By Diana Drakulich

Years ago, I lived in Belize when it was still British Honduras, or `BH’ as the locals called it. `My’ village, Placencia, was an isolated fishing village numbering some 500 souls. This included a great many children who were everywhere and always on the move.

I met my good friend Rita one day on the `mail boat’, (a huge dugout powered by an outboard), while returning to Placencia from Mango Creek town. At first sight, sitting in the stern of the dory, Rita appeared very small, her face almost childlike. She sat alone, one suitcase balanced at her feet.

“Are you traveling alone without your parents?” I asked her.

Gathering herself, Rita rose in the rocking boat to her full stature of 5’2” and informed me in no uncertain terms:

“My name is Rita Cabral. I am 23 years old and I am coming back to Placencia from the States”.

Okay whatever you say…

I liked Rita’s style and we soon became friends. Rita was the eldest of the 14 Cabral children. At 23, Rita was divorced and returning to live with her family who were already caring for her 2 children along with their own. Including Rita, that made 16 children at the Cabral house on its high mahogany posts facing the sea.

Rita’s mother, `Coonchie’ ran the house like a top sergeant. With 16 children in the house, she had to. After meals at the long table, Coonchie would bark an order and the older girls would move into action with brooms and mops, cleaning up any spilled food around the table.

Like most Placencians of that day, the Cabral’s made their living from the sea. One day Rita invited me to take a fishing trip to the cays with them. For five days Rita, her father George, her two brothers, Egbert and Georgie Jr., her cousin `Tinnen’ Lopez and I sailed the cays, diving for conch and lobster and line fishing.

All that we caught was gutted and put in a large ice chest in the hold of their 24 foot sailboat. At night we camped on one of the many cays scattered inside the nearly 200 mile long main barrier reef. Within the barrier reef was a maze of smaller reefs – ideal for fishing and diving.

We sailed northwest toward Water Cay. From there the boat would turn back south toward Placencia. Every day the Cabral sailboat would drop off the two paddling `dories’. These dories were small dugouts towed behind the sailboat when not in use. The dories had no motor or sail, only paddles for power.

On this day, Rita’s brothers took one dory while Tinnen and I took the second. Rita and her father manned the sailboat, line fishing as they moved languidly downwind toward our appointed rendezvous just off of Water Cay, about ten miles from our present location.
Tinnen and Rita’s brothers were built like Olympic swimmers. I soon found out why.

Commercial diving was the most exhausting work I had ever done and I had the easy part. All I had to do was jump out and hold the dory rope to keep the boat from drifting away while Tinnen dove for `bugs’, (lobster) hiding in the large coral heads.

Meanwhile I dove for conch grazing on the seagrass, while keeping one hand gripped on the long dory rope. When we had caught all that was readily available in one area, we heaved our bodies over the high wooden sides of the dory (try pulling yourself into a canoe from deep water without flipping it over) and paddle on to the next likely coral formation. This all had to be done at speed. We had 10 miles to cover.

Dive, powerful kicks down, back arched, kick up, break through to the surface – ahhhhh…feels so good to breathe. Breathe deep, hold your breath, dive again, kick up, breathe deep.

Then, finned feet kicking to get some height above water, you heave your tired body back over into the dory, trying not to turn it over with all the catch in the process.

Drive your paddle deep under the blazing, piercing sun to the next coral head. Tinnen worked with single minded intensity.

Once, when a lobster eluded him in the coral, Tinnen dove repeatedly to hook it. I bobbed close by in the water, watching. As he came up again for air, very close to me, Tinnen gazed into my eyes, white teeth glinting, tightly curled black hair streaked with blonde from the constant sun and salt.

“If I no de catch dis bug, I wan sen you down after him an dat wan be a him dat. Eh Diana”? Said in his deep, melodious Creole.

We gazed into each others’ eyes, breathing deep. The sea playing with us, rocking us at her breast. And then I was looking down a misty tunnel filled with light. At the end of that tunnel were Tinnen’s clear, steady eyes. Eyes that held a message: I love you.

We worked until late afternoon and the center of the dory was heaped with lobster and conch. Then, as the sun was just starting to kiss the western horizon with golden pink, we paddled hard to reach the sailboat before dark.

My first view of Water Cay that evening was framed by lush green palms, which seemed to drench the island in a golden green light, as if the cay itself beckoned.

The cay watchmen, Old John Leslie, his tall lean frame unbowed, stood on the beach waiting for our boat to set anchor. John was alone on the cay and glad for company.

Stepping ashore, I was immediately aware of a deep and profound change in myself. All that swimming, using my back to dive and especially the deep breathing was like the greatest mental therapy that no psychiatrist, no antidepressant, no mood elevating or stabilizing drug could ever provide.

The self consciousness that I often felt in company had disappeared. I was relaxed and at ease in my own body and with everyone around me.

We sat around the campfire that night eating rice cooked in cocoanut cream with broiled grouper steaks seasoned with lime and salt. A welcome sea breeze came up, keeping the voracious sand flies at bay and waving the palms overhead.

One minute I remember being so relaxed, sitting on the beach, the next instant I was standing up, jolted by a spear of pure, unadulterated fear.

Voices.

“Did you hear that?! I heard voices! Is someone out there”? I asked, eyes searching the darkness. No one else appeared too concerned.

“Only de wind in de palms”. Came the answer.
I sat down again, only to leap up a few moments later –

“There they are again! Can you hear them? Someone is talking out there!”

It sounded like a man and a woman, talking, whispering, laughing, scolding, teasing.

Am I the only one who hears them?

Eyes scanning the gloom I listened intently. The voices were distinct, yet I could not quite make out what they were saying. Old John nodded at my confusion.

“Dey’s de Ghosts of Watah Cay you hear gal. Don’t you know dey was pirates on dis cay? On de other side of dis barrier reef was de Spanish Main. Dis meh de be de only cay aroun wit fresh watah. De English buccaneers dey use dis cay to store up dey treasure.”

“For hundreds of years de pirates lived out here on de cays wit dey wives and dey slaves and dey piknee (children).” John continued. “De buccaneers dey founded `BH’ an we Creole, we be descended from dem.”

“I hear strange tings too, some nights, voices an such like. Specially when I’m all alone wit de wind blowin on a full moon night.” John gestured at the night sky brilliant with stars.

A full moon. Like tonight.

Old John Leslie gazed around the ring of rapt, glowing faces in the firelight. Storytelling was the main source of entertainment in old BH. They had no TV, video games, cell phones or personal computers, yet.
Old John rose to the occasion:

“One round full moon night, I may de be out fishin near de Deep in my dory when from out de darkness, I see a light a comin straight at me. Dis light de get closer an closer.”

“Den I see it meh de be one lantern a swingin from de prow of a boat. Look like a big boat too.” Old John’s eyes widened in the fire light.

“De lantern was swingin all crazy like, comin fast, straight at me. I de paddle for dear life to get out de way and den – Dere she blows! Steamin right by under full sail, a bloody Spanish galleon! A ghost ship manned by de ghosts of dead men!” Old John’s voice went deep and eerie.

“An dat very night I meh de have one terrible dream. I meh de dream dis drowned man come to me. A white man. E white til e belly blue. All drippin wet wit black holes for eyes. He meh de be dressed in old time clothes wit big silver buckles on e shoes, a three corner hat, a long black mustache an a long black beard. E look like ol’ Black Beard hisself!”

“And dis pirate e say to me – John Leslie, e say, My men done me wrong. My men done murdered me for my treasure. But I fooled em! I de bury my treasure over dere on Macobi Point, before dey got to me. My treasure meh de still be dere John. Enough gold to last you all your days. Find my treasure John, it’s still dere, on Macobi Point!”

Old John gestured toward a long silver crescent of beach at the north end of the island, outlined by a narrow line of cocoanut palms wavering in the moonlight.

“Ever since den I de dig for treasure on dis cay but I got no luck. No, I never found de treasure, not in all dese years. But somewhere dat gold is still dere, buried under de sand. Dos ghost voices de speak to you, gal.” He said to me. “Dey’s callin you.”

“Go – look for dat treasure. You might be de lucky one to find it. You can have ALL de treasure. BUT -” Old John held up his hand –
“I have one rule – Nobody ken tek anyting from offn dis cay!”

I laughed along with everyone else. It was that kind of night. A night for good company, a night for laughter. Once in a while in life you meet one of those droll people – all they have to do is open their mouths and within a few words, you can already feel the smile, the laughter welling up from deep inside.

Old John went on to tell us about how a powerful hurricane suddenly hit the island and blew his house clear up into the sky where it whirled around and disappeared! Old John stood up in front of the fire and whiled his hand around toward the cosmos. And we could almost see that house disappearing into the sky.

Fortunately, as John felt his house breaking up, he ran outside and took cover in a flimsy driftwood outhouse with a palm frond roof.
He slammed the outhouse door shut. He peered through a crack to see his house, built of solid mahogany from the mainland, disintegrate and blow away. Poor Old John was left with nothing but a stinken outhouse to shelter in.

At some point, my eyes met Tinnen’s in silent invitation and we both rose. Swaying together as naturally as the palms, we strolled along the lapping shore toward Macobi Point.

Upon reaching it, I gazed across the moonlit sea to the horizon. I had never imagined the stars could be so close, so brilliant, so many.

“De moon de come full soon, den de weather de change”. Tinnen’s brown eyes were luminous.

“How will it change?”

He shrugged. “Depends. It meh de be calm now, so it de get rough when de moon comes full. Rain, wind. De weather changes wit de moon.”

Standing so close in the darkness, Tinnen’s open shirt flaps in the breeze, revealing shimmering glimpses of his powerful chest. His very presence vibrates with some ineffable masculine energy.

Long muscular legs stand evenly on large, wide, flat feet. Since childhood, Tinnen has been running and swimming barefoot. His balance and sense of connection with his world, it shows. He seems completely at ease with himself, with the night and with me.

“Tinnen, no wonder you swim so fast, with those big feet, you don’t even need flippers”. I tease.

His eyes glint at my audacity and I sense his smile. Muscular brown arms flow around my waist. He whispers in my ear:

“Deeyana, you know what Macobi means”?

“What”?

“Macobi it means – sadness – for your lost love”.

I feel Tinnen’s warm, full, salty lips press against mine and we are drawn upwards by the magnetic shimmering moon, along with the rushing sea breeze, the whispering palms and all the Voices of Ages Past who encountered destiny here on Macobi Point.

 

 

This excerpt from my Science Fiction Romance OVERMIND is based on a series of stunning visions I had.

 

The Lawman had golden amber eyes that reflected the rays of the rising sun. Compelling, sphinx-like eyes under slashing black brows. 

Gazing into those mysterious eyes, Dr. Carter was spellbound. If only he could look long enough. Stare deeply enough into those cryptic golden eyes – Then at long last – I will finally understand… 

The Singing Voices rose in a full, deep-throated humming that vibrated through Carter’s very being. The crystal clear vision of a long forgotten experience flashed before his eyes – 

He was a boy again, walking through a lush green field near his old home in Virginia. As he walked, a flash of bright scarlet and black at his feet caught his youthful eye. The budding scientist stopped. Knelt to investigate. 

Before his eyes was revealed a group of scarlet and black bugs, all on one green leaf. The boy Carter studied the bugs a few moments. Just bugs. Dismissed them and passed on, to the rest of his life as a successful scientist. 

He never thought of those red and black insects again. In his mind the incident was entirely forgotten, as if it never happened. 

But IT had happened. Some part of his brain had recorded this very ordinary incident in perfect detail. And suddenly he was THERE again. But this time his sight was so vastly magnified, he was there on that leaf with the insects. 

One of the bugs was eating, placidly chewing on the edge of the leaf. Two other bugs were gently touching antennas, clearly communicating. Another pair were calmly having sex.

It came to Carter that these were not just a bunch of insensate insects sitting on a leaf. This was a society of tiny beings locked in their own world. Locked into their own microcosm. Their own unique dimension. And their whole world was this one green leaf.  

Suddenly Carter’s vision changed. He found himself suspended in deep space. He was surrounded by boundless blackness and far away twinkling lights. Before his eyes was revealed a pair of immense stone feet. Feet so monumental they filled the entire scope of his vision. 

He could see no higher, no wider than these infinitely huge stone feet suspended in space. Majestic. Mysterious. 

Placed straight ahead, side by side, the feet resembled those of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh seated on a towering throne of stone. Feet so immense, Carter was dwarfed to insect size in comparison. His limited vision could not see the entire image. Could not comprehend this boundless majesty suspended eternally in time and space… 

The vision flashed and was gone. Carter found himself back in the barren Nevada desert, standing with a group of confused FBI and military police. Thunderstruck, he gazed blindly around the barren landscape. 

Caught in a state of extreme Cognitive Dissonance, Carter could not take much more without breaking. Out of habit he began twisting the gold ring he wore on his right hand, thumb rubbing the inlaid black onyx. His father had given him the ring when he graduated from high school. Back when things were still sometimes good between them. 

Inside the ring was engraved – Reggie – Love Always Dad. He never took it off. For some reason he flashed on that happy day. Felt his father’s presence. Missed him. Deeply.   

`REGGIE’ – a Voice called out, clear as day. 

A sharp pang stabbed the doctor’s heart. He would know that Voice, that unique inflection, anywhere. 

`DAD?!’ Carter’s head jerked up. Swiveled around. A world of wishing and longing in his cry. 

Impossible. Dad is dead. His logical mind said. It was an auditory hallucination. Still Carter was sure he heard his father’s Voice.

Dr. Carter was a man of science above all. He knew the difference between fantasy and reality. Still, an eerie chill shivered his body. Then he `saw’ something that rendered him speechless. 

His father. Standing before him. 

What shocked Carter most was that this was not the sad haggard face of the bitter old man he remembered at the end. This was DAD in his prime. Except for the stunning fact that his father had never looked this good in `real’ life.

During the early years of Carter’s boyhood, his father exuded positive energy. That was before a strange bitterness, jealousy, anger and deceit had infected and twisted his father’s mind.

The mood swings were so violent, so intense, it was as if his father was possessed. Of course that was ridiculous. Psychologists would label his father’s extreme mood swings as `bipolar’ and `schizophrenic’. Dr. Carter fully agreed. 

Carter rarely dreamed anymore. He didn’t allow himself to dream. His dreams frightened and disturbed him too much. But there was that one dream…Of his father being burned alive. Of his father’s face contorted in agony as red hot flames consumed the lower half of his body.

Ahh! It burned Carter’s heart to remember it. But it was just a dream. Not a sign. 

As a boy Carter had worshipped the ground his father walked on. Dad was so buoyant, so full of positive, constructive energy. And his father had imbued his son with self belief in his own talents, in all that Carter was capable of accomplishing in life. His generous father, who was incapable of passing someone in need without giving money or aid. 

By the time Carter entered his teenage years, his father had begun to change. Drastically. Even to the point of despising and furiously rejecting his own son. By the time Carter reached adulthood, he and his father were estranged. 

But in that moment when Carter `saw’ his father again, mere words could not convey the radiance streaming from his father’s face. It was sublime. Surreal. Carter could not remember his father ever looking so Alive so happy. 

His father said nothing. Just stood there looking at him. Looking through him. The vision appeared and was gone. A flash so riveting it would stay with Carter forever. 

A chilling realization fizzed through Carter’s mind. As a scientist, this strange vision of his father presented a deeply puzzling conundrum. For he knew himself incapable of imagining such sublime radiance streaming from his father’s face. 

After all he still carried a deep sense of anger at his father for all the wasted years. For all unnecessary, torturous mental pain. Now, as a confirmed atheist, this vision of DAD was beyond Carter’s realm of conceptualization. 

He scoffed at Believers. They were `simple-minded cowards who only believe in God because they fear death’. Well educated, intelligent people like himself know that Man has no Soul. Dust to Dust and that’s all. 

It came to Carter – Such logic compares to what that ancient Scythian sage said of the Olympics – `Only the Greeks would make those who never excelled in sport the judges of those who do’.

Standing there, dazed, Carter’s intense frustration and fury over Alien’s escape evaporated. He found himself fighting to control an avalanche of explosive illogical thoughts and emotions. Intense feelings flooded not only his mind, but gripped his entire body. Feelings which he avoided the way most people avoid rattlesnakes.

Eyes burning with unshed tears, he wanted to sob out loud. To open his arms and laugh at the sky. He wanted to sink to his knees. To rock back and forth – Thank You! Thank You GOD…! 

By a powerful exertion of will Carter kept his rampant emotions in check for fear of what the Others might think. Can’t let them see me cracking up.

He gazed around. The Singing Voices were silent – as if they were but a figment of his imagination. The smiling Lawman with the golden eyes that reflected the rising sun was also gone. As if he never was. 

Was it all just an illusion? A trick of the Mind? 

But Whose Mind?

Carter remembered the t shirt he had proudly worn at Virginia Tech. On it was emblazoned – ‘People who believe in imaginary friends are stupid.’ 

What does Science really know about reality? How many dimensions are there? Where did this ever-expanding Universe come from? 

From the `Big Bang’? Hah. Something from Nothing. From the Void. A theory. All theories. 

I don’t know fuck all.

And then Carter the man, experienced the strangest thought of all – I wonder what Margie Crestwood is doing tonight?

He felt a deep desire to see and feel the real Margie. The living, loving being behind the veil. 

But I don’t even LIKE Margie? 

Because of something…something irrelevant was blocking my vision. 

 

The doctor’s eyes flicked east, to witness the giant pulsating, red-orange ball of plasma rising over the desert horizon. 

Wow – The SUN. 

The sun was literally shaking, throwing off incredible eruptions of pink, purple and turquoise energy. The sun was bouncing, dancing and spinning before his eyes, blasting out waves of brilliant fiery force. 

Strange, even the earth’s horizon seemed to be rolling. Pulsating. Vibrating. As if the solid earth under his feet was joined with the sun in a vast multi-dimensional force field. 

Stunning, intense golden orange, royal blue, pink and lavender blazed across the majestic rippling lake and clear, boundless sky. Overtaken by an indescribable feeling of awe, Carter felt the Earth turning under his feet. Coming Alive. 

Spiraling toward the Coming of the Light. 

And it came to Carter that he had never seen the sun before… 

 

Nihil sine Deo