you say it is, you're gonna hurt really bad. You understand me?”

“I understand. It's there. I'll show you.”

We started walking. This time, he didn't let go of me. He held my wrist, and his hand felt like a vise. I could feel my hand losing blood. “You're holding my wrist too tight.”

“You're lucky you still have a hand. I should've cut it off.
You put . . .” He stopped. Three men appeared in front of us in the dark. He spun around quickly, pulling me with him. There were three men behind us, too. We were surrounded. They were young men. They reminded me of the Somali pirates I had seen on TV. I saw light reflect off something in one of the men's hands. It was a knife.

“Did you think we wouldn't fin' you, boss?” said one of the men. “You thought you 'ad lost us forever did you? Thought y'd never see us again, hey?”

“Boys . . . don't think I was cutting you out . . .”

“Where is it, Jonnyboy?” said another man. “We know you got it wit' you.”

“Boys . . . did you think I would bring it here? You've got to be crazy . . .”

The men kept closing in, like a pack of dogs. My heart was beating fast. Were they going to attack me, too? Probably. I was waiting for a chance to break free and run, but his grip on my wrist only got tighter. I glanced up the beach towards the trees and chose which way I would run. Would they chase me? Would they catch me? They weren't as big as him, but there were six of them. If I could just get free of his grip, I would run as fast as I could.

He spun me around again, to face the men in front of us. Now, I saw two more blades. He saw them, too. I felt him reach for his knife with his other hand. This was my chance. I had to take it now; I might not get another. I raised my foot and kicked down on the side of his knee as hard as I could. It
caught him off-guard, as I hoped, then I smashed my other fist against his hand, pulled my hand free, and ran up the beach with everything I had in me. I heard yelling and scuffling behind me. They were attacking him now, but I didn't stop, and never turned around. I ran off the sand, between the trees, and onto the first street I saw. I ran to the end of it, and down the next. I ran so fast I thought my lungs would burst. Near the end of the second street, I turned my head to see if anyone had chased me. No. Nobody had.

I stopped and bent over to catch my breath. I felt sick from running so hard, and from what had just happened. Those men had clearly come here to murder him. They had probably been following him for a long time. It sounded like he had cheated them. But they had caught up with him.

I felt conflicted. I wondered if I should have tried to help him, or if I should maybe even go back now and see if he was okay. But that was crazy. Even if I could have saved him, which I couldn't, wouldn't he just kill me anyway, once I had taken him to the sub? Would he treat me differently because I had helped him? I had no reason to think he would. He wanted my sub. It was the perfect vessel for a pirate. I'm sure he would have killed me for it, whether I had helped him or not. Still, it didn't feel good running away from someone who was in trouble.

I walked and ran back to the sub, looking over my shoulder the whole way. There was mist in the air now, and scattered fog was drifting across the north of the island. It made me a
little nervous as I retraced my steps through the fort. There were so many dark shadows. What if the other pirates had come this way after they had killed him? Or, what if he had escaped from them and was still looking for me, angrier than ever? Was it possible he had fought them off? No, I didn't think so. I didn't see how that was possible. But what if he had, and was hiding in the shadows right now, waiting to catch me and cut out my liver?

More likely, he was lying on the sand, bleeding to death, or was already dead.

The fog covered the rocks and the portal of the sub. But I knew where the kayak was, and was able to find the sub by paddling straight out from the wall. I climbed onto the portal, opened the hatch, jumped in, and greeted my crew. They were happy to see me, but not as happy as I was to see them. What if I hadn't returned? I hated to think of what would have happened to them. After I deflated the kayak and packed it away, I fed the crew, put the kettle on for tea, sat on my cot, and considered what to do.

Part of me wanted to head out to sea and sail away. Part of me wanted to see if I could spot the pirates from the water. But it was dark and unlikely that I'd see them. And another part of me wanted to go to the police and tell them everything that had happened. Had it been anywhere else, I believe I would have done that, but I didn't trust the police here, or think it was safe for me to tell them what I knew.

So, I decided to sail away. I surfaced and turned on the
engine. No one would see us in the dark, especially in the fog. I climbed the portal to take one last look at the north of the island before leaving. Only patches were visible, but the moment my eyes fell on it, I felt a nagging in my conscience. I didn't really want to admit it, but something was bothering me. What if the pirate who had beaten me and threatened to kill me, what if he was lying on the beach, wounded, but still alive? What if he was bleeding to death but would survive if he could make it to a hospital? Could I sail away thinking maybe I had let him die, even a terrible man like him? Or would it haunt me for the rest of my life?