Read Online Seas of South Africa by Philip Roy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Philip Roy
Ads: Link
Hollie, the money, the cage, the binoculars, and paddled to the beach. Seaweed was already there.
It was a pretty river basin. The river cut several trenches through the sandy soil, making little islands out of the beach. The sand was golden, the trees bright green, and the water in the river clear and blue. There was no one around, which suited me perfectly. I pulled the kayak onto the beach, and carried the money and cage upstream along the river to a good spot for cleaning.
Hollie ran wild as usual. Seaweed investigated the riverbank for things to eat. Little Laura looked all around from inside her cage, but wouldnât come out. I opened the door and she poked her head out, but stayed inside. She stared at Hollie as if waiting for him to come and carry her around, but there was no way on earth he would give up his freedom on the beach to offer her a piggyback ride. I settled down onthe riverbank with a brush and soap and started scrubbing the money.
Who knew cleaning money would be so much work? I couldnât help wondering how it got so dirty in the first place. Had it passed through so many dirty hands? But the money wasnât old. Most of it looked fairly new. Had it sat around in a room with sour milk that slowly turned into rotten cheese? But it wasnât exactly a cheese smell; it was stinkier than that. Then I imagined even worse things. Had the money been buried in the ground for a while, with a dead body or two? Stop thinking like that, I told myself, it was just dirty. But the more I handled the money, the dirtier it felt, and the harder I scrubbed it.
There was a fresh breeze coming across the land. This was very welcome to me because the smell of the money was making me sick. I raised my head to look at the sea, but couldnât see it. I had to stand up. When I did, the horizon was clear. No one knew we were here. I looked around. This was such a pleasant place; it was hard to believe that people were taken from here and sold into slavery. But they were. They went mostly to the Caribbean and America, but other places, too. What really surprised me was that the slave traders didnât have to come inland to raid the villages themselves; they were able to buy the people from tribal chiefs. The chiefs sold their own people, or people from neighbouring tribes, to the traders. I didnât know which would be worse: being kidnapped by strangers, or being sold by your own people.Probably being sold by your own people. The reason was the same in both casesâfor money.
As I scrubbed each bill, turned it over, and scrubbed the other side, I thought of the family who had run away from me when they saw the money. Why had they been so afraid? Money was just money. It wasnât evil. I stood up and scanned the horizon again. As I stared at the vast hazy ocean, I imagined old wooden sailing ships coming in and dropping anchor. Sailors would come ashore in rowboats, greet the tribal chiefs, and hand over money for slaves . . . I stopped. That was it. I remembered watching shows about the pirates in Somalia. It was the tribal chiefs who forced the young men into piracyâtheir own peopleâjust as their ancestors had sold their own people to slave traders. No wonder people would be afraid of money around here. In their past, and in their present, their own chiefs were willing to trade them, or force them into a violent and dangerous life, just to make money. Now I understood why the sight of someone washing blood off money would have been frightening to a poor local family.
I cleaned another thousand dollars. My hands were tired now, and a little sore. The brush was rubbing the skin away from my fingernails and making them bleed. What a nuisance. On the other hand, I was a thousand dollars richer. I stood up to stretch my back and take another peek at the horizon. It was clear. Then, I looked at the portal of the sub. Strangely, it looked a little fatter than before. How could thatbe? I grabbed
It was a pretty river basin. The river cut several trenches through the sandy soil, making little islands out of the beach. The sand was golden, the trees bright green, and the water in the river clear and blue. There was no one around, which suited me perfectly. I pulled the kayak onto the beach, and carried the money and cage upstream along the river to a good spot for cleaning.
Hollie ran wild as usual. Seaweed investigated the riverbank for things to eat. Little Laura looked all around from inside her cage, but wouldnât come out. I opened the door and she poked her head out, but stayed inside. She stared at Hollie as if waiting for him to come and carry her around, but there was no way on earth he would give up his freedom on the beach to offer her a piggyback ride. I settled down onthe riverbank with a brush and soap and started scrubbing the money.
Who knew cleaning money would be so much work? I couldnât help wondering how it got so dirty in the first place. Had it passed through so many dirty hands? But the money wasnât old. Most of it looked fairly new. Had it sat around in a room with sour milk that slowly turned into rotten cheese? But it wasnât exactly a cheese smell; it was stinkier than that. Then I imagined even worse things. Had the money been buried in the ground for a while, with a dead body or two? Stop thinking like that, I told myself, it was just dirty. But the more I handled the money, the dirtier it felt, and the harder I scrubbed it.
There was a fresh breeze coming across the land. This was very welcome to me because the smell of the money was making me sick. I raised my head to look at the sea, but couldnât see it. I had to stand up. When I did, the horizon was clear. No one knew we were here. I looked around. This was such a pleasant place; it was hard to believe that people were taken from here and sold into slavery. But they were. They went mostly to the Caribbean and America, but other places, too. What really surprised me was that the slave traders didnât have to come inland to raid the villages themselves; they were able to buy the people from tribal chiefs. The chiefs sold their own people, or people from neighbouring tribes, to the traders. I didnât know which would be worse: being kidnapped by strangers, or being sold by your own people.Probably being sold by your own people. The reason was the same in both casesâfor money.
As I scrubbed each bill, turned it over, and scrubbed the other side, I thought of the family who had run away from me when they saw the money. Why had they been so afraid? Money was just money. It wasnât evil. I stood up and scanned the horizon again. As I stared at the vast hazy ocean, I imagined old wooden sailing ships coming in and dropping anchor. Sailors would come ashore in rowboats, greet the tribal chiefs, and hand over money for slaves . . . I stopped. That was it. I remembered watching shows about the pirates in Somalia. It was the tribal chiefs who forced the young men into piracyâtheir own peopleâjust as their ancestors had sold their own people to slave traders. No wonder people would be afraid of money around here. In their past, and in their present, their own chiefs were willing to trade them, or force them into a violent and dangerous life, just to make money. Now I understood why the sight of someone washing blood off money would have been frightening to a poor local family.
I cleaned another thousand dollars. My hands were tired now, and a little sore. The brush was rubbing the skin away from my fingernails and making them bleed. What a nuisance. On the other hand, I was a thousand dollars richer. I stood up to stretch my back and take another peek at the horizon. It was clear. Then, I looked at the portal of the sub. Strangely, it looked a little fatter than before. How could thatbe? I grabbed
Similar Books
