Treasure Tracks, page 9
Abuelo’s progress was slow, his mood grim. But at least he was starting to speak.
Saturday mornings down at Abuelo’s house, Max rang the doorbell by eight o’clock. He’d become background noise—just part of our routine. Two dives a day, back-to-back, and then he’d walk away with his wallet full simply for babysitting me.
One Saturday in October, it wasn’t only the temperature that dipped to what the weather guys were calling “unseasonably cold” and gloomy.
Dad’s mood had also taken a dip, but I had something special in mind to liven things up.
So far that morning, the ocean had matched the forecast—cold and depressing. Nothing but disappointment on our first dive. But as we were closing in on the second destination, the ocean turned a bright shade of turquoise contrasting against the dreary gray skies.
As I powered the boat toward the surprise I had in mind, Max nudged me from behind. “You’ve been going for over six nautical miles, Fin. If you reveal where you’re heading, maybe I can help direct you if you’re lost.”
“I got this,” I said, and soon shifted to idle speed as a one-hundred-foot skeletal pyramid of a tower rose into view. Painted blood red, it shone through wisps of fog drifting over the sea.
“Ah, the old Carysfort Reef Lighthouse,” Max said, adding a creepy inflection to his voice. “Gotta be careful though. Current around here, compliments of the Gulf Stream, is unforgiving.”
From my research I knew he was right. I imagined the area as a sort of cemetery of ships, but the breathtaking blue of the water made it seem the opposite of scary.
“The lighthouse is named after a Royal Navy battleship which ran aground in the late seventeen hundreds,” Max explained. “It’s considered the most dangerous reef in the Keys.”
Shoot. I wasn’t planning on advertising that last part of its history.
Dad didn’t miss a beat. “And if it’s so treacherous, we’re coming here why? Don’t get what you expect to find here, Fin.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A little fun. Thought it’d be cool to hunt down a ghost. Rumor has it the lighthouse keeper, Captain Johnson, died here. They say you can hear his spirit moaning and at times even his skeleton floating over the water. Woo-ooo-ooo.”
Dad shot Max a questioning look.
“All true.” He nodded. “Not to mention ghosts from all the other wrecks—over sixty have been recorded here.”
“They say … even a ship named Guerrero,” I continued. “It sailed from Africa on its way to Cuba carrying over five hundred slaves. Forty-one of them drowned as the ship hit a reef and sank. Thought to happen right around this spot.”
“The African slave trade is the cruelest part of Caribbean history,” Dad said, and frowned. “All those lost souls. Swiped from their homes and families. Their freedom stolen.”
Wicked. Evil. Those were the words that came to mind. “Abuelo told me about the Guerrero a long time ago. When we see him next week I wanted to tell him we visited this place, since it has Cuba mixed in, just like—”
Shoot. I barely stopped myself short of spilling the beans.
“Just like our family,” Dad finished my sentence and gave me a wink. “I’m not one to believe in the supernatural, but don’t think I want to stick around here.”
“Ghosts only appear after nightfall, Dad. I’m going in. Less than four feet deep on most parts of the reef. No risk of the physical kind,” I snickered. “I’ll wade in and snorkel. Alone.” I reached for my fins but decided to leave them behind. With it being so shallow, I didn’t want to risk harming the delicate corals.
Dad grunted. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“Please, can’t you just roll with it?”
To my surprise, Dad did exactly that. “All right, Fin.” He took a long sip of coconut water and passed me my mask. “The better to see what dangers lurk in the deep … Muah hah hah.”
Corny but it cracked me up. I could definitely deal with this version of Dad for keeps.
Danger, however, was lurking right there as I stepped off the dive ladder and submerged my body into the chilly water. Translucent creatures with stringy blue and purple tentacles trailing off their sail-shaped bodies floated near the surface.
Portuguese men-of-war. Yikes! My heart responded with an extra thump. I froze and didn’t go under.
Best to steer clear. Waaay clear.
“Careful with the jellies,” Max shouted. “They like to hang out near this reef for some reason. Warding off invaders. Also—”
Too late. It became obvious what he was about to warn of next.
Sharks!
Babies, though. And nurse sharks—the more harmless type. I counted three, no, four. They skimmed across shallow fields of bright-colored corals, minding their own business.
“Fin, get out!” Dad screamed, pointing at the small school around me. “Max, can you grab him?”
Max dipped a cautious toe in the water before he plunged neck deep. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled to be told to go swim with predators.
Then, swish …
An attacker crept up from behind and lunged at him with one evil tentacle. I watched it all play out faster than I could open my mouth and alert him.
My babysitter screamed and gripped the back of one of his thighs. Victim of the venomous sting of a man-of-war.
He hightailed it back onto the ladder, back on the boat, still shrieking while bending to hold his leg. He huffed and puffed and shouted to Dad, “My bag! Pass my gear bag. I’ve got vinegar. Always bring some along in case of … this.”
As Dad hurried to get Max’s bag, he ordered me out of the water. “You’re done, Fin. Out of there this instant! This spot felt cursed from the start. We’re heading back.”
No major complaints from me. I was happy to leave the lighthouse to these predators …
But as I swung onto the boat, I had a twisted thought: This could be it. A reason for Max to bail. A way to shake babysitter number two, so it’d be down to just a cooler version of Dad and me.
* * *
That version of Dad was short-lived.
Early the same evening, Mami, with Ratón shoved into a purse, arrived to surprise us. Her dress was fancy—yellow and bright. High heels matched the same sunny shade, along with the hibiscus flower pinned in her black hair. Even rat dog had a matching yellow ribbon band stuck between the pointy ears on his head.
I gave Mami a peck on the cheek. “Flip-flops are more the uniform in the Keys.”
“Stop teasing her. She looks beautiful. Always does.” Dad gave her a dopey smile. “Too pretty to keep inside. Let’s go out to dinner and celebrate her visit. There’s something important I need to discuss with you.”
Uh-oh.
The bad news was written all over Dad’s face when we stepped into Mer-Man’s, a local fish joint, and one of the first restaurants he and I had found open post-hurricane apocalypse. Ocean-blue walls were covered in fishing nets and kitschy nautical décor, heavy on the mermaid theme. Dad ushered us into a booth, ready to launch into one of his lectures.
I had a pretty good idea of what he was about to say, and it wasn’t one bit of a cool-dad move. If I could ignore him long enough, distract him, maybe I’d get him to forget about it.
I hunched down and played with my phone.
Dad cleared his throat. “Fin, look up. We need to talk.”
“Huh. What?”
“I’ve been supporting you—”
“Check out the photo I took of the haunted lighthouse.”
“Nice.” Dad nodded. “Back to what I was saying … I’ve supported—”
“This one is better.” I turned my screen.
“Pero stop interrupting your papi,” Mami said. “Presta atención.”
Groan …
Dad began again. “Fin, we’ve been chasing this dream of yours for weeks—and now you’ve even got me watching you swim with sharks and those iridescent stinging things.”
Yikes. This was not information that needed to be shared with Mami.
Her hands flew to the sides of her mouth. “¿Tiburones? What do you mean you swam with sharks?”
A waitress popped up to our booth. Her hair, dyed green and twisted in tiny braids, resembled strands of seaweed.
“Thank you!” I’d never been so happy to have my glass filled with water.
She smiled and dropped plastic-covered menus on the table. “Holler when you’re ready.”
“Wait!” Mami called after her. “You got any of those fried Keys balls to start and calamari?”
The waitress gave Mami a look like she was growing two heads, and then she smiled.
“You mean conch fritters? Calamari and conch are always available. House specialties, along with the Key lime pie—graham crust and right amount of tart.”
“Yes. Send the critters and calamari out first, please. I’m starving.”
“Mami, if you order calamari, I swear I’ll puke.”
“Charming.” Mami scrunched her face and turned to the waitress. “Skip the squid.”
“Fresh order of critters it is.” The waitress winked. “Back in a bit.”
Dad was out of patience. As soon as she’d left, he slapped his hand down on the table so that the ice in our drinks jiggled. “Face it, Fin. It’s time you accept the truth. There’s no way you can find this treasure. You could search for the rest of your life just like Dad and my grandfather, and still not find it.”
“I can—”
“It’s not healthy, son. We need to make sure your abuelo forgets this obsession of his which he’s passed on to you. Help him find peace. You both need it.”
“Why are you the only person in the family who can’t believe?”
“Someone’s got to be practical,” Dad said, scanning the menu. “Ready to order?”
“No! I’m not ready to stop trying. How can you give up on the family legacy? Give up on helping Abuelo?”
“My legacy is different. It’s about stability. Earning an honest living. Being a good provider for you and your mom.”
“Así es.” Mami patted his hand.
“But all I’ve asked you for is to drive me down and take me diving. And now you can’t even do this.”
“How about a little gratitude, Fin? I’ve footed the bill for gas, for your diving partner, for your Band-Aids and sunblock. I’ve been more than generous indulging you.”
I laid on my best pout. “Can I go out at least one more time? I still have a few more places I want to check out. Pleeease.”
“You think it’s going to make a difference? There’s always going to be one more spot. I can’t keep coming down and paying for Max indefinitely. If he even wants to go out again…”
“I never asked for a babysitter.”
Dad took a slow sip of water. “I’m sorry.”
The waitress poked her head back into our booth. “Did you choose?”
I slunk back in my seat. What choice did I have? Dad had ended our deal.
“Sorry, I lost my appetite,” I said.
* * *
Shell-shaped bells rattled as the door to Mer-Man’s closed behind us. On the other half of the salmon- colored building, the storefront sign read Dip Sea Laundromat in handcrafted squiggly letters.
A man wearing all black leaned against the wall of its entrance, blowing out wisps of smoke. When he brought the cigarette to his mouth, his arm flexed so the sea serpent decorating his left biceps twisted into view.
I’d seen that tattoo before. This man was no stranger.
Dad kept an arm around Mami as they strolled along, buried in conversation. I dodged around them, bolting to the car in stealth-mode. Our parking spot, two spaces down, allowed a safe distance to spy.
The doors to Dip Sea pushed open. “Sylvester, come help.”
Sylvester? I had a hard time picturing Slippety Sly as Sylvester, but who else could it be? Ha! He’d been given a stuffy birth name. Same as me.
“Sylvester.” The woman popped into view. Her hair, white as a bleached sand dollar, gave away her years. She pushed her way through the entrance, balancing on a cane. “The basket. I can’t—”
“I’ll get it, Nana.” Sly’s tone was gentle. He put out his cigarette, waving away the smoke, and escorted his grandmother to a car. The jalopy, tired and rusted with age, hardly seemed safe. He banged against the passenger door, prying it open, before holding out a hand and helping his grandmother into the seat. Then he closed the door for her, the way Mami always told me a gentleman should. “I’ll go grab your clothes.”
Mami and Dad approached my hiding spot, their voices carrying over the air. At the sound, Sly swung his head in our direction, locking in with my stare.
Crap. Outed. I had no right to be sneaking a glimpse into his private life—his very normal private life. He had a grandmother who relied on him. I had never bothered to ask about his family.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, giving me a disappointed scold.
I deserved this and more. After all, I had sold him out. Proclaimed him a pirate, and judging by his beat-up ride, he probably needed the gig with Dad and me real bad.
15
GOLD SEAWEED ROAD
I tossed and turned that night in my room at Abuelo’s house. Guilt swept over me. Same as the waves crashing outside my window, rushing over my sheets. Soaking them with seawater. Or was it sweat?
Dreams. Reality. It wasn’t quite clear.
My bed began swaying. Side to side.
I looked over the edge, clinging on to the bedding. The rug underneath churned to life, becoming a dark gray sea. Wavy crests rolled in with a surge of current. They intensified with rage until mighty breakers built up, crashing against the wood frame.
My body shook out of control, drenched head to toe in salt spray. I bent my legs to my chin, shivering from the slap of the angry sea.
The ceiling tore open with a crackling force. A funnel cloud shot down, creating a vortex. Twisting on top of me. With every rotation, it was sucking me closer to its core.
Closer to where I could see this was no ordinary cloud. Scales became visible. A dark green body coiled into rings.
Snake? Dragon?
A beast. A monster I’d seen before in dreams.
No. This one was real. Real as the evil sea serpent tattooed on Sly’s arm. Payback. He’d sent it after me.
It opened its jaw wide, revealing fangs and rows of sharp teeth. The smell of rotting fish and algae exploded from within.
I could no longer breathe.
The tail, ending in long pointy fins, wrapped around my neck. Squeezed and squeezed. Slimy snake-like scales pressed down, sucking the final air out of me.
I swam into a pit of darkness. Death?
Nothing made sense. My mind continued to fight for release, clawing through the black cape that was drowning me in nothingness. I managed to break free. Tear away the misery surrounding me.
Black turned gray. Gray turned blue. Skies and oceans of turquoise blue. Puffy, cotton-shaped clouds floated amid this perfect blue, setting me adrift. Hugging me with happiness. Peace. Heaven?
Rays of golden light shot down through a cloud and the image of a man appeared. Illuminated by sunshine, goodness glowed around him. He waved. The instruction clear, I followed, no longer suffocating in fear.
Transparent water rose around me till it leveled off shoulder-deep. I swam, slicing through a gentle current. With each stroke, I inched closer and closer until I could get a better look at the man’s face.
Abuelo?
Thoughts swirled inside my head. Nothing made sense. Was I trapped in a dream? Had I let Abuelo down? Let the sea serpent get the best of me?
I stopped to examine the man’s face, searched for the faded anchor tattoo.
It wasn’t there.
The man looked so much like Abuelo. But no. Not the same.
He waved me over again. “Keep going. I’ll show you the way. Follow me. Follow me.”
A large patch of seaweed threaded together at his feet, turning into a thick carpet. The sun’s rays shot an electric charge onto the brown algae, making it glint against the turquoise-blue water. It dazzled as if spun of gold before shaping itself into a long path extending on and on in front of me.
Abuelo-ish man turned so I could only see his back. He floated above the golden seaweed road. A ghost. Inching his way forward, he continued to beckon me.
I lifted myself out of the water and tiptoed behind him. Humming. I came up with a silly version of the famous song from The Wizard of Oz as I skipped along. (Yes, I actually skipped.)
Follow the gold seaweed road.
Follow the gold seaweed road.
Follow, follow, follow, follow,
follow the gold seaweed road.
We’re off to find a treasure,
a treasure that no one knows.
The man kept guiding.
I follow, follow, followed.
My cringey tune played on endless repeat. Ah! Why didn’t this dream come with a mute switch?
For miles and miles, I leaped over twists and turns of golden algae with the grace and strength of a ballet dancer.
Nothing changed for a long while until we reached a tower. A guiding beacon. A few feet northeast of it, we arrived at a shipwreck.
Abuelo-ish man stopped and pointed down. The water, crystal clear as a looking glass, made it easy to see every shape buried beneath its surface. An old cannon lay on the ocean bottom, a deadly remnant of the wreck.
BANG!
Recognition flashed inside my head. I’d seen this dive site before—at least pictures of it after obsessively researching all of the big shipwrecks in the Keys.
We were near Elbow Reef. The City of Washington wreck. This old schooner turned steamship built in the late eighteen hundreds had fallen to its watery grave here. The funny thing is the ship had ties to Havana, same as Abuelo’s treasure.
During the Spanish-American War, it transported troops to Cuba, years before it had struck the reef. Now schools of fish, not soldiers, made a home of it. Good thing I even read all the history part.
