can a frustrated single mom and failed big city journalist save her family and salvage her career by returning to a town run by a gang of bungling thugs?


“The Resurrection of Puerto Cielo” is a novella published in serial form, 43 posts.




19


Sam stopped, holding up a hand.

Gabe watched the white cane poke ahead. It tapped a slithering round form crossing the path.

“Boa,” Sam said.

Gabe shivered watching the rosy striped snake slip silently into the undergrowth. He’d never seen such creatures slithering on city sidewalks.

They were pushing their way through a dense jungle of vines and leaves. Brightly colored birds called out as they flew overhead. The trail was puddled with recent rain and the air smelled heavy and musty.

The women had gone shopping, the men were going fishing.

“How do you do it, Gramps?”

Sam turned back, “Do what?”

“Find your way through all of this without seeing.”

Sam chuckled, “But I do see, just not with my eyes. I see with this,” he said, holding up his cane. “It tells me what’s in front of me, and I see with my mind, memories of the world before I went blind.”

“Still, it must be hard,” Gabe said.

“It took some getting used to, but all my other parts work. If I couldn’t walk or talk or use my hands, now that would be difficult.”

Suddenly the canopy opened up and they were at the edge of the lagoon. A bridge of sorts, planks tied together and suspended with ropes, stretched to a bamboo shack raised on stilts above the water.

“Careful,” cautioned the blind man as he nimbly navigated across to the shack’s door. It took Gabe several steps to adjust to the bridge’s swaying motion, another new experience for a city boy.

They entered a single room, simply laid out, a cot, a small table and two chairs, a corner kitchen area, with windows opening out to the sparkling lake beyond.

“Walk the plank! Walk the plank!”

Gabe moved closer to see the big gray parrot perched on a pole inside the doorway to the deck.

“Swab the decks! Swab the decks!” commanded Captain Hook with a flap of his wings.

“Better feed the old boy,” Sam suggested, showing Gabe how to offer mango to the sharp beaked parrot without losing a finger.

“Shiver me timbers! Shiver me timbers!”

Leaving Hook to his snack, they picked up rods and a tackle box and descended a ramp to a float below the deck. Sam told Gabe where to load the gear in the flatboat tied alongside.

Gabe looked out. The clouds had flown off to the east and warm sun had burned off the morning haze. The world around them was alive with birds, floating, flying, singing, screeching, all colors, all kinds.

“Ever run an outboard motor?” Sam asked, then added, “No, likely not. Come here, I’ll show you how.”

With a few instructions, Gabe had the motor started and the boat headed out into the lagoon. Out in the center, Gabe killed the motor and Sam helped him bait his hook with live shrimp.

Then they waited.

Sam interrupted the quiet, “You hungry?”

“Sure, I’m famished.”

Sam reached into a cooler and handed Gabe a bag of Doritos. 

Gabe laughed, “Doritos? Mom definitely didn’t pack this lunch.”

“No,” Sam smiled. “Doritos are a fisherman’s best friend, throw a few of these bright orange treats onto the water and the fish come running. Wait, you’ll see.”

Gabe crunched into a chip and watched Sam toss a handful into the water.

After a moment, Gabe asked, “Do you miss her?”

Sam looked back at the young boy’s innocent face, “Miss her?”

“Do you miss Grandma?”

There was a long pause before the answer came.

“Every day…”

Another pause.

“All the time.”

“Got one, Gramps!” The young fisherman yelled as the tip of his pole bent towards the water.

***