Turtle's My Brother

Just a scene.

They had been on the trawler for a little over a month. It wasn't nobodies first time fishing with strangers. Lars was the only white boy which didn't serve to be much an issue except for now he was the one who wanted to let the turtle live and the two filipinos wanted to chop it up and eat it and Lars was the only white boy.

The Brazilian and the man from Sudan stood motionless. Something would go down. They had already folded their hands and they watched to see what these three were going to do with theirs. All five of them just stood there.

It was a Mexican stand-off without any real mexicans. 

One of the filipinos held a machete. The other filipino was licking fish blood off of the blade of his buck knife. Poor Lars had no weapon. He stood above six feet and if Paul Bunyon had an outlaw brother you would have believed him if he told you he was that brother. However, Lars was not the type of man to boast about such matters whether they were true or not. He is quiet, keeps to his work, keeps out of the business of others, is a great help on the Trawler. A weapon is not necessary for such a man. He hadn't been any trouble at all, but he felt some sort of kinship to the big old turtle, so when the filipinos automatically presumed ownership and had the murder in their eyes, it didn't matter to Lars how hungry the crew was, he was a part of the crew himself and so was his hunger but that gave no right for these boys to go killing the harmless creature. He saw the turtle as a brother.

The turtle lay there, the helpless victim, awaiting some decision he'd no mind to comprehend. He wriggled once over the pile of fish, squid, scallop and all else dead beneath him. The sun beat down. He stuck his neck out for a few moments, his tail was to the islanders. He rolled his eyes to the Brazilian and then to the man from Sudan and then up to Lars. Something in their eyes gave him the notion that it would be best to return to his shell.

We're tossing him back.

Buck knife spat. Machete shook his head real slow.

We're throwing him back in the ocean and that's the end of it.

The wind blew just soft enough to tickle the Brazilians nose. There was some cocaine dust still under it. He flicked his index finger there. Once wasn't enough. He rubbed his index finger there and then went stiff again. His eyes moved to the islanders. The man from Sudan crossed his arms. It would be a while, he thought. Everyone save the turtle had been pretty coked up which may have been a likely cause for all the emotion but then again, there was a life in the balance. The waiting. The stillness. Men being stubborn and blood-thirsty.

Lars' eyes glazed over. He understood. They were not going to let his brother go.