The Penalty by Mal Peet

Author:Mal Peet [Peet, Mal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781406336788
Publisher: Walker Books Ltd
Published: 2011-06-02T04:00:00+00:00

GENTLY, MARCOS DROVE his minibus into a part of San Juan that Faustino hadn’t known existed and wouldn’t have gone to if he had: a swarming network of creeks and quays, of puddled streets and soot-smeared sheds. At one point, where Marcos took a sudden left, the vast and rusting hull of a ship reared up just beyond a row of ramshackle buildings. Men hung against it in terrifying cradles, welding. Sparks, small electrical blizzards, flurried among them.

Marcos parked in an area of oil-stained concrete where other vehicles – mostly pick-up trucks and small motorbikes rigged with trailers – stood abandoned. His passengers climbed out and followed Prima through a short sequence of narrow alleyways. If the gringo hadn’t looked so sullen, they might have been taken for an oddly assorted group setting out for a picnic on one of the islands. Mateo, the eldest brother, the one with the bandanna, had an orange cool box perched on his head; he supported it casually with two fingers. Lucas had a big rucksack slung over one shoulder, Bakula a smaller one; Marcos carried a large Nike sports bag. Faustino walked closely alongside Juan because their wrists were fastened together by a thick plastic strap.

They emerged onto a flagstoned quay overlooking a channel crowded with boats. Many were derelict, tilted onto the muddy shallows as if by some ancient gale, their timbers sprung from their ribs, their innards rusting. The water looked thick and grey, except where it had a prismatic skin of oil. Green coconuts and plastic bottles bobbed in it.

From the quay a wide gangway sloped down onto a floating pontoon to which working boats were tethered. There was a good deal of human traffic and business. The quay was piled here and there with engine parts, crates of fruit and vegetables, butane gas bottles. At one end of the pontoon a man in a blood-smeared singlet was cleaning fish, taking them from a wooden tray, slitting them open, flicking the guts into the water. He seemed oblivious to the screaming cloud of gulls he’d summoned. Faustino and his abductors descended the gangway; a number of people nodded greetings to Prima, glancing at Faustino and away again.

On the pontoon, Marcos made his farewells. He held Prima’s head in his huge hands and kissed her forehead, shook hands respectfully with Bakula, clasped hands with each of his brothers. Finally he touched Faustino lightly on the shoulder.

“You’ll be okay with these guys, man.”

“I was even more okay without them,” Faustino said sourly.

Marcos looked slightly hurt. He turned and gave Faustino a reproachful glance before climbing the gangway.

The boat was called El Peregrino, and it looked almost seaworthy. About six metres long, with a three-sided wheelhouse towards the bow and an awning over the middle section of the deck. Lucas squeezed himself into the wheelhouse. Mateo went to a wooden deck locker and undid the two heavy padlocks that held it shut. He put the bags and the cool box into it, then took out a number of thin foam cushions which he spread in the shade.

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