The Black Pearl Read online

  Now the red mist parted a little where we were floating and the sun broke through. The Sevillano was between me and the mantas cave, much closer than I had thought him to be. In his hand was a knife and the sun glittered on it. We looked at each other and I saw by his face that he meant to use the knife if the need arose; still I said nothing.

  "Do not think that I blame you for stealing the great pearl," he said. "For all the good it did it might better have been given to the devil. Nor do I blame you for wishing to keep the place where you found it a secret. But hand it over, mate, and we shall talk then about other things."

  He put the knife in his belt. His boat moved nearer, until it touched the prow of mine. He held out his hand to take the pearl.

  The cave was dark, yet not far distant, so I could see it clearly. I took the pearl from my shirt, as if to give it to him, but as he put out his hand to receive it, I threw the pearl into the air, beyond him into the water, into the mouth of the cave.

  It was an unwise thing to do, for the pearl had no quicker left my hand than the Sevillano was in the sea, swimming beneath the water. I picked up the oars and turned the heavy boat against the current, thinking that I would row to the far end of the lagoon and seek the old man's help. Before I could straighten the boat, the Sevillano came to the surface, grasped one of the oars and then the gunwale. In his hand was the great black pearl.

  "You toss it to the devil and the devil picks it up," he said, climbing over the side. "Now we find my boat."

  It had drifted off on the tide. The boat was smaller than mine and as we overtook it I saw that it was filled with provisions for a voyage—food, a jug of water, a fishing line and hooks, and an iron harpoon, among other things. The Sevillano stepped into the boat and motioned me to follow. Not knowing what he meant for me, I did not move.

  "Hurry, mate, or we miss the tide," he said. "We have many leagues to go."

  "I am rowing ashore," I answered him. "I have business with Soto Luzon."

  The Sevillano slipped the knife from his belt. I looked toward the far shore and hoped that the old man had heard our talk and had come to the lagoon to see who we were, but the red mist still hid the shore from view.

  Again the Sevillano motioned me into the boat, this time with his threatening knife. I had no choice except to obey him.

  "Sit down. Be comfortable," he said, handing me a pair of oars.

  He stripped off his singlet and wrapped it round the pearl and seated himself in back of me.

  "Row," he said.

  The mist had begun to rise from the water. I took a last look toward the shore, but it was deserted. Then I felt the sharp point of the knife pressing against my shoulder. I picked up the oars and began to row aimlessly.

  "Toward the sea," the Sevillano said. "Because we go in that direction. And why do we go in that direction? Since you will ask this sooner or later, I shall tell you now. We go to the City of Guaymas. What do we there? We sell the great pearl. We sell it together, you and I, for the name of Salazar is known among the pearl dealers of Guaymas. And for this reason we shall sell it for ten times the sum I could get if I sold it alone."

  He was silent, busying himself with his oars. I heard him set the oars in their locks and thought, Now there is a chance for me to slip over the side and swim to the nearest shore. He must have read my thoughts, for again I felt the knife pressing against my back.

  "Since I cannot row and watch at the same time," he said, "it is you who must do the rowing, so put your mind to it, mate. The tide turns and does not wait."

  Slowly I pulled at the oars, thinking a hundred thoughts in desperation. But to no avail, for the knife was at my back and I could only do what I was bidden.

  Once outside the channel, too far for me to swim ashore, the Sevillano set his course eastward across the Vermilion and raised a ragged sail.

  14

  THE WIND BLEW fresh from the south and we made a goodly distance that morning. At noon we ate some of the corn cakes the Sevillano had brought and then I lay down and slept. When I awoke at dusk I asked the Sevillano if he wished me to take the tiller while he slept.

  "No," he said and grinned. "I have little trust in you, mate. I might never wake up and if I did I would most likely find that you had turned the boat around and we were sailing back into La Paz."

  Nevertheless, the Sevillano did doze off, but with one eye open and a hand on his knife and the pearl held between his bare feet, which had long toes like fingers.

  The wind slackened and as the moon came up I saw a movement on the sea, some two furlongs astern. It was not a wave that I saw because the sea was smooth. There were many sharks around, so I thought that a few of them were feeding upon a school of fish. Shortly I saw the movement again and this time the moon's light shone on the tips of outspread wing-like fins, rising and slowly falling. It was plainly a manta.

  We had seen several of these creatures that day, sunning themselves or leaping high into the air out of good spirits, therefore I paid no heed to the one swimming behind us. I fell asleep and awoke about midnight to sounds that I felt I had dreamed.

  The sounds were small and not far distant, like the sounds that wavelets make as they slide upon a beach. Suddenly I found that they were nothing I had dreamed, for not more than a hundred feet away and clear in the moonlight a giant manta was swimming along behind us.

  "We have a companion," I said.

  "A big one," replied the Sevillano. "I wish he would swim out in front and then I could tie a rope to him and we would soon be in the City of Guaymas."

  He laughed at the picture he had called up, but I sat silent and stared at the giant manta swimming close to the stern of our boat. That it was the same manta I had seen early in the evening, I had no doubt.

  "He smells the corn cakes," said the Sevillano.

  At daylight the manta still swam behind us. He was no closer than before, swimming along at the same pace as the boat, with only the slightest movement of his fins, more like a giant bat swimming through the air than like a fish.

  "Remember on the voyage," I said to the Sevillano, "when we were coming home and you shouted, 'Manta Diablo,' and the Indian got scared? Well, he should be here now to see this one."

  "I have seen many," said the Sevillano, "but this one is the monster of all. He will measure ten paces across, from fin to fin, and weigh more than two ton. But they are a chummy sort, these sea-bats, friendly like the dolphins. I have had them follow my boat for a whole day, yet never with malice. Still, with a mere flip of a fin or a twitch of their tail they can send you into eternity.

  Most of an hour went by and then the manta swam out ahead of us. As he passed the boat, I clearly saw his eyes. They were the color of amber and flecked with black spots and they seemed to fix themselves upon me and me alone, not upon the Sevillano. I also caught a glimpse of his mouth and for some reason remembered that my mother had told me that the Manta Diablo had seven rows of teeth, and I said to myself, "She was wrong, he has no teeth above and only one set below, which is dull and not sharp like knives and very white."

  The manta turned and came back, swimming in a wide circle around us. Then out he went again, but this time when he returned the circle was smaller and the waves he made caused the boat to pitch about.

  "I grow tired of our friend," said the Sevillano. "If he swims closer I will give him a taste of the harpoon."

  I wanted to say to the Sevillano, "You had best not molest him. One harpoon would be only the prick of a pin." I tried to say, "This is not just a manta that swims there. This is the Manta Diablo." But my lips were frozen.

  I think it was the amber eye he had fixed upon me as he passed, upon me and not upon the Sevillano. Yet it might have been the stories that had frightened me as a child, before I had learned to laugh at them, that now came flooding back, more real than they ever were. I do not know. I do know that suddenly I was certain that the giant swimming there was the Manta Diablo himself.

  The circles grew smaller.
We were the center of them—the boat, the Sevillano, myself, the pearl—of this I had no doubt.

  The boat began to rock violently and water came in and we both had to bail with our hats to save it from sinking. A half mile or less off our bow was an island called Isla de los Muertos, Island of the Dead. It had gained this name because on it lived a tribe of Indians who were known to do away with all those who landed there, to spear turtles or for any other reason.

  "Keep at the bailing and I will row," said the Sevillano. "We head for the island."

  "I would rather take my chances on Los Muertos," I said and never in my life meant anything more.

  As if he sensed what we planned to do, the Manta Diablo swam off to a distance, sank out of sight, and allowed us to reach the island safely.

  15

  LOS MUERTOS is barren like all the islands of our Vermilion Sea, but it has a snug, sandy cove where turtles by the hundreds come to lay their eggs. Into this we made our way, beached the boat, and then climbed a low hill behind the cove, which gives a good view of the island.

  Isla de los Muertos is small and mostly flat and at its southern end the Indians live out in the open, without shelters of any kind. From the hill we saw that evening fires were burning and people had gathered around them and that their black canoes lay in a neat row on the shore. We decided, therefore, that no one had seen us sail into the cove.

  We turned the boat over and emptied the water that had almost swamped us and ate more of the corn cakes. By then it was night.

  "We wait for an hour," said the Sevillano. "That will give the manta time to find another boat to follow."

  "We can wait for an hour or for a day," I said, "but he will be there still."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that the one out there is the Manta Diablo."

  It was too dark to see his face, but I knew that the Sevillano was staring at me as though I had lost all my senses.

  "Santa Maria!" he cried. "I am aware that ignorant Indians believe in the Manta Diablo. But that you who have been to school and can read books, one of the mighty Salazars himself, should believe this fairy tale. Santa Rosalia, it surprises me!"

  "Furthermore," I said, "he is waiting out there for the pearl and he will wait until he gets it."

  The Sevillano was leaning against the boat. He stood up and came over to where I sat.

  "If I throw the pearl into the sea," he said, "the manta will take it, swim away and leave us alone. Is that what you are getting at?"

  "Yes."

  The Sevillano turned his back and walked over to the boat and gave it a thump with his foot, I guess to show his disgust. He then strolled off in the dark, as if he wished to be as far away from me as possible.

  The moon rose. Soon afterwards, from the hill above, I heard the soft cries and rustle of birds. Something had disturbed the terns that had flown in at sunset to nest. As I glanced up, I saw a figure outlined against the sky.

  I jumped to my feet, but did not call to the Sevillano. Here was a chance to rid myself of him. I could climb the hill and tell the Indian who stood there why I had landed on the island. He might give me help, for he would understand about the Manta Diablo.

  It was a dangerous plan, yet it might have succeeded had not the Sevillano seen the Indian, too.

  "We go!" he shouted.

  I hesitated for a moment, watching the Indian on the hill above me. The nesting terns began to scream and flutter about, so I was certain that other Indians had come up from the village to join him.

  The Sevillano ran to the boat and turned it over and stowed the supplies that lay on the sand.

  "Hurry," he shouted at me.

  I walked over to the boat and helped him shove it into the water. Where the pearl was I did not know, whether hidden in the boat or in his pocket.

  "Perhaps you would like to stay," the Sevillano said. "The Indians of Los Muertos dig a pit in the sand and put you in it up to your chin and then let the turtles nibble at your face. But maybe you would like this better than the Manta Diablo."

  The boat was floating and the Sevillano had picked up the oars.

  "Do you go or stay?" he said.

  A shower of arrows came whistling down from the hill and struck the sand. There was nothing for me to do now except to scramble into the boat, which I did just as a second flight of arrows churned the water around us.

  The moon was near to full and the air was clear and the sea stretched away like a bed of silver. There were no signs of the Manta Diablo. The Sevillano put up the sail, though the wind had died, and both of us rowed hard, fearing that the Indians would launch their canoes. For a long time we heard their shouts, but they did not try to follow us.

  When we left the lee of the island, we picked up a light breeze. The Sevillano reset the sail and took a sight on the North Star and steered the boat eastward along the moon's path.

  16

  AT SUNRISE the island of Los Muertos lay behind us. The air was heavy and scarcely a ripple showed on the sea. Over and around us hung a thin, red mist, but I did not locate the Manta Diablo until more than an hour had passed.

  It was then that a needlefish, longer than my arm, skimmed the water and flew by me like a bullet. I heard the chattering of its green teeth and as I turned around to see what ever could have frightened a fish that is noted for its courage, the water heaved up half a furlong behind the boat. From this hillock rose the manta.

  Through a shower of foam he rose high into the air, higher than I ever had seen one leap before, so high that I could see the flash of his white undersides and his long tail whipping about. There he seemed to rest for a moment or two, as if to survey all that lay about him, then down he came and struck the water a thunderous blow.

  "Your friend shows off," said the Sevillano.

  He spoke calmly and I looked at him, wondering that now, even now he did not know that it was the Manta Diablo who had leaped into the air and why he had done so.

  The Sevillano took the pearl from between his feet and wedged it behind the jug of water in the stern of the boat and picked up the harpoon.

  "I have killed nine mantas," he said. "They are much easier to kill than whales of the same size, because they lack the blubber of the whale. They are also easier to kill than the thresher shark or the six-gill or seven-gill shark or the tiger shark or the big gray one."

  The Manta Diablo sank from view. It was nearly noon before I saw him again. A light wind came up and ruffled the sea and it might have been that he swam there close behind us all the time the Sevillano was telling me how simple it was to kill a manta and where he had killed the nine.

  I first saw the outstretched wings and then he passed the boat and I saw the amber eyes turn and look at me as they had once before. They said as clearly as if the words were spoken, "The pearl is mine. Throw it into the sea. It has brought you ill fortune and ill fortune will be yours until you give it back."

  I must have muttered something at this moment that betrayed my fear, for the Sevillano squinted his eyes and studied me. He was certain at last that he had a child or a crazy man to deal with.

  The Manta Diablo swam by just out of range of the harpoon. Majestically he swam on ahead of us and came slowly back in a wide circle. The Sevillano waited for him with his feet spread apart and one leg braced against the tiller and the heavy harpoon in his hand.

  The pearl lay beyond my reach. I would need to crawl the length of the boat to get at it. Any movement I made now he would see, so I decided to wait until the Manta Diablo drew closer and the Sevillano would have his mind fixed upon him.

  Again the Sevillano looked at me. "I am beginning to understand a few things," he said in his soft voice, patiently as if he were talking to a child or someone bereft. "You stole the pearl from the Madonna because She failed to protect the fleet or your father. You traveled all night to the lagoon where you had found the pearl. And you went there to give it back to the Manta Diablo. Is this right?"

  I did not answer
him.

  "Well," he said, "let me tell you something. It is news that you do not know, that no one knows except Gaspar Ruiz." He was silent for a moment, watching the Manta Diablo. "But for one small matter, at this very hour the fleet might be sailing under these same skies or riding safely at anchor in the harbor of La Paz. And your father might be sitting down in his patio to a feast of roast pig and good wine from Jerez."

  Anger seized me. I sat quietly and did not move, but the Sevillano saw it on my face.

  "Calm yourself," he said, "for I only wish to tell you why the fleet was wrecked upon the rocks of Punta Maldonado. A better one never sailed the Vermilion. Your father was a fine captain. Yet ships and men and your father all went down in a storm no worse than others they had lived through. Why, you ask."

  "I ask nothing."

  "But I will tell you, mate, because it may take me some time to get rid of the manta. While I am busy and not keeping a watchful eye, you might get a crazy idea. You might take the pearl and throw it overboard. Then I would have to slit your throat. That would be a shame, for the manta did not cause your father's death."

  The Manta Diablo was still a good distance away and seemed in no hurry to overtake us, idly lifting and lowering his beautiful dark fins. But the Sevillano fastened one end of the harpoon rope and coiled the rest in a neat pile at his feet.

  "When the storm was gathering," he said, "when the whole southern sky was filled with fearsome clouds, I told your father that we should turn back and seek shelter at Las Ánimas. He laughed at me. The wind, he said, was with us and we could reach port before the storm struck. It was a bad decision, he made. And he made it because of the pearl, because of his gift to the Madonna. Not that he ever spoke of the pearl. Oh, no, not once did he mention it while we stood and argued and the wind blew and the clouds banked higher. But all the time the black pearl was there in his mind. I could tell it was there, big and important. I could tell by the way he spoke."