The next morning, they all slept in.
When any of them woke up, around noon, all of them were overjoyed to wake up on the same ship they fell asleep in, to say nothing of being able to look out the window and see the Isle of Castaways in the midst of its midday bustle. That last night’s feast, or their welcome party with DJ and the others, wasn’t just a delusion fueled by hunger and a desperate need to see some friendly faces. Or, in Shades’ case especially, that this island community wasn’t just a phantom façade for something more sinister, as meeting Bruno again was a grim reminder of just how insidious that creepy mall really was.
Of course, something else that served to attest that last night was no dream was a certain old man standing out on the dock, waiting.
“I suppose we should probably go pay him,” Ma’Quiver sighed, “before he starts thinking we meant to cheat him.”
“At least he looks sobered up,” Shades commented as he fetched some money. “I’d be a little worried about a crazy bastard like him showing up to collect while plastered.”
As he stepped out on deck, Rude Bones stepped forward, striding up to the ship.
“Ya better be comin’ out to pay what ya owe me,” the old pirate declared sternly. “I don’t take kindly to bein’ swindled.”
“I assure you,” Shades replied, “that was never our intention. You passed out before we even got to talk about it.”
Though he doubted the old man was going to start a fight at this point, he still took some relief that Ma’Quiver had joined him out on the deck. Recalling something Master Al had warned him once: Don’t pick a fight with an old man. If he’s too old to fight, he’ll just kill you. Though originally talking about old soldiers, he had a sneaking suspicion that adage applied equally to pirates.
“Aye, and a fine meal it was,” Rude Bones grinned as he saw Shades whip out some bills. “Now let’s see the color of yer money.”
“Of course,” Shades said, then asked, “By the way, do know any good places for breakfast?”
“I was headin’ down to the Hang Ten for my morning nip,” he said, “but you folks would prob’ly find Café la Mer more to yer liking. It’s down the way, past Bankshot and the Jolly Roger, but Marie don’t like me none too much, so you’re on yer own there.”
And so, having no more food onboard than they did last night, the others got ready to go out to eat while Shades ironed out the details of Rude Bones’ fee.
After that, it was off to Café la Mer.
Rude Bones’ directions were close enough, leading them around the bend, to a two-story light pink clapboard house, with fancy trim and scrolling, and a large rear patio of tables overlooking the beach beyond. A porch swing swayed gently on the breeze to the right of the broad front steps. Café la Mer painted on the wall above the porch in a delicate fuchsia cursive lettering.
As they walked in, a bell tinkled quietly, though it still made Justin jump in spite of himself. Inside, they found a dining room packed with ornate wooden chairs and tables. Although of several distinct designs, they were arranged such that they didn’t clash with each other, almost to the point that a less observant visitor might not even notice. Behind the counter on the other side of the room, they caught a glimpse of a kitchen, and, Shades suspected, stairs to the second floor, where the proprietor’s own living quarters must surely be.
A moment later, a petite figure emerged from the back, bustling across the floor to meet them. Barely taller than Justin, but of stocky build and a little on the plump side, billowing apron flowing with her every movement. Her round face framed by light brown hair salted with a few strands of grey, bound in the back in a tight bun.
“Welcome! Welcome!” she chirped, her voice straddling the line between middle age and elderly. “Oh my! New visitors! Welcome to Café la Mer! I’m Marie St Claire, proprietor. You just missed the breakfast crowd, but I could still whip something up for you. What would you boys like?”
“Something from the breakfast menu,” Ma’Quiver requested, “if it’s not too much trouble.”
“And such fine manners you young men have,” she remarked. “I was just cleaning up for lunch, but there’s still plenty from breakfast to work with. Have a seat, and I’ll tell you the menu.”
She paused for a moment, tilting her head at their feline companion, then smiled.
“What a fine feline you keep company with! I’ll be sure to bring something out for him, too.”
At first, Shades was somewhat taken aback by not having a written menu to look at, but then it caught up with him that they were on a remote island; aside from seafood, and whatever grew on the island itself, her ingredient stock was entirely at the mercy of occasional outland trading ships.
She led them to a fresh table and began telling them what she had on hand. Shades was surprised they had eggs until Marie explained that a few of the locals raised chickens. She was also keen on storing up grains and flours from trading ships, confirming what Rude Bones said about her having the best breads and pastries on the island. She also kept an eclectic pantry of canned and dried goods, as well as herbs and other ingredients, making for a broader menu than her modest approach implied.
After taking their orders, she returned a short while later with a full breakfast platter. Though at first surprised at how hungry they were after pigging out last night, they quickly concluded that a couple weeks of escalating deprivation had taken its toll. Marie’s impressive cooking also tipped the scales in her favor.
They also enjoyed her tea, though she was well known for her selection of coffees, as well.
As they ate, other guests passed in and out for lunch, but no one any of them recognized.
When Marie strolled back over to their table to ask if they needed anything, Ma’Quiver piped up, “Miss St Claire, do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear,” she replied, “but please, call me Marie. I’m not used to folks acting so formal around here.”
“Sure thing, Marie,” he continued. “I was just wondering, what kind of fruit was that on the side? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
“Did you like it?” she asked. “That was fresh guavidu.”
“Guavidu?” Max’s face quizzical. “Mind if I try some?”
“Why of course,” she smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
Shades was fairly sure he heard her go all the way out the back door, as he didn’t hear any footsteps on the stairs, coming back a moment later with a piece of fruit that made his jaw drop.
It looked like a triple gourd, light yellow, with pink and orange wavy horizontal stripes across the thick parts. Like no other fruit any of them had ever seen before.
“What?” Marie looked at Shades’ face. “What’s wrong?”
“Could it really be?…” Shades wondered aloud. Then, seeing the concerned look on her face, he asked Max and Justin, “Guys, you remember that one story I told you, about that unearthly fruit that simply showed up one day at a hotel back on Earth?”
“Yeah, so…” Justin paused for a moment. “You don’t think it’s the same fruit, do you?”
“Really?” Max asked.
“Well, nobody took any photos, and the descriptions were all hearsay…” Shades conceded, recalling what he could of the Breakfast Exchange Program. Yet, though he didn’t know how, he knew, just knew, it was the same. “Still, I just have this feeling.”
“Interesting,” Ma’Quiver commented, slicing up the fruit and giving his companions several slices of its pulpy orange insides. “Try it. It’s really sweet!”
Even the aroma reminded Shades of oranges, but with a hint of something else he couldn’t place, and suspected he never would. Max, and even Justin lit up at the taste, and much to Max’s surprise, Bandit liked it, too.
“Given that you went outside for this,” Ma’Quiver observed, “does that mean they grow on this island?”
“Oh yes,” Marie quipped, “I don’t know if they’re native to this place, but they grow all over the island. I tend a couple trees in my back yard— they’re very popular around here. Of course, I’ve met a few travelers who’ve seen them elsewhere, so it’s hard to say where they come from.”
“I imagine,” Shades mused. “I suppose if someone took seeds and planted them in a suitable environment…”
“They must be popular,” Justin remarked, “if you already ran out today and had to go pick more!”
“Oh, good heavens, no! Actually, I suppose you wouldn’t know,” Marie explained, “but I only serve guavidu fresh from the tree. Once it comes off the branch, it decomposes quickly, often within a day or two…”
She stopped short at Shades’ stunned expression.
“Just like in the story…” he mumbled. Then, more firmly, “The one thing all versions from my dimension have in common was that it rotted in less than a day.”
“Eerie,” Max agreed.
“I once met a man who refused to eat this fruit,” Marie told them. “He called it ‘withewa’ and said that in his country, it was bad luck for the living to partake of it, that there it is reserved as an offering to the dead.” Then she lightened up. “But in all my years, I’ve never seen such a thing, and most people here love guavidu.”
“Kind of a pity,” Ma’Quiver lamented. “If these things didn’t rot so fast, you could probably make a brisk trade with travelers.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Marie said, giggling slightly, “but you just reminded me of a really funny story. Back when that pirate Rude Bones first showed up here, years ago, he went and bought some barrels and buckets off some trading ship. Then that old booze-hound went around the island, picking every guavidu that wasn’t growing on someone else’s place. At first, no one really knew what he was up to, until the next day, when he was seen cussing and dumping a couple barrels of rotten guavidu out behind his shack.”
Shades snorted, then started laughing out loud. “I see. Thought he’d skip the middleman with his own homebrew.”
“I see,” Ma’Quiver snickered. “Probably thought he’d make a tidy credit or two selling, too, assuming he didn’t drink up all his own merchandise!”
“I wonder if that old fool even knows anything about brewing,” Marie laughed, “or if it was just another fool notion he got after a night at the Hang Ten? Either way, he upset a lot people wasting half a season’s guavidu like that.”
“Probably,” Justin nodded, after seeing how screwy the old pirate was acting after the fourth or fifth bottle.
They all had a good laugh.
“I see you’ve met him?” Marie shook her head.
“Yeah,” Shades informed her, “actually, he was the one who recommended this place for breakfast.”
“You don’t say?” Marie raised an eyebrow. “Mayhap the old scoundrel isn’t all bad after all.”
After thanking her for the meal and paying their bill, she took them outside to see the guavidu tree.
Much to their surprise, it didn’t look too much different from any of the other deciduous trees intermingled with the rest of the island’s mostly tropical foliage. The only thing that struck them as at all out of place was the occasional dangling vine with one of those mysterious fruits hanging from it. Shades especially found it hard to reconcile how normal the rest of the tree looked compared to its fruit.
Then they moved on, to continue their tour of this island community.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Café la Mer
Chapter End Notes:
My apologies about the delay. I was boycotting the internet for 24 hours, in solidarity with the Anti-SOPA/PIPA Blackout movement. This threat still looms over everything we love about the internet, and I urge anyone who enjoys free speech, intellectual discourse, or participatory culture, such as indy authors, artists and fanfiction, to continue voicing your disapproval to Congress, and their greedy, control-freak sponsors.
