A Salty Piece of Land by Jimmy Buffett

Author:Jimmy Buffett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Caribbean Area, Detective and mystery stories, Women ship captains, Autobiographical stories, Mystery & Detective, Humorous, Shosrt stories, Large print books, Mars, Fiction, Fiction - General, American, New York, Mystery fiction, Fugitives from justice, Islands, Large type books, General, Short stories, Tully (Fictitious character)
ISBN: 9780316743761
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2004-09-15T21:02:29.290000+00:00

Your friend,

Willie Singer

24

Some Days There’s Just Magic in the Air

The ride up the river was the perfect setting in which to read Willie’s letter of his already amazing exploits, as we glided along under a canopy of red mangroves and a cacophony of shrieks and whistles by the local population of kingfishers, herons, and egrets. I would write to both him and Cleopatra when we got back to Lost Boys. I was glad he was on the case. I was jealous about the fish.

“News from home?” Archie asked.

“No, just a mission accomplished,” I replied.

“Those always feel good.” Pointing up at several small hawks banking in circles over the water, Archie commented, “I call this stretch of the creek Appetizer Alley. Those big holes in the mud are homes to the blue crabs of Belize—quite tasty little buggers.”

We came out of the mangrove tunnel at an intersection in the waterway that Archie told us was Burdon Canal, a man-made, arrow-straight passage built in the 1920s as a safe inland route to market. Turkey vultures, pelicans, and frigate birds rode the thermals in the open sky above the jungle canopy. Archie pointed out monkeys and iguanas in the overhanging trees along the shore, and several crocodiles sunned themselves on the mud banks.

The creek gave way to the wider expanse of the Belize River, and at one point, the dinghy was surrounded by a giant squadron of brown butterflies with big orange spots. “They are called mangrove skippers,” Archie informed us.

Ix-Nay listened attentively to Archie, as fascinated by his manner as by his tour.

“This is a fine little country, a fine little country,” Archie pronounced as he guided the dinghy upstream. “There’s rum, women, fertile soil, a pirate history, a Mayan past, mountains, and water aplenty. Kind of place a man can settle down in unless something better comes along.”

“Covering the bases,” I interjected.

Archie paused, seeming to ponder the metaphor. “Suppose you could call it that. It is just that I have seen heaven turn into hell more than once on these trips around the sun. A man has to be ready to go on a moment’s notice, no matter how comfortable the moment might be.”

“So how did you end up here?” Ix-Nay asked.

“Courtesy of Her Majesty, the Queen of England, by way of the Third Commando Brigade Royal Marines, son. After the Falklands War and a stint in Iraq and Pakistan, I was stationed here as an instructor at the jungle warfare training camp at Mountain Pine Ridge.”

“I love the pine forest and the waterfalls up there,” Ix-Nay said. “We have no pine trees or rivers in the Yucatán. Only cenotes.”

“Ah, the pines.” Archie sighed. “When it was time to re-up or re-tire, I’d had my fill of soldiering. I had seen the world, been shot at and missed, from Belfast to Kafiristan.”

“I thought Kafiristan wasn’t real,” Ix-Nay said, interrupting.

“It’s as real as you want it to be. Kind of like your netherworld,” Archie added.

“Xibalba. I see your point,” Ix-Nay said.

“Have you been to the Khyber Pass?” I asked.

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