a band plays festive Caribbean music to a crowd of shrimpers,their families, and town locals gathered beneath an overhead banner declaring SHRIMP FLEET BLESSING . In the crowd are Luz and Joan with Carmen and Nina. Nina sits in her wheelchair, her brown eyes taking in the scene with nervous excitement.
Big Conch bullies his way through the center of the crowd. He holds two bottles of beer as he cocks his head back and forth, looking for someone. He spots Zoe dancing with a shrimper, her flared skirt spinning around her bare knees as the delighted partner stomps his white rubber boots to the band’s percussive rhythm. Big closes in on the shrimper and shoves him aside. The man stops dancing and sizes up Big’s imposing stature. The man slinks off. Big offers Zoe one of his two beers. She turns her back on him.
At the edge of the crowd, Hogfish wheels to a squeaky stop on his rusty bicycle. Stretched between the handlebars is the taut fishing line strung with barbed J-hooks. He jerks his head back and forth to the music he hears through the earbuds jammed into his ears and rises from the bicycle’s worn leather seat. He looks over the dancing crowd and glimpses Big following close behind Zoe as she walks quickly away from him.
Out of the darkness behind the line of docked shrimping boats, Noah’s trawler motors up. Inside the pilothouse, Noah steers his vessel between two large boats and cuts his engine. He looks through the window at the crowd on the pier. Behind him in the shadows is the slight figure of Rimbaud. Noah turns and speaks reassuringly in French: “Do what I told you and stay out of sight. Don’t go out on the deck. I’ll return soon.”
Rimbaud grabs Noah’s arm. “I’m afraid. What if they find me?”
“They won’t find you if you stay hidden inside the storage closet.”
Rimbaud’s eyes widen with fear. “They’ll find me and send me back to Haiti, where the earthquake cracked open the underworld, releasing zombies. Zombies breathing the death of cholera search for innocents to suck out their life.”
“Trust me, I’ll protect you. You won’t be sent to Haiti. I’ll come back with someone who can help us.”
Distrust crosses Rimbaud’s face as he slips away toward the storage closet.
Noah heads for the door and steps out of the pilothouse onto the deck. Anchored next to the trawler is a shrimping boat with its name painted along its side,
Pat’s Pride
. Pat stands on her deck, dressed in men’s jeans, shirt, and white rubber boots. She spots Noah and shouts above the raucous music from the band on the pier: “Truth Dog, we’re blessing shrimping boats here! Not pirate-radio boats! Shove off!”
Noah shouts back: “If you swear to stop net-killing endangered turtles, I’ll shove off! Until then, you can fuck off!”
Pat turns her back on Noah and bends over. She slaps her blue-jean-covered butt with a loud smack. “Kiss it, sucky eco-boy!”
On the crowded pier, a Catholic priest appears, dressed in a long billowing red robe. The priest is followed by altar boys in starched white cloaks. The boys swing metal censers smoking with burning incense. The crowd fallssilent. The band stops playing. All eyes go to the priest. He holds high a gold cross with a nailed Jesus. He looks at the long line of shrimping boats with their decorative lights blinking against the black sky. His voice booms: “Father, our shrimping boats are about to sail out again. We pray thee, Father, fill the nets of our men with thy bountiful gifts. We also beseech your Holy Mother, Mary, to shine her guiding light on our brave men, protect them from danger and stormy seas, return them home to the bosom fold of their families and loved ones.” The crowd shouts, “Amen!”
An old white-haired black shrimper walks with halting steps in front of the boats. His face is etched with deep lines from a lifetime under the sun. He holds in his hands a large fluted conch shell. He stops and raises the narrow end of
Big Conch bullies his way through the center of the crowd. He holds two bottles of beer as he cocks his head back and forth, looking for someone. He spots Zoe dancing with a shrimper, her flared skirt spinning around her bare knees as the delighted partner stomps his white rubber boots to the band’s percussive rhythm. Big closes in on the shrimper and shoves him aside. The man stops dancing and sizes up Big’s imposing stature. The man slinks off. Big offers Zoe one of his two beers. She turns her back on him.
At the edge of the crowd, Hogfish wheels to a squeaky stop on his rusty bicycle. Stretched between the handlebars is the taut fishing line strung with barbed J-hooks. He jerks his head back and forth to the music he hears through the earbuds jammed into his ears and rises from the bicycle’s worn leather seat. He looks over the dancing crowd and glimpses Big following close behind Zoe as she walks quickly away from him.
Out of the darkness behind the line of docked shrimping boats, Noah’s trawler motors up. Inside the pilothouse, Noah steers his vessel between two large boats and cuts his engine. He looks through the window at the crowd on the pier. Behind him in the shadows is the slight figure of Rimbaud. Noah turns and speaks reassuringly in French: “Do what I told you and stay out of sight. Don’t go out on the deck. I’ll return soon.”
Rimbaud grabs Noah’s arm. “I’m afraid. What if they find me?”
“They won’t find you if you stay hidden inside the storage closet.”
Rimbaud’s eyes widen with fear. “They’ll find me and send me back to Haiti, where the earthquake cracked open the underworld, releasing zombies. Zombies breathing the death of cholera search for innocents to suck out their life.”
“Trust me, I’ll protect you. You won’t be sent to Haiti. I’ll come back with someone who can help us.”
Distrust crosses Rimbaud’s face as he slips away toward the storage closet.
Noah heads for the door and steps out of the pilothouse onto the deck. Anchored next to the trawler is a shrimping boat with its name painted along its side,
Pat’s Pride
. Pat stands on her deck, dressed in men’s jeans, shirt, and white rubber boots. She spots Noah and shouts above the raucous music from the band on the pier: “Truth Dog, we’re blessing shrimping boats here! Not pirate-radio boats! Shove off!”
Noah shouts back: “If you swear to stop net-killing endangered turtles, I’ll shove off! Until then, you can fuck off!”
Pat turns her back on Noah and bends over. She slaps her blue-jean-covered butt with a loud smack. “Kiss it, sucky eco-boy!”
On the crowded pier, a Catholic priest appears, dressed in a long billowing red robe. The priest is followed by altar boys in starched white cloaks. The boys swing metal censers smoking with burning incense. The crowd fallssilent. The band stops playing. All eyes go to the priest. He holds high a gold cross with a nailed Jesus. He looks at the long line of shrimping boats with their decorative lights blinking against the black sky. His voice booms: “Father, our shrimping boats are about to sail out again. We pray thee, Father, fill the nets of our men with thy bountiful gifts. We also beseech your Holy Mother, Mary, to shine her guiding light on our brave men, protect them from danger and stormy seas, return them home to the bosom fold of their families and loved ones.” The crowd shouts, “Amen!”
An old white-haired black shrimper walks with halting steps in front of the boats. His face is etched with deep lines from a lifetime under the sun. He holds in his hands a large fluted conch shell. He stops and raises the narrow end of
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