I had not seen much of Randy in the next few weeks, due to the vegetables that had come in. I was too busy harvesting with the rest of the family. When I did finally see him, he had brand new cowboy hat, and a new machete. He promptly let me look over them, expecting me to be envious, since he was one that liked to show off. After turning over the machete in my hands, I asked him where he got the money for them. He got this queer grin, and said he had come into some money recently and left it at that. I had a good notion of how he came into some money, but said nothing, knowing I did not want involved. Randy preened a bit more, and then said he had to get going to Wulfert. He had gotten a job tying up the tourist ferries as they came in. Needing to get back to my harvesting, I let him go, but not without a bit of trepidation. I knew how much the ferry tie job paid, and it was not enough for Randy to buy those things, even if he saved every penny he earned. Randy was not the type to save anyway. But then it was getting close to spring, and the whole family was busy. We had much to do with the harvesting of vegetables, and the grapefruit were ready as well. So I had to help prepare those for shipment out of Wulfert. In the meantime, I had no time to think about Randy and his new toys.
It was mid March when I finally saw Randy again. He was working down on the ferry docks. He greeted me with a simple nod as he tied up the boats, and waited for his tip from the wealthy Yankee helping his wife and 3 daughters off their private boat. I thought Randy seemed to be leering at the man’s daughters, and I guess the man did too, for he gave Randy a coin and hurried his women off the platform. Randy then came over to talk to me, “What brings you down here? I haven’t seen you in some time.” I noticed that Randy had some new boots that had a shine in which I could almost see myself. “I came down with the family; we are shipping some vegetables and grapefruits off to Punta Rassa for shipment to Cuba. How are things with you?” Randy motioned me to follow him off the platform, “I am going to go for some lunch now, being there are no more boats on the horizon, and the next ferry is not for a few hours. Come on, I have a story I want to tell you.” I followed Randy off the dock and to the shelly sand near the shore. I think Randy chose this spot because the waves coming up would make it hard to be heard. He then proceeded to tell me a story that I wish he never had.
Apparently Randy had taken the job down there on Wulfert’s docks not long after he and I went down to Shamus’ shack. One evening, right before the last ferry was leaving; old Shamus came paddling up on an old canoe to the dock, the floor of the canoe loaded with boxes of honey. Now Randy was under the impression that Shamus only came down to Wulfert but once or twice a year to order supplies he might need. Apparently Shamus came down once a week to send his honey off to a seller in Fort Myers and beyond. Shamus would load 2 crates of honey jars, and collect a large envelope from the ship clerk. Sometimes he should place orders for new jars and pick them up when they came in. The ship clerk always seemed a little nervous around Shamus, but Shamus just went about his business. “One thing I did notice,” Randy said, “was that Shamus always got a pint of Irish whiskey delivered with his envelope.” This went on for about two weeks, when Randy decided he wanted to check out just what old Shamus did with that Whiskey and just what might be in those envelopes. Knowing that he could get down the path to his shack faster than Shamus could paddle around the island, Randy took off for the shack after the last ferry left out and Shamus started to paddle home. Crouching in the palmettos off the path near the front of the shack, he saw Shamus come up the path that led to the beach from behind the shack and the beehive rows. “Now ole Shamus was sort of staggering, holding the crate of jars under one arm, and swigging the whiskey with the other hand. He gets to the shack, puts the jars on the stoop, and reaches inside the door. I didn’t make out at first what he grabs, but he then walks to the beehive, with that money pot in it and unlocks the lock. He opens the envelope and empties it in to the pot without a second look, and locks the lock again. Then he puts the key back inside the door and sits on the stool to finish the whiskey. I watch him for about half an hour or so, and then he gets into the cot, and falls asleep.” I knew what Randy was about to say, but I let him continue anyway. “I crept up all quiet to the shack door. It stood open and I could see Shamus in the back corner, snoring away. On a peg next to the door was the key to that false beehive out back. So I slipped it off and grabbed me a few coins out of the big ole money pot. You should have seen it. It was brimming to the top with coin and paper money.” Randy looked down at me with this slight grin on his face. I must have been looking at him in surprise, and disbelief, because he then got a disgusted look on his face and said, “Oh what do you know, I always knew you were afraid of everything. I told you he would not miss a little bit here and there. I have been back three times since, and he never was the wiser.” “Randy,” I began, “I would not do it again. He is going to catch you and I don’t trust him none.” Randy looked at me and laughed, “Well, I bet the old man is coming down today. I saw his crate of jars and whiskey come in this morning on the first ferry. That means he will be drunk again this evening. Come back just before sunset, he usually appears then after the last ferries have come in and left.” There was no way I was going to be there when Shamus paddled into the dock and told Randy my parents needed me back at the farm soon. “Suit yourself then, but I am not sharing.” He spat into the surf and went back the docks. I hurried out there back to my house, still thinking about Randy’s brashness.
It was just about sunset when I got home, and we were sitting down to supper. Momma told me that in the morning I was to go down to Shamus’ shack and get two jars of his seagrape honey. She wanted it for some more candies she was making for the Reverend’s new bride as a welcome to the island gift. It was like a black curse hanging on me with visiting Shamus, but I reluctantly agreed. I think she noticed and asked, “Is all well with you son? I know old Shamus is strange, but being strange is not necessarily bad. Remember, a Christian turns the other cheek and accepts all of Gods people.” Some how I doubted that God had much to do with Shamus’ honey gathering practices, but I kept that to myself. After supper I told momma and papa I was going out for some air, and that I would be back soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment