Again he did not answer directly. I was beginning to learn that he had a way of being honest while still being dishonest. He said, “D’place I am tinking of is call Debil’s Mout’. ’Tis a U-shaped ting, wit dese sharp coral banks on either side, runnin’ maybe forty, fifty mile….”
He let that sink in. It sounded bad. But then he said, “I do hope, young bahss, dat I am outrageous mistaken.”
“If we are in the Devil’s Mouth, how can we be rescued?” I asked angrily. It was his fault we were there.
“D’fire pile! When aircraft fly above, dey will see d’smoke an’ fire!”
“But they might just think it is a native fisherman. No one else would come here!”
I could picture him nodding, thinking about that. Finally, he said, “True, but we cannot fret ’bout it, can we? We’ll make camp an’ see what ’happens.”