agent complained constantly as he dodged the sharp thorns.
Finally I said, ‘Pretend you’re an actor in Treasure Island .’
‘I’d rather be watching it with popcorn instead.’
After a half-hour’s struggle, we arrived at the palm tree in question and compared both of our compasses to determine south.
Ava took a few steps, turned and said, ‘I wonder how long a stride it was back then.’
I said, ‘I’m tall, Ziggy’s short. We’ll do it together and average the distance.’
With Ava counting the paces, Ziggy and I started shoulder to shoulder and I soon outpaced him. When we both stopped, she picked a spot that averaged where each of us had ended, and with her heel, made a crude ‘X’ in the hard-packed sand.
Her eyes danced with excitement. ‘Curtain up.’
We worked in teams of two: Ziggy and me then Ava and Orlando. Our first hole took about an hour. We managed to get six feet down before we hit water. The second took longer. The third, where Ziggy had stopped, took the longest. We didn’t talk much. What was there to say? Just bend and dig, bend and dig.
Orlando and Ava were at it when sea water began seeping into the hole again.
‘Nothing here either,’ he said.
Ava didn’t answer. She kept studying the map, brows furrowed, mouth pursed in thought. The sun, now moving into late afternoon, ducked behind a rising line of darkening cumulus.
I pointed to the sky. ‘I suggest we set up camp before the storm hits.’
She said, ‘What storm? It’s beautiful out.’
‘In about a half hour it won’t be.’
She stared into the empty hole. ‘I’m not happy about this.’
I studied her map. The drawing, though faint, was straightforward: two palm trees. Direct line, fifteen paces south from the second one. Child’s play.
‘Close, but no cigar.’
Ava said, ‘The only way to know for sure is to dig a five foot trench all the way along that line.’
‘By hand? It’ll take forever.’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘So?’
‘So, I’m a pilot, not a ditch digger.’
‘Fine. Ziggy and I will do it. You and Orlando can sit on your lazy asses and watch us count gold coins and know that you’ll not see a single one of them.’
‘How do you know they’re coins?’
A tiny hesitation. She glanced at the map. ‘I’m assuming they are. Maybe pearls and diamonds, too.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
She threw down the shovel. ‘Listen, captain, if I were kidding you’d be laughing about now, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, are you?’
‘I’m about to laugh at how stupid this is. Four adults digging in the sand like kids, pretending we’re going to find buried treasure.’
She snatched the map back. ‘Your problem is that if you don’t see it you don’t believe it.’
‘So?’
‘When I believe it, that’s when I see it.’
‘Who’s right so far?’
She poked my chest. ‘You are. But we’re not done yet, not by a long shot.’
A distant rumble of thunder cut off my wise guy response. Instead I said, ‘I suggest we continue this discussion after the storm.’
She spun around, picked up her shovel and stomped off.
Florida thunderstorms in August are not what you experience if you live in say, Virginia or Tennessee or Iowa. When they hit down here, it’s the one time I’m transported back to the inner wilds of Brazil, or Venezuela, or any of the South American countries I flew for Pan Am. Rain there is more solid than liquid. Sure, you can walk through it and fly through it, but the sheer force of it slamming into you or your airplane makes you think twice before doing so.
I’ve had engines drown when flying through a heavy thunderstorm cell. I’ve been right side up one second, and upside down the next from the winds packed inside their dark grey hearts. Snow I can handle but rain I respect.
That’s why when we got back to the beach, I realized it was too late to pitch any kind of camp. We had to take shelter inside the plane.
Finally I said, ‘Pretend you’re an actor in Treasure Island .’
‘I’d rather be watching it with popcorn instead.’
After a half-hour’s struggle, we arrived at the palm tree in question and compared both of our compasses to determine south.
Ava took a few steps, turned and said, ‘I wonder how long a stride it was back then.’
I said, ‘I’m tall, Ziggy’s short. We’ll do it together and average the distance.’
With Ava counting the paces, Ziggy and I started shoulder to shoulder and I soon outpaced him. When we both stopped, she picked a spot that averaged where each of us had ended, and with her heel, made a crude ‘X’ in the hard-packed sand.
Her eyes danced with excitement. ‘Curtain up.’
We worked in teams of two: Ziggy and me then Ava and Orlando. Our first hole took about an hour. We managed to get six feet down before we hit water. The second took longer. The third, where Ziggy had stopped, took the longest. We didn’t talk much. What was there to say? Just bend and dig, bend and dig.
Orlando and Ava were at it when sea water began seeping into the hole again.
‘Nothing here either,’ he said.
Ava didn’t answer. She kept studying the map, brows furrowed, mouth pursed in thought. The sun, now moving into late afternoon, ducked behind a rising line of darkening cumulus.
I pointed to the sky. ‘I suggest we set up camp before the storm hits.’
She said, ‘What storm? It’s beautiful out.’
‘In about a half hour it won’t be.’
She stared into the empty hole. ‘I’m not happy about this.’
I studied her map. The drawing, though faint, was straightforward: two palm trees. Direct line, fifteen paces south from the second one. Child’s play.
‘Close, but no cigar.’
Ava said, ‘The only way to know for sure is to dig a five foot trench all the way along that line.’
‘By hand? It’ll take forever.’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘So?’
‘So, I’m a pilot, not a ditch digger.’
‘Fine. Ziggy and I will do it. You and Orlando can sit on your lazy asses and watch us count gold coins and know that you’ll not see a single one of them.’
‘How do you know they’re coins?’
A tiny hesitation. She glanced at the map. ‘I’m assuming they are. Maybe pearls and diamonds, too.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
She threw down the shovel. ‘Listen, captain, if I were kidding you’d be laughing about now, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, are you?’
‘I’m about to laugh at how stupid this is. Four adults digging in the sand like kids, pretending we’re going to find buried treasure.’
She snatched the map back. ‘Your problem is that if you don’t see it you don’t believe it.’
‘So?’
‘When I believe it, that’s when I see it.’
‘Who’s right so far?’
She poked my chest. ‘You are. But we’re not done yet, not by a long shot.’
A distant rumble of thunder cut off my wise guy response. Instead I said, ‘I suggest we continue this discussion after the storm.’
She spun around, picked up her shovel and stomped off.
Florida thunderstorms in August are not what you experience if you live in say, Virginia or Tennessee or Iowa. When they hit down here, it’s the one time I’m transported back to the inner wilds of Brazil, or Venezuela, or any of the South American countries I flew for Pan Am. Rain there is more solid than liquid. Sure, you can walk through it and fly through it, but the sheer force of it slamming into you or your airplane makes you think twice before doing so.
I’ve had engines drown when flying through a heavy thunderstorm cell. I’ve been right side up one second, and upside down the next from the winds packed inside their dark grey hearts. Snow I can handle but rain I respect.
That’s why when we got back to the beach, I realized it was too late to pitch any kind of camp. We had to take shelter inside the plane.
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