TALES FROM THE CARIBBEAN

Having ended their philosophical debate on the way to Santana’s shack, Dave and the monk reached the top of the path and began exploring Santana’s abandoned shack. Everything was the same as the day he died, except it needed a lot of cleaning. The evaporating boxes for collecting salt; the folded cheesecloth’s and wood racks were neatly stacked in the corner. Santana’s rusted tin coffee pot, wooden fermentation barrels, distillery and other artifacts were all in their place. Santana didn’t drink alcohol, but island rum was a popular choice of drink for construction workers who frequented the houses where the Amsterdam girls stayed. Sometimes when large refinery projects were in progress Santana could barely keep up with the demand for his rum. And, other than the alcohol tax he paid to the governor, he had little money invested in his rum. Brother Lamb noticed an overgrown path leading down the backside of the hill towards the ocean.

“Where does that path lead to,” asked the monk?

“It leads to the caves where Santana aged his cheese, that’s the windward side of the island,” said Dave.

“It takes a lot of salt to make goat cheese, but it’s twice as nutritional and only has about half the cholesterol as regular dairy cheese,” said Dave. Santana collected sea-salt in those homemade racks lined with cheesecloth. He staked the racks to the bottom of the evaporation pond, they filled with seawater when the morning tide came in, it trapped seawater in the racks and the afternoon sun evaporated the water leaving behind the salt. All that was left to do was tie-up the four corners of the cheesecloth and he had enough salt for another batch of cheese. Santana’s simple process was inexpensive, all natural, and his customer’s loved his goat cheese. The goat herd was still around, but they went wild and scattered into smaller groups after Santana’s death.

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“Brother Lamb, what do you think about living here and taking up where Santana left off? You made wine at the monastery, so what’s the difference if you make rum instead,” asked Dave?

Brother Lamb was slow to answer because of the enticing sight below the shack. Several of the Amsterdam girls were enjoying the afternoon sun and the only thing they were wearing was their smiles.

“Pay attention,” exclaimed Dave.

“My Mom said to stay away from the Amsterdam girls. She said, “Jews don’t recognize Jesus, Presbyterians don’t recognize the Pope, and nobody, especially politicians, recognize each other when they’re at the chicken ranch.”

“I wasn’t looking at those naked girls, I was looking for rooster Barrack to see what he was up to,” exclaimed the Monk.

Dave is a perceptive young man, not easily fooled and the Monk’s denial caused him to smile widely as he said, “Is that a flash light under your robe Brother Lamb or, are you fantasizing about those naked Amsterdam girls,” quipped Dave?

“I took vows of celibacy at the monastery and although temptation frequently comes calling; I remain faithful to my vows,” insisted the Monk.

“Denial isn’t a river in Egypt,” said Dave. “I’d bet my dinghy if you move to Lovango you’ll bonk all the girls who let you and the easy ones twice,” insisted Dave.

“How dare you accuse me of such carnal desire,” declared the red-faced monk.

Let’s go fishing said Dave, I promised Boss Penny I’d get her chef some fresh fish for tonight. There was no sign of rooster Barrack as they headed down the path from Santana’s shack to where the dinghy was docked. The dinghy’s outboard motor started on the first pull and the two friends were on their way to the outer reef system. Soon after, Dave dropped an anchor and instructed brother Lamb on how to make ready his second spear gun. He cocked the first gun and fell backwards into the water. A minute later Shark Boy (Dave) resurfaced with an eight-pound lobster on his spear, he handed it to the Monk, took the second spear gun from the monk and disappeared again. On his second dive Shark Boy nailed another lobster in the back of the head but this one was larger than the first. The monk didn’t yet have the first lobster removed from the spear when Dave resurfaced and impatiently said, “Hurry up, make it snappy, there are groupers down there too; they’re money in the bank; get the lead out,” complained Dave. At last the monk removed the second lobster from the spear and re-cocked the gun. Dave impatiently took the gun, dove to the bottom, and re-surfaced again with a 35-pound grouper that he had speared through the eye. The Monk once again was not yet ready and blood was oozing from a wound on the side of his bare foot where he had accidentally stepped on one of the lobsters. Dave had little sympathy because while Lamb whined about his foot the groupers were moving away. Dave impatiently grabbed the spear gun from the monk, cocked it, dove again and this time, he resurfaced with another large grouper.

Dave said, “If you weren’t so slow I could have gotten more fish, but these will do.” Dave hauled in the anchor and they headed for the public dock and Boss Penny’s bar and restaurant. After dickering with Boss Penny’s chef Dave pocketed $140 in 20 dollar bills and they headed for the boat shack. “Hey!” said the monk, “where’s my cut?”

“It’s on the side of your foot,” said Dave. To be continued.