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  His driver says, “They are coming down.”

  When Christopher passes the jeep Fat Luis calls out, “Hey gringo! El Jefe sent me. He wants you to select fish and prepare it for his party tonight. Meet me at the launch an hour before sunset.”

  Christopher is stunned. Contact with fisherman? A dream comes true. Bowing to Juanita, he says, “I enjoyed our conversation.” Grinning he gives her a wink. Her smile lifts his heart.

  Turning back to Fat Luis he says, “I will meet you at the launch one hour before sunset.”

  He jogs to his garden. He’ll pick the ingredients and prepare a marinade now. One part of his attention absorbed in preparing ingredients. The other striving to remember all he knows about El Jefe, a slang title meaning the Big Boss.

  His given name is Jacinto. In the United States his title would be Warden Jacinto. He and his wife, Carmen, are rarely seen beyond the town perimeter. Unloading supplies inmates see the very best in tequila, current movies, fresh foods, perfumes, soaps, fine linens and clothes made of the finest materials. All earmarked for El Jefe and his wife.

  The Big Boss lives in the white washed hacienda behind courtyard walls. Prisoners, roam the island after work hours, but are never allowed to loiter around the perimeter of the town. They have no access to the administration buildings or El Jefe’s hacienda. Guards, posting watch from towers and patrolling the ground by jeep and on foot rotate duty twenty-four hours a day. El Jefe’s occasional trips to swim in the surf with Carmen are heavily guarded. A mid-sized man with a swollen belly El Jefe adorns himself in gold chains over a hairy chest.

  Carmen’s dyed yellow hair, long and curling, her too small bikinis, incongruous with the vacant stare of a woman who has learned to hide behind the needs and wants of her man. Carmen married El Jefe in the hopes she’d escape a childhood of poverty and abuse. But amid the sumptuous riches of her married life she finds herself living in another kind of prison.

  Christopher thinks they are an odd pair. He’s seen them chasing in the waves, predator and prey. Watching the man hunting his petite wife in the shark infested waters surrounding Islas Tres Marias Christopher knows her screams are of real pain. She screams the terror of being caught.

  Christopher spends the rest of the afternoon collecting wood for the barbeque. He ropes Checo in to help with the promise of “as much as you want,” fish dinner. Together they gather Mesquite wood, Ironwood and Jacaranda branches. Christopher debates, “what impact will these wood flavors have on the barbeque?” His skills as a cook hold the power of life and death, for him, the fish and even Checo.

  Thinking out loud he tells Checo, “I’ll go heavy on the Mesquite wood for the main course at El Jefe’s dinner party. We can smoke the left over fish. The foundation wood for the smoker will be Ironwood. The density of Ironwood will be good for long smoldering.”

  Checo looks up from digging a second barbeque pit. He stares at Christopher in amazement. “Where did you learn this stuff?”

  Christopher’s answer is quick, like a snap of his fingers. He says, “My parents. I started cooking with my mom when I had to stand on a chair next to her.”

  Checo hears the raw pain in Christopher’s voice and knows not to pursue the topic.

  Together they strategically place the branches and start the fire. In the initial smoke Ave Bonita squawks her disapproval, a streak of blue and green, she flies to a distant Jacaranda tree. Checo’s jaguar lies behind him lounging.

  Christopher says, “Let’s build one more pit. I’ll use only Jacaranda wood. It will burn quickly giving the fish a delicate, quick seared, flavor. We’ll add only fresh squeezed lemon and lime. It will be the first course.”

  Checo says, “Sounds good. Save some for me.”

  Christopher punches Checo in his meaty bicep. “What do you mean, ‘save some for you’? You are my sous chef. You’ll be standing right next to me getting hot and sweaty.”

  As he finishes digging the additional pit for barbeque and smoker, Checo asks, “How are you going to cook the fish without grills?”

  Christopher grins. “I confiscated aluminum foil. We’ll wrap the fish in marinade and banana leaves. Then fold them in the foil and place the whole thing directly on the coals.” He looks up from chopping ingredients for the marinade and yells, “It’s an experiment!”

  “You better hope your ‘experiment’ turns out well,” says Checo while stoking the beginning of a fire. “This dinner is for El Jefe. You don’t want to end up on the bone pile.”

  Studying the placement of the last Jacaranda branches, they will not be lit until he returns with the fish. Pausing he looks at Checo, “Juanita taught me faith in a ‘greater beneficence.’ So let’s have a little faith brother. This style of barbeque works for the chickens.”

  An hour before sunset Christopher arrives at the launch. He stands on the dock as Fat Luis boards the launch. With each step Luis takes the launch sways wildly in the mooring. Christopher pretends not to notice the effect Luis has on the boats center of gravity. Instead he occupies himself freeing the bow and stern lines. The task complete he jumps aboard.

  “Don’t mess with me gringo,” wheezes Fat Luis.

  Holding his palms up Christopher says, “No problems from me big man. Let’s go get the fish for El Jefe.”

  Luis engages the throttle and the launch pulls out to sea. Christopher is eager. To be free of La Luna, if only for a boat ride an exceptional moment for a prisoner of Islas Tres Marias.

  The launch is motorized by a seventy-five horse power Nissan outboard. It moves quickly across the choppy water. Despite knowing their progress is monitored by guards in the watch towers, for a fleeting moment Christopher envisions pushing Fat Luis off the boat and speeding away. Even knowing the launch’s limited fuel capacity part of Christopher urges, demanding, “Go for it.” To distract himself he watches Fat Luis’s belly as it jerks and tumbles with each thump of the boat. It’s not a pretty sight.

  Luis spots his target fishing boat a quarter mile ahead. Flashing the twin yellow beacons he does a “Whoop- whoop” with the siren. He startles Christopher with a conspiratorial, mischievous grin and cuts the engine. The launch drifts toward the surprised fisherman. Luis has probably scared away every fish in a mile radius.

  Infringing on the fisherman’s boat space is the height of bad manners. The fishing duo forced to reel in their fishing lines. Luis has ignored basic fishing etiquette. Christopher gives the fishermen an apologetic shrug. He sets the rubber dock bumpers between the boats.

  Leon Vargas and his son Miguel share a private look. They shake their heads and grimace at their poor luck. First an emaciated prisoner attempts to board their vessel. Leon shot him. Father and son watched in horror. Sharks ate the intruder. Later they find out he was an innocent man sent to Islas Tres Marias by a corrupt judicial system. Now today they are challenged by island authorities. It’s a dreadfulness that goes on and on. The look Leon throws Miguel says where will it end?

  At the very least it’s an inconvenience to their fishing. They are almost done for the day. Soon they will turn the Cabalitta de Mar toward home. They will travel in the deep of night to their fishing village Barras de Playta. Nodding to Miguel they continue reeling in their jigs.

  “Que paso?” Leon shouts to Fat Luis.

  Fat Luis smiles revealing teeth littered with the remains of his last meal. “We are here to buy your fish, mi amigo.”

  Luis’s false cheerfulness irritates Christopher. The Vargas, father and son, breathe a sigh of relief. They will not be evicted from their fishing spot. Leon Vargas shouts, “Buying our fish is easy amigo if you have pesos.”

  Vargas wipes his sweaty brow replacing a palm frond hat. “My fish bring good money in Mazatlan.” With outstretched arm he gestures behind him, “cooling in my locker I have tuna and dorado.”

  Christopher is half listening to the negotiations. Are these the fisherman who shot Daniel?

  “Our tuna are sixty pesos per pound,” says Miguel joining t
he bargaining. “Dorado priced seventy pesos per pound.” He has instinctively inflated the price of the fish.

  Fat Luis thinks for a moment. My opportunity to impress El Jefe! If I buy the fish at a good price I could be invited to the party at his compound.

  He can already envision the massive table full of food. Salivating, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a boat towel he makes his bid. “I offer you fifty pesos per pound for two tuna and all of your Dorado.”

  “Go to hell Big Man!” Vargas’s face darkens with outrage. “You are trying to steal my fish.” Reaching for his shot gun he pauses when Miguel places a calming hand on his shoulder, but it’s too late.

  Fat Luis has seen the gesture and launches into a stream of profanity that has spittle blowing back into his face. Armed with El Jefe’s promise of banishment he vows they’ll never fish the islands again. Wiping his mouth Fat Luis knows he has trapped Leon and Miguel. He pops the top on another soda tipping the can and drinking deeply of the sweet orange fizz. Reaching into his shirt pocket he pulls out a king-sized candy bar.

  Frozen to his spot on the boat Christopher is disgusted. His thoughts are in turmoil, almost as outraged as Vargas senior. I’m so close to the next step toward freedom and Fat Luis bullies this fisherman into submission.

  Christopher searches for something to say, anything, to redeem the moment. Carried by the ocean breeze his thoughts have scattered to the four directions. Breaking the tension Vargas junior calls out, “Okay, okay. Come on board and select your damn fish.”

  Luis nods at Christopher. He leans back in the Captain’s chair and pulls out a second candy bar.

  Miguel reaches out his hand.

  Leaping forward, Christopher pulls himself on board the fishing boat. With a grin Christopher shakes Miguel’s hand. Turning toward Leon, offering an apologetic smile, he extends his hand. Leon grumbles but in the face of Christopher’s friendliness he gruffly pumps a handshake. Opening the hatch the three men pull back the canvas, revealing dry ice, exposing the catch. “These tuna are huge! They’re as big as a man.”

  Miguel smiles at Christopher’s enthusiasm. Grim, Leon pretends disinterest. Christopher asks, “Can I use your gaff to pull them aboard the launch?”

  “No problemo,” Miguel replies with an easy smile.

  Hooking the silver tuna behind the gills Christopher wrestles the slippery fish onto the launch. He loads the Dorado one at a time. The fish flash silver, turquoise and florescent yellow in the late afternoon sun.

  With a smile at Miguel he says, “I know these will taste as good as they look.”

  Fat Luis pays the elder Vargas announcing, “If El Jefe likes your fish I’ll be back next week for another purchase.”

  As the launch pulls away Vargas waves his hand in disgust. Christopher thinks he hears, “Get lost.”

  It will take some time for Vargas to forgive Fat Luis for strong arming him out of his catch. Christopher is sure Miguel jacked up his original quote. They probably settled near the Mazatlan price.

  Tossing their jigs toward the floating debris in the water, Vargas junior and senior can see the Dorado’s rainbow flash. “We have a new customer, muchacho,” Leon says. Both men lift their voices in laughter.

  Checo is at the dock to greet them. Thinking ahead he has brought a wheelbarrow. Preparing the fish immediately is essential. Christopher asks for a sharp knife and aluminum foil from the guard’s kitchen.

  Fat Luis puffs up and it’s then that Christopher sees the octopus. Two small eyes are dwarfed by the head size. With no internal or external skeleton its squishy appearance matches Luis immense size that also appears to have no skeleton. Eight arms sway. When the octopus notices Christopher staring an inky discharge surrounds Luis. Fat Luis hesitates to answer Christopher’s request. They both know he will agree. But first Luis absorbs the power and flavors of his supremacy before answering the simple question. “Okay.”

  Christopher’s rage flashes. These are the acts of dominance that suck the life out of inmates.

  Checo sent to retrieve the knives, they move to the barbeque pits and the nearby banana tree. Filleting the fish into one and two pound segments Christopher utilizes the leaves off the tree to wrap them with his marinade, chilies and fruit. Please God, this will create a bold yet delicate seasoning.

  Placing the Dorado surrounded in lime juice and banana leaves in the still burning branches of Jacaranda they will be seared as the first course. He continues adding tuna, a denser fish, in the coals of the mesquite. It will cook while Christopher and Checo deliver the Dorado.

  By the time they have delivered the tuna both men are hot and sweaty. They postpone an ocean swim in favor of preparing the leftover fish for their dinner and the smoker. They return to find inmates crowded around the barbeque fires. Ave Bonita dives swooping over heads. The inmates take a nervous step back. Christopher explains the remaining fish left over from the haul will be smoked overnight. He says, “Tomorrow I will have generous portions of fish for sale. Just a few pesos will buy more fish than you eat.”

  Excited chatter surrounds Christopher and Checo as they wrap the fish with marinade using banana leaves. Batches are wrapped in foil and dropped in the ironwood coals. Tired of their audience Checo rises. Standing his full six feet he says, “Vamanos! Anyone caught near the barbeque will never buy Christopher’s fish or chicken again.”

  Inmates scatter.

  To celebrate their good fortune Christopher cooks fish for Checo and himself. When he produces two long-necked beers he laughs at Checo’s astonishment. He prepares the fish on the barbeque just as he has earlier for El Jefe’s dinner party. He has gathered banana, papaya, coconut and lime, tossed together as a fruit salad. Rice and beans have come from the inmate kitchen. He serves them fish over a mixture of rice and beans.

  He startles Checo by asking him to say a dinner blessing. Checo has not bowed his head in prayer since before his injury ended his futbol career. In a strangled voice he says, “We pray for God’s blessing and are grateful for this good fortune. Amen”

  Ave Bonita echoes, “Amen. Amen.” She swings on a nearby branch, hanging upside down. Christopher laughs, “Ave Bonita has her own way of celebrating.”

  Pleased with their laughter she swings with only one foot hoping to impress them even more. When Checo and Christopher clap their hands together in applause Ave Bonita sings. Her trills sail out and through the trees. Before lounging by the small fire they bury the smoking fish. Checo feeds his parrot bits of banana. After offering Christopher a cigar Checo drifts off to sleep his belly full and cigar hanging. Ave Bonita sleeps nearby with her head tucked under a wing.

  Christopher’s smoky thoughts turn to Juanita.

  He sighs deeply.

  His longing is deep and complex. Their chemistry runs thru his heart, flooding him with desire. When they touch their spirits shiver with delight. He imagines holding her tight, sharing intimate touch. In his imagination Christopher knows every part of Juanita. He knows how to make her laugh or tremble in excitement. One day Christopher will know in his body what he already knows in his soul.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A GIFT FROM EL JEFE

  Word leaks out the putas are arriving for their bi-monthly visit. Dawn greets the men as they line the dock. Golden beams are just cresting the eastern horizon as the boat arrives. The Captain cuts the engine drifting to the dock.

  Christopher’s heart has begun to hammer in anticipation. His eyes search the deck for Juanita’s slim figure. Women are shouting. They swing their skirts, pirouetting around the deck. Tossing hair, their lingering looks cause men to shout, whistle and stamp their feet. It’s a crescendo of noise and bravado.

  A skinny boy jumps to the dock to secure the lines.

  What! Wait! Shouldn’t Juanita secure the lines? Christopher’s breathe catches. His throat swells. No!

  Shoving bodies aside he arrives at the front of the line. He shouts down to the skinny kid, “Donde esta Juanita?”

&nbs
p; The boy pretends to cough and sneeze, pantomiming the flu.

  Crushed Christopher pushes his way to the dirt trail leading up the cliff. Today there will be no new memories for Christopher and Juanita to share. In his misery he doesn’t notice the Captain. Juanita’s father studies him with a fierce scowl. He grips the boat railing until his knuckles turn white.

  Cresting the cliff Christopher sits down hard. Holding his head in his hands despair threatens. How can Juanita love a prisoner? Where is the future? One tortured thought leads to another. Have her feelings changed? Has she met someone else? Exhausted he lays down watching the colors of the sea change.

  • • •

  Awakening to the rumble of diesel engines he’s surprised. The Captain’s boat sets out to sea. Twilight falling, the time of day the trees collectively sigh and breathe. Juanita explained this mystery. She said, “Trees breathe once a day. Together they exhale and inhale at twilight. Pay attention and you’ll be able to feel it.” Juanita think of me.

  Walking on down to the beach, a full moon wondrously round, casts a luminous glow. Behind him in the quiet he hears “plop, plop.” A momma sea turtle lays her eggs. She is as big as a manhole cover. A grunt of satisfaction tells him she is finished with her chore. He watches her head to the water’s edge.

  Instinctively compelled Christopher stops her. Looking into her soft eyes and gathering his intent into his belly he exhales his prayer. “Great Mama turtle please carry my prayer. I send my love and blessings for Juanita’s full recovery from the miseries of flu. Let her rest in a circle of love. As she reclaims her health, let beneficence guide and protect her. Amen.”

  The turtle eases into the moon lit sea. She glances back as if to say, “okay” disappearing into the greatest mama of all. The welcoming sea washes over her. In better spirits Christopher heads to his bunk.

  • • •