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efficient. She went straight down again. This time I was ready, and jumping in feet first, I
went down to the bottom.
The water was a pale lime green in color and cooler as I went towards the sea bed. It was
a ways down, and I figured it to be at least fifteen to twenty feet deep. I had my weight
belt on and was able to get down fairly quickly. I was impressed with Darleen's agility; she
was a natural in the water. We were done in about ten minutes, and I climbed aboard at the
front, using the bowsprit chain to haul myself up. Darleen was in her dinghy ready to pass
up the cans which I now took from her.
“Thanks so much Darleen; you're a great diver; you should get a job on one of these tourist
boats I see all over the place.”
“I've applied on the big, red catamaran called Rubaiyat; I'll know next week!” she said ex-
citedly. “They sail to St. Bartholomew, about twenty miles from us here almost every day,
and they are looking for crew. Oh also, I did talk to my father and he said that they might
be looking for carpenters. You must go and talk to Allen; he's the South African partner.”
I looked at her in admiration. She seemed to be going out of her way to please me.
I went to speak to Allen, the South African carpenter. He was a large, hairy bear of a sailor
with a heart of gold and an easy nature.
“Sure, we could do with another carpenter around here. Do you know how to work on
wooden boats?”
“I built mine out of fiberglass and wood, and I had my own little boatyard for fitting out
boats,” I said hopefully. “My boat is anchored in the bay.”
“I'll tell you what, we are about to start work on a huge mine sweeper that was trashed in a
recent hurricane. It was bought by an American lady who wants to turn it into a restaurant.
We're going to need a few good guys on that.”
“Well, I'd love to work on something like that. Where is she?” I asked.
“In Simpson's lagoon. It's a lot nicer over on the French side. You can anchor in Marigot
Bay, and I'll drive you from the hotel on the dock every day, as I live on my boat in the bay
too.” We shook hands and arranged a starting time. I took off, grinning with elation. What
a stroke of luck, I thought.
Later that evening, I rowed over to Darleen's boat to meet her father and to thank him for
the tip. He was a very serious looking Afrikaaner who had fled South Africa in the time of
great political unrest and rioting. He had seen the writing on the wall and decided to sell up
and leave, as many thousands of other white South Africans had done.
