Free Away with the Fishes by Stephanie Siciarz Page A

crestfallen face. Still Quick didn’t cry. He would figure something out. He was smart and he was fast. If he just kept his eyes on the men, he would find a way to slip past them, like a furtive gust of wind. Closer and closer he positioned himself, never abandoning the cover of the woods that lined the shore. He listened and watched as they sniffed leaves, picked up shells, made notes, and collected samples placed gingerly into a sack. He watched for what seemed like hours (though in truth it was but a quarter of a one), and as he watched, his heart sank with the sun, its descent as long and as labored.
    Tears were all that Quick had left. It was getting dark (not dark enough for him to sneak past the pirates) and soon they would embark and row away from him forever. The sun snickered, the first tear tried to fall, and the moon, bless her, the moon rolled up her sleeves. She beamed so brightly of a sudden that the beach turned silvery white. Every leaf of every tree glowed. The menstarted. In awe, they turned from the coastline toward the woods, to pick the fruits that sparkled more beautifully by night than they had by day. The moonlight so illuminated the scene that Quick feared discovery as the men approached. Like a bullet, he shot up an almond tree, more uncertain than ever of his future. If the sun wasn’t laughing at him, the moon was betraying him. What a funny island, this!
    Quick clung to a branch and waited. Perhaps if they dawdled long enough, the cloud that had blocked out the sun would block out the moon. Then in the dark he could trail them to the boat and slip inside it, he told himself, not ever believing he’d manage it. He knocked his fist against his head to stimulate some idea. He knocked it so hard that the branch on which he lay grappled swung and pitched and knocked a branch of the manchineel tree next to it, sending a wave of silvery green fruits cascading to the ground. The men rushed over, intrigued by the noise, and the captain, first to reach the attractive apple-like spheres, stretched out his hand, picked one up, and lifted it to his mouth.
    “Noooo!” With a ferocious shout and a leap out into the air, Quick threw himself from the almond tree, limbs flailing, and aimed his body for the captain’s head. “Doooooon’t!”
    In an instant he had landed spot on-target, his legs wrapped around the neck of the stunned and supine captain, his gangly arms entangled in the captain’s hair. For a moment nobody moved or said a word. You can imagine their surprise, attacked by a wriggling, roaring projectile from out of nowhere for picking up an apple. When they finally did collect themselves (all but the captain, whose head remained pinned by Quick’s midsection), the oldest pirate freed his cutlass from its sheath and held it ready; the tall, bony man bent forward, arms outstretched and hands wide openin defense; and the hairy man scribbled so fast he dropped his pencil.
    Quick sat on the captain’s neck, rather stunned himself, until the pencil knocked him on the head and snapped him out of it. He climbed off the captain and apologized, his voice dry and brittle with fear. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t want you to eat it.” He pointed to the apple that had fallen from the captain’s hand.
    “Why in God’s name not?” the captain asked, rolling onto his side and easing his shaken body upright. “Are they yours?”
    “No, not mine. They’re bad. You’ll be sick if you eat it.”
    “Bit green, they are, but not for an ache this belly can’t handle.” He was sitting now, the captain, his legs out in front of him, and he rubbed his head. Quick didn’t make a sound. He could only think that now he would never get back on the ship. Worse than that, he was trapped on Oh, with its pineapples and its corn and perhaps not a single rat at all. He hadn’t spotted one the whole day.
    While Quick fretted, the hairy man (it turned out his name was Enoch) flipped through his leather