Fins Read online

  Even so, the sight of small sharks lying on ice, some with their bellies slit open, made the girl wince. These beautiful fish had been discarded like trash by the criminals who had caught them. The sharks were all scarred with ragged craters where their fins and tails had once been.

  The police were gone. A group of tourists had gathered on the dock to watch the biologist do a postmortem on the blacktips. Overhead, seagulls battled to grab whatever fell into the water below.

  Sabina pushed her way to Maribel’s side. The girl took one look at the dead sharks and sputtered three harsh words in Spanish.

  “No swearing,” Maribel warned. “Mamá wouldn’t like it. Listen to what Dr. Ford has to say. We might learn something.”

  The biologist wore an apron and long rubber gloves. Within easy reach were two sharp knives and a water hose on a rough wooden table. One by one, he opened the sharks, removed the organs, and explained to observers what they were seeing.

  Most fish had swim bladders that kept them afloat. “A sack of air,” the biologist said, that allowed the fish to hang motionless in the water. Sharks did not have swim bladders. The instant they were born they had to swim, or they would sink to the bottom.

  “For some sharks, living on the bottom is okay,” Doc explained. “They prefer hiding in caves, between rocks sometimes, waiting for food to pass by. It’s a myth that all sharks die if they stop swimming. Nurse sharks and a few other species do just fine if they settle where water filters through their gills. But even they would drown without fins.”

  He flipped a shark over, saying it was easy to tell the difference between male and female sharks. With a knife, he indicated a pair of long, bony-looking spines, or claspers, near the pelvic fin. “This one’s a male,” he said. “Females don’t have claspers. Let’s see what’s inside his belly.”

  Doc used the knife, opened the belly, and spoke to Luke. “See? No air sack. Instead, to help with buoyancy, sharks have this huge liver.” Two long, dark, fleshy segments were pulled aside. “What we won’t find in here is something that people and most fish have—a bladder for processing urine. Sharks expel liquid waste through their skin.”

  The absence of a bladder, he said, could give the flesh an ammonia taste if it wasn’t handled properly.

  Luke spoke loud enough for the sisters to hear. “Sharks are good to eat?”

  Doc replied, “I think so. Especially cooked over a fire. Take a whiff of the belly and tell me what you think.” He stepped aside so the boy could use his nose. “These fish were iced right away, so they’re fresh.”

  That’s when the biologist noticed Maribel and Sabina trying to see through the crowd of adults.

  “Folks,” he announced, “do you mind letting my assistants through? They’ve been tagging sharks for almost two weeks. This is their first chance to see what’s inside the fish they’ve been catching.”

  Surprisingly, as the crowd parted, some of the onlookers applauded. Sabina, wearing her new T-shirt, beamed and marched straight to the cleaning table. Maribel lagged behind, saying, “Excuse us … sorry,” to adults who let them pass. Even Luke was pleased by the attention they were receiving, yet was reluctant to show it.

  “Sharks are okay to eat—if you like fish,” the boy informed the sisters, as if he were suddenly an expert.

  “It can depend on what they’ve been eating,” Doc said. “One more to go, so let’s see what’s inside.”

  He placed the last shark on the table and used the smallest knife to open its stomach and intestines. The stomach was huge, even bigger than the animal’s liver. Inside the stomach were the remains of several creatures. There was a freshly swallowed fish … a large, glove-shaped claw off a crab … and then a long, sharp spine of some type was removed.

  The biologist held the spine up in the afternoon sunlight. The spine was ivory-white, with a needlelike tip, and jagged on both sides.

  “This shark ate a little stingray before he died,” the man said. He handed the spine to Luke—who was wearing gloves, of course—and spoke to the sisters. “We found stingray spines in most of these blacktips, didn’t we, Luke? Pass it around. It’ll help you understand why you’ve got to be careful if you catch a stingray. Catfish spines are similar. And just as painful if one sticks you. They’re venomous—remember that.”

  Maribel watched the biologist return the shark to the box where eleven others were covered with ice.

  “What happens to them now?” she asked.

  Doc sighed. “I don’t know. I hate to waste them. You’ll need chum if you’re going to fish in the morning, I guess. You could grind them up. Otherwise, I’ll ask around. If someone doesn’t want shark steaks for dinner”—he glanced at the crowd of people—“I guess I’ll have to cart these back to where they came from.”

  Sabina didn’t like the sound of that. “Dump them like garbage? You can’t. We’d be no better than the thieves who killed them. What we should do is have a funeral and bury them. Something nice with candles. I know how—I’ve buried three cats.”

  She noticed the odd expression on Luke’s face, and stepped back in disgust. “Don’t look at me that like that, farm boy. Of course my cats were dead when I buried them. What kind of person do you think I am?”

  Maribel walked away. She couldn’t stand the idea of the sharks being killed only for their fins. A funeral for fish that were fresh and good to eat didn’t seem right, either.

  Sabina tagged along after her. “Now what’s the problem? I didn’t use any swear words—not in English, I’m pretty sure.”

  The older girl looked toward the bay. Along the deep-water dock was a row of large boats, most of them expensive. At the far end was their small houseboat. On the roof were potted vegetables and herbs growing in the sunlight. The houseboat had been a shabby wreck until they’d fixed it up and painted and hung nice curtains.

  Raising fresh herbs, onions, and chili peppers on the boat had been Maribel’s idea. The plants reminded the girl that their mother was working, and fixing dinner was up to her. She did an about-face. Sabina did, too.

  The biologist was washing off the table when the sisters returned.

  “Leave the sharks with me,” Maribel said. “I’ve cleaned fish before. And I know how to cook. People at the marina might enjoy fish steaks done Cuban-style. And there’s enough for everyone.”

  “Our first party,” Sabina announced. This was said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “I’ll make the rice—my sister always overcooks it.”

  * * *

  Later, Luke told the sisters that he had plucked chickens and cleaned pheasants and rabbits for dinner, but he didn’t eat fish and didn’t much care for rice. A tuna sandwich was okay, he said, if all the bologna was gone. Or if the house was out of ham. He also liked salami and goose liver.

  “Goose what?” The thought made Maribel grimace.

  “With lots of mayo,” the boy told her. “Sliced pickles, too, if there’s not an onion around. Bologna is good fried in a pan with bacon grease. The same with cow tongue, but it’s gotta be cut thin. I raised a couple of Angus for 4-H.”

  “Who is Angus and this 4-H person?” Sabina wanted to know.

  “It’s not a person. 4-H is a club for farm kids,” he replied.

  “Two members of the club were named Angus? That’s strange,” the girl remarked. “They must have been related. What happened to the Angus brothers? Or were they sisters?”

  “For cripes’ sake, they weren’t 4-H members,” Luke said. “An Angus is … well, the way I raised them, anyway, they’re grain-fed heads of beef. When they were fat enough, I sold them at auction at the county fair. On the hoof, of course. I’m not a butcher.”

  Sabina stared at the strange boy who always wore gloves. “Where is this town called Ohio?” she asked. “People there must live like savages. I bet it takes them five months in Miami to live in Florida legally. It only took us two.”

  Luke was good at ignoring kids of all ages. The same with adults.


  They stood near the docks in an area shaded by palms on which coconuts grew in high, heavy clusters among dark-green fronds. Nearby was a barbecue pit made of bricks, where they’d built a fire. A bed of glowing coals drizzled wood smoke up through a web of iron grating. Laid out on a picnic table was food Maribel had chosen to prepare.

  She had cleaned and skinned the shark steaks. The slabs of fish were soaking in bowls of spices, ice, and milk. Potatoes were buried among the hot coals. This was Luke’s idea. He’d done a lot of camping in Ohio, sometimes alone. Several pineapples, a stalk of bananas, small yellow limes, and some other fruit—all picked by hand—awaited Maribel’s attention.

  It had taken the trio two hours to get ready for the party. And there was still a lot to do.

  That’s what Maribel’s offer to make dinner for a dozen people had become—a party. CDs from Havana provided music. Conga drums and guitars thrummed from nearby speakers. Adults congregated on the docks and let the three “shark taggers” do what, Maribel insisted, didn’t require outside help.

  “It’ll be good practice for tomorrow,” she had confided to Captain Hannah.

  After all, if she couldn’t organize making dinner, what hope was there for her as the captain of a boat?

  Sabina and Luke had helped without complaint. Readying the food had led to a discussion of what they liked to eat. Then to recipes, when Luke claimed he had learned to cook at an early age.

  “What kind of parent teaches children to eat tongue from a cow?” Sabina wondered.

  “Mom and I would build a fire,” the boy replied, “and roast it on a stick. She said buffalo tongue is better. Never tried it, but I would. I wonder if they raise buffalo here in Florida?”

  “Animal tongue … on a stick.” Sabina made a face, then addressed her sister. “I’ve always wanted to go to California where they make movies. Would we have to go through Ohio to get there? I hope not. Ohio must be a terrible place.”

  “I need three big banana leaves for cooking,” Maribel replied. It was best, she had learned, to request help rather than to give an order. “The leaves have to be cut and washed. No soap, though, just fresh water.”

  “Banana leaves for cooking?” Luke said this in a way that meant You’ve got to be kidding. “Where are we gonna find banana trees?” he asked. Then answered his own question by remembering who had brought the stalk of bananas that lay on the picnic table.

  It was a man named Tomlinson. Tomlinson was a kindly but sort of strange, scarecrow-looking guy who lived alone on a sailboat. He was close friends with Doc and Hannah and everyone who lived or worked at the marina.

  “Make it five banana leaves,” Maribel decided. “The biggest, greenest leaves you can find. Two for cooking, and one leaf for every table. We’ll serve food on them—Cuban-style.”

  The boy hailed Pete, the dog, with a wave of his hand. Sabina trotted after them to the boat ramp. Tomlinson, his long hair in dreadlocks, sat there cross-legged on an upside-down canoe. The man had an easygoing, fun way of speaking. And he dressed like no one Luke had ever seen in Ohio.

  “Banana trees, sure,” Tomlinson said. “I like the way you kids roll.”

  The man got up and straightened the scarlet sarong he wore knotted around his waist. His shirt was a faded tank top that showed his skinny ribs. “Fab idea, using banana leaves. They’re better than paper plates and make it easier to eat with your hands.”

  Tomlinson led them toward a mound of brilliant green leaves visible above the fence beyond the mechanic’s shed.

  “They’re not really trees,” he informed Luke and Sabina. “Bananas are plants. Actually, a sort of flowering herb that grows in patches. Tall as trees, sure, but, you know, like a whole different deal. I get psyched just seeing them. Bananas, the ones that grow wild here on the island, are a jillion times sweeter than bananas you buy in stores. Don’t you think?”

  Sabina agreed and chattered back and forth with the man as they walked. In the shed was a long knife that the girl recognized as a machete. Tomlinson used it to hack off half a dozen giant leaves. They were long, glossy, and shaped like canoes. She and Luke hefted the leaves over their shoulders and carried them toward the picnic area, where they could see Maribel working away.

  “That guy’s nice but kinda strange,” Luke remarked. “Never seen a man wear a red dress before.”

  Sabina retorted, “He’s probably never seen a boy who wears gloves all the time, either.”

  A while later, she added, “Besides, it’s not a dress. It’s a sarong. I love sarongs. When I have enough money, the first thing I’ll buy—after an iPhone, of course—will probably be a beautiful silk sarong.” Then she spoke in a shy tone the boy had never heard her use before. “Do you think I’d look okay in a sarong? I’m not tall like Maribel. But I will be one day. What color should I choose?”

  Luke hated questions like that. “I’m starving,” he said. “I still don’t understand why your sister needs banana leaves for cooking.”

  When dinner was ready, though, Luke realized he’d been wrong about the large green leaves. They made perfect platters for exotic fruits he’d never tried. Chilled mangoes were as sweet as peaches, only better. Bowls of black bean soup were similar to pinto beans cooked with ham. Sabina suggested he drizzle lime juice over the soup and add a sprinkle of fresh chili peppers.

  The combination made the boy’s eyes water. The girl was surprised—and a tad disappointed—when he asked for more hot chili peppers.

  It was Luke’s turn to be surprised when he’d finished waiting tables, and went through the line with a plate. The shark steaks were flaky white, thatched with sear marks, and hot from the grill. The steaks were served with butter, wedges of lime, and a tart salsa of tomatoes, onions, and avocado. He had never seen this pearlike fruit with a soft, nutty flavor.

  “Ah-vo-cah-dough,” the name of the fruit was pronounced.

  When Luke took his first bite of shark steak, Sabina knew what he was going to say, which was “Holy moly … this is a lot better than tuna fish.”

  Two bites later, the strange boy announced, “Yeah, really good. Maybe even better than fried bologna.”

  TEN

  FISH THAT OINK, AND A WARNING

  After two trips without catching a shark, Maribel began to wonder if she was bad luck. Maybe she was. If she could have predicted what would happen on this day, their third trip alone without an adult, she would not have gotten in the boat and left the dock.

  The trio had fished on Tuesday and Wednesday without a problem. There had been no accidents or arguments, yet all they’d caught were catfish. Lots of them. Saltwater catfish, unlike the freshwater variety, weren’t good to eat, they had been told. Worse, saltwater catfish were slimy creatures that oinked like pigs until they had been freed by a tool called a hook remover.

  “Nothing like pigs,” Luke had disagreed. “Pigs are clean, not covered with a bunch of greasy gunk. And they’re smarter than horses, my grandpa says.”

  He’d been freeing a catfish at the time.

  “Disgusting,” Sabina had agreed. “Let’s fish somewhere else. Why do we always have to anchor in the same place every day?”

  By the end of their second trip, Maribel had heard that complaint too many times to count. Catching sharks had seemed easy with Captain Hannah or the biologist aboard. Suddenly it was not.

  Today would be different, the young captain had told herself when she awoke that morning.

  She was right.

  What happened on this Thursday morning was different—and much, much worse.

  * * *

  Luke was up early on Thursday and caught a ride with Captain Hannah and the baby to the marina. Doc waved to them from the upper deck of the lab. His pretty blue-and-white seaplane, the boy noticed, was moored close to shore. This was unusual.

  Luke also noticed Maribel sitting alone, already rigging their tackle, where the rental boats were moored. She appeared so glum that an ashy-gray color floated into the boy’s head. He w
as learning to associate a person’s mood with various colors. What he saw in his head wasn’t always accurate, but sometimes it was. The color, ash gray, suggested that the girl was worried about something. He guessed it was because they had yet to catch a shark without an adult along.

  That was a disappointment for more than one reason. There had been no excuse to show the sisters the shark-tagging pole he had made. Luke thought his creation was pretty darn impressive. Instead of a broom handle, he had used a splintered limb from the tree that had been struck by lightning. It had taken hours of work. Lots of sanding, then several coats of polish to make the wood shine. His grandfather’s drill and some glue had been required to secure the steel dart at the end of the pole.

  Until they caught a shark, though, the tagging pole would remain hidden in the boat as a surprise.

  Otherwise, it was a slow, sleepy morning on the bay. Mist drifted off the water. Pelicans hung heavily in branches while mullet leaped and smacked the surface for no reason—none that made sense to a boy from Ohio, anyway.

  The curly-haired retriever, Pete, appeared. He came charging at Luke full speed, tail wagging. Luke scratched the dog’s belly, then focused on a bucket of fish scraps left last night outside the office door.

  The retriever’s ears perked up with interest.

  In his mind, the boy pictured the word Fetch and nodded for emphasis.

  The dog bolted away. Pete found the bucket’s handle, and returned at a trot carrying ten pounds of fish scraps.

  Good dog, Luke thought. After playing for a while, he added, Don’t bother me while I’m working.

  The retriever complied by collapsing in the shade and falling asleep.

  Every day this week it had been the same. Luke would motion and give a silent command, and the dog obeyed. Usually a training session followed that included fetching balls from the water. As a baseball player, Luke had a pretty good arm. He could throw a ball a long way. To improve his abilities as a fisherman and to provide a greater challenge for the dog, he had begun tying a stick to the line of a fishing rod. After some practice, he could cast the stick twice as far as he could throw it. And with almost the same accuracy.