The Trade ("The Islander" Part 1)

The sand under my feet

Is warm,

Like chicken 

Just roasted over

A warm fire.

The air that I'm breathing 

Tastes like salt,

Like ocean spray

And the breeze is 

Blowing softly,

Bringing shouts 

Snapping me out of

My tranquil daydream.

I look down the beach

And see people running,

Shouting and pointing

To the open sea.

I look out across the ocean

And see white clouds

Moving in fast.

And then I see 

That these are not clouds.

They are sails,

And they belong to a ship.

A crowd has gathered by now.

People murmur amongst themselves,

Wondering what this strange ship

Brings to our island.

Perhaps explorers,

Like the ones that came

In the stories that

All the mothers tell

Their children at night.

Maybe it is traders,

Like the ones who came 

Fourteen years ago

When I was five and

Curious about the shiny

Pieces of metal called gold coins,

And the same milky white balls 

That we call moon balls

And sometimes find in our oysters.

The shouts start again,

Snapping me once more 

Out of my daydream.

But it is not just my island people

Who shout, but

Also the sailors on the ship

As they lower the sails

And lower the anchor.

The have stopped just outside

Our beautiful reef

And are lowering small boats

Into the water

With sailors in them

And boxes.

Countless wooden boxes

That contain unknown things.

I want to swim out

And greet them but

They are strange to me.

Not just people I have never met,

But people who do not

Talk like us

Or look like us

They have pale skin,

As pale as the white sands

On our island

And as the boats draw nearer

I can see that

They are unshaven 

And their tongue is rapid.

It seems so complex.

We on the island have 

Sun-browned skin,

And we are clean

Unlike the sailors.

Our language is simple

And spoken softly and sweetly.

They are almost here,

And they seem to be friendly,

Smiling and waving,

But their words seem angry

Their tones unfriendly.

Have they come to destroy us?

The boats are gently washed to shore

And the men get out.

There are four boats,

Each carrying eight men,

And there are two women

Who smile and speak softly.

They greet us in a language that sounds

So familiar and then

I realize why it sounds so comforting.

It is our tongue but it

Is in their accent,

So strangely different

And it does not seem to flow gently 

From their lips.

The men start to unload the many wooden boxes

Lifting one after the other

Until our beach

Seems to be covered in them.

They look eagerly at us

Gesturing to the boxes

And telling us

“We have many goods to trade.”

I am the first to recover from the surprise

And I step forward

And say

“We have many things to trade also.”

They smile and laugh

Saying “Yes, yes, let us trade then.”

They begin opening the crates

And I stop them

Saying “Surely you would like to rest first?”

And one of the women says to the men,

“She is right, we should rest. We can trade later.”

The men nod and stop opening the crates.

They pull them further from the water

But open one box

And pull out food, food so unlike ours.

I ask

“What is this you bring?” 

And they laugh and say

“Biscuits. Moldy, maggoty biscuits and slimy, rotten fish.”

I make a face and say,

“We have good food like

 Fresh bread and freshly caught fish, sweet, juicy fruit

And coconuts, and greens and ham and chicken, too. 

We would gladly share it with you.”

They happily agree and close the box again

And they follow us back to 

The village,

Where the people who stayed behind are anticipating

Some news,

But not the sailors themselves,

But they laugh and shake off the surprise

And welcome them with sweet smelling flowers

And sweet smiles.

We bring them food and have a wonderful time,

Talking and laughing

And dancing around the fire,

Playing on the drums

And blowing the wooden flutes,

Making music and memories until the sun goes down.

We offer them a place to stay,

But they choose to sleep under the stars

And so they lay down under a canopy of trees

With borrowed blankets and palm leaves for pillows,

And I go to my hut and fall asleep

To the sound of waves

And the gentle snoring of some of the men outside.

When morning dawns,

I jump off of my cot

And pull on a simple cotton dress,

Then run outside

And begin tending to the fire.

I make bread and eggs for the visitors

And when they are ready

I quietly wake them up

And offer them the food,

Which they accept gladly

And eat ravenously.

When they finish,

They wash off in the small stream 

That we have directed them to

And then they

Begin the short walk back

To the beach where

The crates are still sitting

Waiting to be opened.

They open the crates and 

Begin pulling wonder after wonder from them:

Furs that look softer and warmer

Than the ones we have,

Bright jewels with unimaginable beauty

That glitter and shine in the sun,

Strings of moon balls,

And chains of gold.

I stare in wonder and awe

At the amazing things

That they have brought 

To trade and I 

Wonder how our simple island things

Could be traded for these wonders.

One of the women comes to me and 

She tells me that

They have come to trade these things

For the things that we can offer,

Like fruit and their seeds

And some of our livestock and chickens

And horses, and

Some of our furs

And cloth.

I tell her that we will trade what we can

And then I run back to the village

And spread the news.

The villagers begin gathering furs and fruit

Anything on hand,

And then we all run to the beach

And set our offerings down.

We begin looking through the visitors’ offerings

And pick out the things we want.

We trade our furs and fruit

And a few villagers bring some livestock,

And chickens and horses,

Which we exchange for the 

Strands of moon balls and chains of gold.

We give them grain and feed for the 

Animals so that they

Have things to eat

On the ship.

And then I see it.

The most wonderful thing

That they have brought.

It is a golden ship,

An exact replica of 

The ship that they have sailed in on

And it is in a glass bottle.

I tell them I want it

And I ask what I can trade for it.

They tell me that it is the most valuable thing

And it would be ten horses

Five cows and thirty chickens,

And I am dismayed because

I do not have those,

Nor is anyone willing to trade

That much for a golden ship in a bottle.

I fight back tears and hand the ship back

Reluctant to let it go.

Then one of the sailors,

A young man about my age

Walks up to me and says,

“If you come with me and my crewmates

You can have the golden ship

And much more. You could see the world and 

Many other people. But you would have to leave this island

And risk never seeing it again.”

I bite my lip

And look back at my family and friends,

My people,

And then…

I nod.