Amistad

 

While we were at anchor in Isla San Francisco, we awoke one morning to a new neighbor that must have sought safe harbor in the middle of the night. The large, rusty fishing vessel had a commanding presence in the bay and resembled an angry bug on a leash.

A small cruising sailboat passed by on their way south to inform us that, if we were interested, our new neighbors had sold him some shrimp, 1 kilo for $100 pesos.

Before our on-shore adventures, I decided to row over to procure some shrimp for dinner, since we had run out of fresh meat. With the wind against me and $100 pesos in my pocket, I approached in slow motion. Four men occasionally peered over the rusted out railing to mark my forward progress.

When I came alongside the boat, a man, young but weathered, rested his arms on the railing and smiled.

I put forth my friendliest face. “Hola! Buenos dias! Puedo comprar algos camarones de ustedes? / Hi there! Good morning! Am I able to buy some shrimp from you guys?”

The man looked behind him, exchanged words with another man out of sight then asked me to throw him my painter (the rope at the front of the boat). He secured my line and extended his hand to me.

Confused, I asked my question again.

“Si, claro. Adelante! / Yes, of course. Come on!” He extended his hand further. I grabbed it and started to ascend.

“Oh! No tengo zapatos! / I don’t have any shoes!” I hadn’t bothered to wear any, expecting only to buy some shrimp and be on my way.

“No te preocupas. / Don’t worry about it.”

I climbed over the bulbous railing and Juan, the captain, was waiting with a pair of green crocs for me to wear. I laughed and slid my bare feet into the over-sized shoes. Rogelio, the younger man, pointed to a gigantic basket of cooked shrimp to my right and told me to help myself. Another man, whose name I can’t recall, brought out some lime and hot sauce.

There were five crew members in total, ranging from very young to quite old. Juan was focused on fixing one of his nets, but gladly paused to engage me in conversation. They were all shy, standing far away from me, like junior high boys at a dance. Since I was standing next to the basket of shrimp, they would wander over for a handful then retreat to their respective corners.

I asked all of the questions that I knew how to ask – about their work, their homes and families. Every once in awhile they would break into rapid conversations, laughing and joshing one another about their responses to my questions. I laughed too, even though I couldn’t fully follow along.

As I prepared to leave, Rogelio came over and filled a large plastic bag with two kilos of shrimp and asked the youngest crew member to grab some limes, which he included in the bag as well.

“Cuanto es? / How much?” I asked, preparing to dig money out of my pockets, hoping my $100 pesos would be sufficient.

Rogelio turned to Juan, wanting him to explain.

He looked up from his work. “Es un regalo. / It is a gift.”

I was taken aback by the kindness and tried to tell them that they didn’t need to give me a gift. Surely I hadn’t done anything to deserve a gift. I asked them if they needed anything, if I could bring them something from our boat. Cookies? Chips? Anything?

As Juan’s hands threaded in an out of the net, he insisted. “No. Es un regalo para ti y tu esposo. / It is a gift for you and your husband.” He continued. “Es un regalo para tu compañía y amistad / It is a gift for your company and your friendship.”  But truly, their friendship was the gift I needed but did not expect.