The Cay

by Theodore Taylor

silence seemed to last forever

Hyperbole

“I don’t feel any pain, Timothy. The pain has gone away.”

A and A

After a moment, lying there in darkness, hearing the creak of the raft and feeling its motion, it all hit me. I was blind and we were lost at sea. I began to crawl, screaming for my mother and my father,

Aha

saying, “If dat will make you bettah, go ’ead.”

W W

Standing on the sea wall at Willemstad, sometimes I’d seen their fins in the water. I’d also seen them on the dock at the Ruyterkade market, their mouths open and those sharp teeth grinning.

Memory moment

I was glad that I had seen him and had seen Timothy before going blind. I thought how awful it would have been to awaken on the raft and not know what they looked like.

Aha and CC

He laughed. “Jus’ miles o’ blue wattah, miles o’ blue wattah.”

A and A

His eyes were becoming mine. “What’s in the sky, Timothy?”

Aha

I true watchin’ d’birds ’cause dey tell us we veree close to d’shore.”

Words Wise

I heard Timothy shout, “I see an islan’, true.”

In wild excitement, I stumbled up and fell overboard.

Then I heard Timothy’s frightened roar, “Sharks,” and he was thrashing about near me.

“Shark all ’round us, all d’time,” he roared.

I said, “I’m sorry.” Timothy said, “On dis raff, you crawl, young bahss. You ’ear me?” I nodded. His voice was thick with anger, but in a moment, after he took several deep breaths, he asked, “You all right, young bahss?”

Timothy answered honestly, “No, young bahss. No people. People not be libin’ on d’islan’ dat ’as no wattah.” No people. No water. No food. No phones. It was not any better than the raft. In fact, it might be worse.

“Maybe we should stay on the raft. A schooner will see us, or an airplane.”

“No, we bettah off on lan’, an’ we driftin’ dat way. D’tide be runnin’ wid us.” His voice was happy. He wanted to be off the sea. I was certain my father had planes and ships out looking for us. I said, “Timothy, the Navy is searching for us. I know.”

“From dis islan’, we will get help. Be true, I swear.…”

“ ’Tis a beautiful cay, dis cay. Nevah hab I seen dis cay.” Then he led me to sit under a clump of bushes. He said, “You res’ easy while I pull d’raff more out of d’wattah. We mus’ not lose it.”

“Many feesh ’ere. Langosta, too, I b’knowin’. We ros’ dem.” Langosta, I knew, was the native lobster,

I build a great fire pile o’ brush an’ wood. So d’nex’ aircraft dat fly ovah, we set it off.”

I wondered if he knew anything, really, or if he was just a stupid old black man.

racism

“But you are not sure of this island?”

“True, I am not sure.”

I knew how helpless I was without Timothy. First I began calling for Stew Cat but when he didn’t return I began shouting for Timothy.

“Yes, young bahss,” he called back from quite a distance. When he was closer, I said harshly, “Never leave me again.

“Thirty minutes at mos’. D’islan’ is ’bout one mile long, an’ a half wide, shaped like d’melon. I foun’ a place to make our camp, up near d’palm.

Fear coming back to me—I knew he’d made a mistake in bringing us ashore—I said, “Then no ships will pass even close to us. Not even schooners!

“If we are in the Devil’s Mouth, how can we be rescued?”

Henrik van Boven

MM

trusted

trusted

“Look, our hut!” I had to remind him again, stupid old man, that I couldn’t see, so he took my hands and ran them over the fronds.

AA

I became frightened again

AA

My mother was right, I thought. They had their place and we had ours. He did not really like me, or he would have taken me along. He was different.

AA

During those first few days on the island, the times I spent alone were terrible. It was, of course, being unable to see that made all the sounds so frightening.

the tears came out.

Stew Cat.

purring hard. I held him close.

Sooner or later, Timothy would have to understand that he could not ignore me one minute and then treat me as a friend the next.

CC

He roasted the langosta over the fire, and later we crawled into the hut to spend our first night on the silent island.

how old are you?”

“More dan seventy. Eben more dan seventy.…”

Old enough to di...

I looked up in his direction and suddenly understood that Timothy could not spell. He was just too stubborn, or too proud, to admit it. I nodded and began feeling around the sand for a stick.

I carefully lettered H-E-L-P on the sand

I felt good. I knew how to do something that Timothy couldn’t do. He couldn’t spell. I felt superior to Timothy that day,

Then Timothy began weaving a rope that would stretch all the way down the hill to the beach and fire pile.

If he happened to be out on the reef, and I heard a plane, I could take a light from our campfire, follow the rope down, and touch off the big fire. The vine rope would also serve to get me safely down to the beach.

Becoming angry with him, I said, “I tell you, I can’t see.” He paid no attention to me.