Walking in the Light by Theodore Pitsios

Author:Theodore Pitsios
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-28T13:32:07+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nassau

The ship was scheduled to dock at seven o’clock in the morning, but I’d been up since five, drinking coffee. It was my first time docking where I was not expected to be doing anything. I watched the deckhands drop the pilot ladder and unlash the gangway and felt I should be with the rest of the men, slacking and heaving lines.

A steward pushing a cart with coffee and tea came along and asked me if I wanted a refill. Instinctively I shook my head no, then remembered I was a passenger and moved my cup forward for a refill. I went up on the next deck where I couldn’t be seen by the working crew.

At the entrance to Nassau’s harbor, lots of construction was ongoing, and I walked over to the starboard side for a closer look. A giant steam crane fitted with a special grapple hook like a hand with long fingers was picking up huge granite boulders from a barge and gingerly placing them in the water atop a mound of smaller rocks already in place. A man standing on a high spot of the unfinished breakwater directed the crane operator with complicated hand signals.

“We’re building a breakwater for the Bahamian government,” the man to my right informed his companion. “That there is an American outfit, out of New York.” He pointed to a giant steam crane with FREDERIC SNARE CORPORATION in large letters on its side.

Farther in, anchored in the middle of the harbor, a freighter unloaded the breakwater material into barges. Two more cranes, one on either side of the ship, hissed and blew steam like dragons fighting over the huge stones stored in the ship’s belly. Every time a boulder was lifted from the ship’s hold, a loud hissing filled the air, and a cloud of white steam from the crane’s engine would hover above the machine for a while, like frozen dragon’s breath.

Suddenly the Ariadne’s whistle emitted a series of warning blows. I, like everyone else, looked over the side just in time to see a small wooden boat crossing the bow only inches away. She was loaded with conch shells piled high in the center, leaving almost no freeboard. A long time ago the boat must have been painted red and green. In her stern stood a tall black man in tattered pants and a straw hat, sculling at a fast, steady pace. He wore no shirt, and his sweat-drenched torso shone in the morning sun. He broke his rhythm to wave at the photographers and the cheering crowd aboard the Ariadne, then kept on going.

The black anniversary couple I had seen the previous night were leaning on the rails to my left. This time they had two boys with them, physically identical and identically dressed. They looked about twelve years old. The woman, dressed in a tropical-looking flowery shirt and shorts like her husband, photographed everything she saw while the man pointed out to the two boys the different landmarks on the island.

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