Ch 4 - Children of Tegalupa

Negotiations with Children

“Children will be children.” That is what some people are prone to think. Children? What are they really but small people left to figure this strange world out all on their own. Lack of knowledge does not mean stupid. Lack of guidance does not mean blind.

Boys will be boys. And girls? They might be something else.

The path winds through the dense trees following the worn contour stomped into the earth. The path is well defined and often used by merchants moving between town and the sea. The path is cobbled and shorn up on the sides. New planks of wood have been hammered in where the old have either rotted or washed away. The rains are often unpredictable driven by the constantly changing winds. When they do come they are violent and strong.

A group of twelve children wanders down this path. Between the large rounded stones, the children’s bare toes squish in the mud. They laugh and play as young children are meant to do. With no adults in their midst their fantasy world completely opens up.

There are games centered around words and tongue twisters. There are races to find certain fruits of the jungle first. There are games that involve running. There are games that require one to be nimble and quick. There are games within games that the children constantly invent.

As they race about there is one child that stands to the side. She is smaller than most in the group. She has very large watchful eyes. She smiles with joy as the others jump about in unpredictable ways. Where the others grow quite dirty, this small girl remains creased and clean. The others look to this small child for recognition. The small boys call out her name.

“Cloe!” one black haired boy calls. He cradles a gray egg spotted in blue.

The little girl notices the treasure, “Put that one back,” the little girl instructs. “The mother will be looking for this. Her baby is about to hatch.”

The first boy scurries off without question as a second boy approaches from the other side. He holds purple berries that are the size of a big toe. These are oblong in shape and a pinkish red inside, “Can we eat these?” the boy inquires. The girl is in mid response when a large wagon rumbles down the path.

The boys climb into the jungle so that none of their toes get squashed. The man driving the wagon gives a slight nod as he plods past the children. Wood wheels on stone sound like “clickity clack.” Cloe waits for the wagon, then counts the boys as they leave the woods. We can see her flexing fingers until the number eleven is reached. Now that the boys are where they should be, Cloe begins talking once more.

“Your belly won’t be happy if you eat those purple fruit. You need to cook them first, boil them for fifteen minutes at least. But we don’t have a fire. We don’t have time to stop. Leave them under the tree where you found them. Other creatures find this particular fruit to be very good.”

The traveling twelve move down the road until the packed earth guiding their feet falls away. Two more steps forward and the earth quickly drops six meters. The children anxiously look down from the steeply descending hill. What they face is a new world of amazing contrast. As far as eyes can travel there is expansive blue. An ocean licks tannish brown sands then is sipped up by the sky.

There is a curve to the descending land that is unexpected and exciting. One of the large boys is the first one to explore. He jumps off the small ledge where the children are huddled. He hits the ground rolling. He tumbles and laughs. The boy lands with a splash in soft brownish tan sand. His toes slowly sink as he attempts to gain his feet. He falls several times while trying to walk. He looks to the others who stare back from their high ground. The adventurous boy’s eyes grow wide as he spins. The towering jungle canopy has been replaced by blue sky. The burning star to the east generates great heat. The boy keeps on turning. The limitless ocean stops him still. Cries from the other children turn the boy full around. Here he is faced once more with the edge of the jungle. Trees tower twenty stories high. Larger than any building he has ever seen.

Three more brave boys roll down the steep hill. They join in their friend’s wonder and awe. The scale of the jungle growth from which they have escaped is the second thing that strikes them. Kilometers upon kilometers the beach extends and bends. The expanse of the jungle is never broken. For as far as the boys can follow there is an ever expanding ribbon of green.

“Why do they get smaller?” asks a young boy of four?

“What do you mean?” responds the oldest of the bunch.

“The jungle is big in front of us. But it gets smaller far off to the right. Why does it do that? Why does it shrink?”

There is a snicker from the third oldest of the boys. There is a strain of devilment in his response, “The trees are missing from this beach because monsters consume them late at night. The trees get smaller so that the monsters can eat more.”

The little boy thinks on this, “That don’t make no sense.”

The other boys laugh, but the little boy is not stupid. This is simply the first time he has ever been faced with this riddle of shrinking trees.

The laughter dies down. The little boy is perplexed. The oldest of the boys crouches down to the little boy’s height. “It’s a matter of sight,” the older boy explains.

“What do you mean?” replies the smaller boy.

The larger boy thinks for a bit, then he stands to his full height, “Look at me. Compared to you, how tall am I?”

“Taller than me,” the boy says. “But not as tall as a tree.”

The larger boy smiles as he responds, “Hold your right hand up.”

The small boy holds up his left hand. He shakes his head and reconsiders. The small boy hold us his right hand.

The large commands, “Open your palm. Extend your arm out. Put your hand on my chest.”

The small boy holds out his right hand and takes a step forward until he touches the larger boy square in the chest.

The larger boy inquires, “How big is your hand?”

The smaller boy quickly responds, “Smaller than your chest.”

The larger boy summarizes what has been established to this point, “Will you agree with me when I say that I am larger than you and I am larger than your hand?”

The little boy nods, “Yes. That is what I see.”

“Now take five steps backwards. Keep your right hand up, just like it is.”

The smaller boy steps back while attempting not to fall.

“Stop! That should be far enough,” commands the larger boy, “Tell me, what do you see?”

The small boy moves his hand about. He closes one eye and looks close. There seems to be a problem. The larger boy steps in, “What’s the matter? What do you see?”

“My hand is too big.”

“What do you mean?”

“My hand covers most of you. My hand is too big.”

“Your hand grew?” asks the larger boy.

“No. You shrank,” responds the smaller boy. His voice is very concerned.

“What do you see?”

“I put my hand out so that it covers your chest. When I do that, you disappear. I see your head, if I move my hand down. I see your feet, when I move it up.”

“Am I actually smaller?”

The boy scratches his head, “This is what has me confused.”

“OK. Now, hold your hand out, just like you are doing now. Walk towards me until you can touch me. Tell me what you see.”

“You get bigger,” states the little boy. He asks a new question. There is excitement in his voice, “Can you tell me how you do that? How do you get so big and so small?”

Two of the boys titter with laughter. The larger boy scowls in return. Smiles disappear. The larger boy turns back to the small child, “Do I really get bigger or do you just get closer?”

“I get closer and you get bigger,” states the child with brightness in his voice.

“But, did I really change size?” asks the large boy with anticipation.

The little boy thinks on this. He gnaws on his thumb. Something clicks. A light goes off in the little boy’s eyes, “I know what happened!”

The three boys silently wait.

The little boy continues with unbridled glee, “I think I got bigger and you stayed the same.” The little boy grows more excited as his new discovery takes hold. Then turns to something resembling concern, “I hope I did not hurt you when you were so small. I will be careful when I am big.” Before the large boy responds the small one rambles on, “Thank you for explaining things so clearly to me. Sometimes I get lost. Sometimes I don’t understand.”

The larger boy stares wordlessly as the little boy rushes off. The other two titter with restraint. The large boy warns them by waiving a fist. The stern gesture just adds fuel to their infant fire. Laughter can not be bound. It is explosive and loud. The large boy shakes his head then turn his attention back up the rise.

The drop to the beach is almost six meters. The grade is steep, but the sand is quite soft. He motions for the others standing at the top of the rise. Bravery takes hold. Other children leap out. There is laughter and there are smiles as the children roll down the hill.

They gather as the others did, turning in circles to take in the ocean, trees, and sky. They stare in great wonder at the absence of jungle, at the towering tree line, then back to the sea. Attention finally settles upon the ragged line of green. Greens mix with yellows and browns, purples and reds. There is an interesting contrast between the eclectic jungle and the placid blue of the sky. There are “Oohs,” and “Ahhs,” as children contemplate the jungle world in which they have lived for so long and yet have never really had an opportunity to see.

The mystery of the jungle gives way to things more fun. Children fall on their backs and roll in the soft sand. Gravity only pulls one way. Some of the children eventually get wet. On the horizon, the ocean and sky become one. To the right of the children the sky is populated with fluffy white clouds. A game begins that centers around finding faces and hidden things. Clouds slowly shift. New images are discovered. Everyone contributes. Laughter fills the air.

Interest in the cloud game wanes after a time. Children turn back to the blue. The ocean speaks to the children in many way. Waves crash and crunch violently on broken shells. Waves slurp and blow bubbles with liquid tongues. Chips of color wash up and decorate tan beaches. Strange birds call to each other as they coast along a steady breathing wind. On child waves in triumph. Something new has been found.

Whatever the thing might be it is new and strange. It looks like a two foot tall arrow protruding from the sand. The skin is puckered, black, and riddled with streaks of red. The body of the thing is round like a small tree. But, it is curved.
“What is it Cloe?” One of the boys calls out.

Cloe watches the eleven from atop her perch under the trees. Her legs dangle on the edge of the known. She motions for the boys and whistles quite loud. The tribe runs back up the beach and forms a circle at the bottom of the hill. They attentively watch little Cloe who sits high up above.

The words of the little girl are very clear, “The ocean is a beauty, but she is also quite dangerous. The thing that you have discovered is an anchor for a boat. Boats ride on top of the water. Anchors are large hooks that keep them in place.”

“It looks like a fish hook,” one of the boys says.

“An anchor is much like that,” Cloe responds.

“That would have to be a really big fish,” another child cleverly states.

“The ocean is incredibly vast, much deeper and wider than a stream. What comes out of her and what goes in is much larger in scale than you have ever dreamed.”

The children stare at the girl. Only half seem ready to comprehend. Most are still young and very new to this world. Many nod their heads and pretend.

“Have fun my friends. Explore what you don’t know. But before you get lost, there are rules! Most of you can’t swim. I am too small to drag you out. The ocean is hungry this time of the day. Don’t go into the ocean any deeper than the knee. I want you to enjoy yourselves. You have behaved well this day. Don’t go far off. I will need you in a bit. When I whistle again, please come quickly. The day is far from over. We still have much work to do.”

Little Cloe nods her head, and the tribe once again scatters. She watches the children for several moments before her gaze shifts out to sea. There is a smile on her face as she looks out upon the ocean. What has the girl’s attention? It is a vessel far off on the blue horizon.

A dark spot forms where the sky meets the ocean. This dark spot slowly transforms into a tiny black box. The box becomes a thick line. The thick line soon resembles a ship. A small plume of smoke tells us that the thing is crewed by men. Masts stand tall. Containers litter her decks. In time the ship grows close enough that we can read the name on her side.

Children on the beach stop to watch the large vessel. Most of them have never seen anything like this. The boat is quite large and moving very quickly. It tacks slightly and is now heading straight for the shore. There is a growing rumble from the small crowd as the sea craft grows very close.

“When does it stop?”

“What happens when it hits?”

Boys who play games know much about what happens when you quickly stop and go. Momentum always carries. To stop you need opposing force. Force means hitting. Hitting brings purpling and pain. Sometimes there is blood. Sometimes there are broken bones.

There is a tension in this crowd of small boys. There are wrinkles in their brows. Concern creases faces. Boys bounce on their toes. Expectations shift for the worst. There is more discussion about the if. There is an excitement about what might result. Small wagers have been placed.

The ship races towards land on a straight perpendicular path. It is about fifty meters to the boys’ left. The boys brace for the impact. They expect a large crunch. What happens next is an unexpected surprise.

The boat disappears into the edge of the beach. As if it is eaten, the ship is swallowed whole.

Some boys smile. Some boys frown. Some boys pay off their friends from stashes of hidden treasures. There is a twitchiness to their expressions that asks how and why. There is a secret to this magic trick. The answer lies in perception and space.

The line of the horizon curves away from the boys. Things are hidden that the boys can not see. The first clue is a great whistle from the distance. It is deep and loud and reverberates through steel. The double pitch burst signals the ship is still alive. The deep rich sound leaves ears hungry for more. Several of the tribe crane necks and listen hard. Just at the edge, stuttering under the steady beach wind, is the intermittent tap tapping of hammers far away. Just behind this is the hard sleeping of saws. Speckling this landscape are faint whistles and cries. They might be the local animals. They might be something else.

“What is that?” One boys asks, “Can the rest of you hear that noise?”

“It sounds like men building.”

“Building what? I can not see.”

The conversation is interrupted before it gains momentum. A high shrill whistle fills the air. This is not mechanical. This sound is fully little girl. Cloe stands at the top of the beach with two fingers on her lips. Mouth puckered, full cheeks slightly red, she fills the air with another mighty blast. The boys quickly turn. They immediately react. Up through soft sands they struggle. Up the steep bank they climb.

The eleven now gather around the little girl. She says thank you to the boys then turns on her toe. Cloe said there was business unfinished. Business is where it is at. The twelve move back down the tended road of dense dirt and stones. Five minutes in, the gang finds a fork to the left. There are murmurs among the boys about not seeing this break in the road before.

The sounds of men grow louder as the children move down this new path. After a short distance, the world opens up. Again the children take a moment to stop and stare. So much is happening in such a small space of time. The boys get their first look at the Puerto do Tegalupa.

There are roads of wooden planks. When people walk they make a hollow sound. Men carry large boxes. Some carry large sacks. There is much conversation. There is laughter and funny smells. The crowd that moves is quite dense. People shuffle and jostle. Some yell for right of way. Behind this busy push are the rising sides of boats.

They bob in the water in time with the slap of hidden waves. Boxes and sacks sit along their decks. There are animals and snorts. There are shiny things that twinkle. There are fabrics with strange patterns and tints. There is so much that the boys have never seen. Cloe checks boyish urges with her steady gaze. Each boy glances back nervously waiting for permission to explore this new place.

“There is much here that you don’t know. There are many ways that you can be hurt. Stick close to me. I have no time to chase. The ones that we seek are very close.”

Men pull on long ropes attached to pulleys. Muscles bulge. Crates and barrels begin to dance. Practiced moves and careful coordination guide heavy nets with the lightness of spinning ballerinas. Nets touch the ground. Callused hands pull away restraints. Carts are pulled forth and parcels are quickly stacked.

Men toil with all manner of barrow and transportation moving goods from ships to wagon. A long string of carts and horses stand tethered to the far side of the port. Cloe looks long and slowly while the boys stand to the side.

Voices of men cascade like soup. They call each other in many strange ways. There is haggling and the clinking of coins. There are a few skirmishes along the way. Smells fill the air that are repulsive and inviting. Children catch glimpses of so many things that they have never seen. Cloe spots what she has been looking for off to the far side of the docks.

There are the two men and their wagon. They are the same two men who passed the twelve earlier on the path. A large wooden carton is balanced between the two. The men struggle. A horse whinnies. The wagon moves. The crate they are manipulating comes crashing down.

One man is tall. The other man is short. The two are as completely different as two fellows might be. A discussion begins. The sound of which is much louder than a chat. One man stomps. The other one waves his hands like a bird. The first man spits. The two men yell and shout. There is anger in their words. Frustration is the cause. The steam that has collected inside eventually empties out.

A long stare denotes an impasse. The two men sigh then begin to play a simple game. The outcome of this activity will determine the next choice the two men make. They face each other nearly toe-to-toe. Like mirrors of one another, each man places his fist on top of his open palm.

The game is very simple, any child can say. Hit your fist upon your hand three times then make a choice. A hand displayed flat beats a hand balled into a fist. A hand spread like scissors cuts the flat hand right in half. Rock, paper, and scissors, one peron wins and the other person boasts. The men square off like cowboys. They showdown with hands at their sides. “Three! Two! One!” Hands shoot out like guns. The two men play with the enthusiasm of children, hoping to win the best two-out-of-three.

A decision has been reached. Men take their positions. The tall man climbs into the back of the wagon. The shorter one struggles to heave overweight sacks of goods up from the ground. The wagon is quickly loaded to the point where sacks are falling out. Ropes are tied. Cracks are filled. Horses protest and begin to release gasses. Half a crate of goods remains. The men once again show their unease.

“The wagon is full,” the short man says.

“I can see that with my own eyes,” says the taller of the two.

“What do we do with everything that is left?”

“I told you at the beginning that we would run out of space.”

The shorter man almost screams, “What would you have me do?”

The taller man lets out a sigh, “We had an option for a larger cart.”

“These horses we have can hardly handle what they are tied to. The larger cart would have been too much for these horses to bear.”

“But everything would have fit inside.”

“Kill the horses, and then you would be the one who pushes from the back?”

“We could have taken the job that Guello offered.”

“And be in debt to your sister’s husband for the rest of our lives?”

“We would only work long enough to make up for the loss on our last haul.”

“Your brother-in-law is a thief.”

“The man is blood to me now. He would not take advantage. He would help us out.”

“He would pay us half of what we can make selling this haul.”

“But we need to move all these cartons of goods or else the money is almost the same.”

“Then dear brother, what do you propose we do with the broken crate?”

As frustration blooms between the men, opportunity is presented. With a tug on a pants leg, Cloe makes her presence known. It takes a few moments for the two men to bring their gazes down to the little girl dressed in white. Here they find themselves staring open mouthed and uncertain. It is a peculiar thing when something so small has an impact that is so large.

The tall man smiles and waves.

The little girl smiles back.

The small angry man does his best to push little Cloe away, “Shoo little monkey! We have grown-up work that needs doing. We have no trivial time for you.”

The little girl winks to the taller man. She turns to the angry partner and addresses him with a tone that is pointed and quite firm, “I could go away now, but that seems a bit unfair. I can see that I am just the person that you need.”

“What do you mean? What can you possibly do?” The man spills these words over furry crossed arms.

The girl smiles, “You seem frustrated. You have a dilemma on your hands.”

“What are you talking about little mouse?”

Cloe taps her foot as she responds to the men, “You think that insulting a helping hand is the smartest course of action to take?”

“What do you want?” the angry man persists.

“She wants to help,” the taller man pronounces.

The girl points out the obvious, “You have two horses that are tired. You also have a wagon that has no room.”

“What do you know of horses?” the short man declares more than asks.

“What I know is not as important as what I can see. You have so much stuff in your wagon that neither of you will be able to mount and drive.”

“You are awfully smart,” the tall man compliments.

“For a child of six?” the little girl bats her large eyes.

“What business is all of this to you?” the short man continues to rattle.

“It is a business where I would like to get paid,” states Cloe.

Laughter erupts as the short man studies the small girl, “Paid? You? Now why in the world would I do that?”

“You look at my size and assume that I am stupid. Size is not the matter here. The matter is you need to be somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else. That sounds like a good place. Why don’t you go there. Now get!”

“Stay!” says the taller of the two men as he stomps the ground. Bending to the little girl’s height the tall man looks the short girl right in the eye, “Please little miss, what service do you suggest to provide?”

“We are capable children.” Cloe states with a flourish of her hand. The eleven boys that have been waiting quickly form up behind her. They all stand strong and tall while the girl continues with her pitch, “We have been on our own for a very long time. What you need is simple. You need someone to watch your goods. You need someone to keep things safe long enough for you to return.”

“Watch our stuff? says the short man, “You are likely to steal what is not tied down.”

“Take a good look at us. What do you see? Is it possible that any of us can lug away this large crate full of things?”

“Not all of it at once, but certainly piece-by-piece.”

“What good use do you think children will find for metal poles, cigars, and rum?”

“What indeed!” says the short man.

“You could sell them,” states his partner.

The short man kicks the taller man in the side of the leg, “Don’t give her ideas.”

The little girl touches her nose in a way that says thanks. The taller man winks back at the girl. The short man turns red as he studies the conspirators in the ranks. He bodily grabs the tall man by the elbow. Off to the side, another discussion ensues.

The tall man takes control of the situation. He brushes away presumptive hands. “We have no other option. What else do you propose we do?” The tall man looks to the girl with a question, “Tell me straight. How much will your services cost?”

The short man turns livid. He face runs from pink to purple to bright red.

The little girl smiles, “I will be fair. Of that you can be sure. We are all grown-ups here. If your partner will settle down, then we can figure out terms.”

Red fades to tan then slowly fades to pale. The short man waddles over. He seems a bit in shock. The three huddle up. Negotiation is the matter. The little girl takes first measure. She uses a stick to draw a large number in the sand.

The short man regains his composure. He quickly crosses the number out.

The girl scrawls a figure that is even larger than the first. She stomps her foot to exclaim her point. A small puff of sand rises in the air.

The large man coughs and sputters within the cloud of dust. He takes some time responding, “That’s an awfully large number for someone so small.”

Cloe returns. Her words are quite pointed, “You mean that it is a very small number for a group of so many.”

The small man begins to grow angry. He sends a sizzling look to the taller man. The small man wobbles his head as if he is trying to decide. He turns to the little girl with a scowl on his face, “If you want this business so badly then you must stay here in this exact place. You stay until sundown. We will need some time to get back. We will drop off this load of cargo and then come back this way.”

The little girl winks, “I think your plans will change once you have some coins in your hand. A few drinks and a late night. I think we will be lucky to see you tomorrow at dawn.”

The man’s face grows pinched as if he has swallowed a spiny fish, “Don’t worry little girl about us taking drink. At least one of us will be back before the night gets too old. But you had better be here once we get back. You better be here or else there will be hell to face.”

The little girl steps up. She meets her detractor with a long steady gaze, “Men and their money are easily parted. We may be small, but we know this truth very well. If we are to do business and you want to keep your possessions, then now is the time to pay.”
“What? Pay you before you have provided service?”

“Pay in coin now. Buried later like treasure. Isn’t that what the pirates tell one another when they are sitting at a bar?” The girl says this to the man with a knowing wink and a nudge of her elbow. What escapes this small girl sometimes far exceed her years.

The little man is too angry to know when he has been bested, “Scampering rabbits are difficult to catch. If money goes in your pocket, then you will never come back.”

“With no payment there is no deal. In these parts what is not nailed down often disappears.”

The little man wants to lock horns. He stands stiffly with fists planted on hips. He presents himself as a wall. Cloe smiles at the annoying man. She turns and faces away from the two. It is time to change her disguise.

When Cloe turns back, the war is already won. The child’s hair is pulled back to accent her round cherub face. Her sad soulful eyes are impossibly large. Tears brim the edges. One tear rolls down her cheek. The voice that fills the child tugs at the heart with its concern, “Sir, look at these children.” Her band of eleven boys gathers around. “You have much more than they will ever have. Their feet are riddled with calluses. Their shirts are mostly rags. They need clothing, good food, and shoes that fit well. They need a good place to rest. Good lord they need a bath. We don’t ask much. We can certainly help. How difficult is it to watch one carton of orphaned goods?”

There is a nervous tension as the smaller man looks to his mate. The two men exchange words for a time. A gesture is made. The little girl approaches. An agreement is reached on three sides. Cash is handed to the girl. It quickly disappears from sight. The little girl turns. She imparts a small kiss on the cheeks of both men. Cloe’s tone is compliant as she finishes the deal, “We will secure your treasures. Go on and do your trade. When you come back, your goods will be here.”

The men hesitate for a moment then head into town. It is a humorous procession as the two men trundle about. Sacks are cast. Excuses are made. In the final round of bickering a sort of compromise is reached. The fat man takes a seat at the top of the very full cart. The taller man walks beside and guides. Slowly the two begin their journey up the hill and back into the town.

At the top of the rise there is a comical release. With the fat man on top, the cart reaches a copse of overhanging trees. The man moves a bit, but there is no avoiding the low lying branches. Branches remove the man like a stick attacking a ball.

The short man rolls like a barrel. Off the back of the wagon, he spins and turns. He bounces off the last box and rolls down the hill. Ten meters later, the man comes to a stop in ankle deep mud. Splayed in dirty water the man is now covered in gray and brown. As he makes his way back up the hill he looks back for just a moment. The face of the man is sour and uncertain.

The moment deserves laughter. But this is certainly not the time. Cloe waves a warning finger. The boys show amazing restraint. Some titter behind hands but no one cracks. At the top of the hill the men exchange words then quickly move along their way. The children stand still until the cart trundles deep into the jungle. The explosion of laughter that follows brings tears to every ones eyes.

Once laughter has subsided, the children begin their work. The girl chirps in the air, “Hide it well. Protect what you have been given. We will hand it back just as it has been found.” Eleven boys scamper like ants stripping the large box to its bones. For each piece that they hold there is a perfect hiding place. Deep into the jungle they disappear. There is a method and madness to how and where each boy picks and hides. It is a matter of practice and pride.

A short time has passed and all boys have returned. Something unspoken passes between the workers and their queen. A metal can is tossed. It clanks on the stones. It flies through the air. Balance is back. Play and laughter fill the world. Boys rush and shout. A new game is afoot.