Story first published in BlazeVOX in the Fall of 2025.
Silky led the way because he had been living in Nassau for six months while the rest of us had arrived on the Grand Adventure just the day before. It was going to be dark in an hour or so, but we didn’t need to get back to the cruise ship until midnight. Sam wanted to try some of the local fare from a place a mile or so up the beach that he had read about online. Silky claimed he knew just where it was, as long as the shops were open. It was a bit of an unknown. Most of the usual tourist traps near the docks were all closed, what with it being Columbus Day. A fact that Andrea felt the need to bring up again and again with great disgust and derision, piling on additional factoids each time of why Columbus needed to be flushed down the shitter of history. A few of us nodded at these proclamations, but we overall avoided engaging her further in such conversations. After all, we were on vacation.
Warm winds whispered through the palms dividing the pumice sands and baby blue waters of Junkanoo Beach from the cars and trucks running up and down Bay Street. The hulking bright white hulls of the cruise ships gazed down benevolently on the pale sunburnt bodies of us and our fellow paddlers, politely turning away as we beached ourselves, toweled off, and shifted into dry clothes under the protective cover of towels and sarongs. Andrea took a moment to snap a picture of the pink tinged sky, and then we were on our way, the eight of us following Silky down the concrete boardwalk, almost completely obscured by sand, in a broken line of misbehaving ducklings behind their mother.
Eventually the beach gave out, leaving the waves to lap up against concrete for a bit, before a new beach began to take form. This beach was rockier than the other, littered with large chunks of pumice, though the water looked just as nice. The concrete of the boardwalk shattered before us, a great chunk lifting into the air, as though the front end of a ship keeling over into a white sand sea. Gazing ahead, Silky opinioned that we would probably be okay. The way forward was filled with the bustling activity of the locals, the bright colors of their swimsuits and clothes popping against their dark skin.
Silky didn’t hesitate, diving head first into the masses, careful to avoid cars trying to find places to park on the warm white sands. The waters of the bay slipped away from us, replaced by rows of stands and food carts staking out their claims via wooden platforms, picnic tables, and at times canopy tents emblazoned with Bud Light, Kalik, Sands, or hand painted lettering. The division between beach and street completely faded away. Eyes followed us as we moved deeper in, and those in the carts gestured at us to come closer to better examine what they had to offer. Andrea paused to take a picture, but Silky kept us moving forward, uninterested in these offerings of the borderlands.
Orlando met us where a definitive street crossed our path. He was a short man, slightly hunched over, with a small tuft of what resembled pubes attached to the point of his chin. He approached us while we were waiting for the stream of cars to break with a strange wobble in his step, eyes narrowed, carefully assessing the situation.
“Where you going?” he asked, his question aimed at Silky.
Silky did his best to ignore the interloper, but apparently Andrea did not get the hint.
“Looking for a place to eat. Where do the locals eat?”
Orlando smiled with crooked teeth.
“I know the best place. The best place.”
Silky waved him away with a curt hand.
“I’ve got this.”
The traffic broke and Silky led us across the street to where the food carts gave way to rows of buildings crowded in by outdoor tables and signs promising various tasty treats. Orlando came with us, though uninvited, slightly ahead of the majority, giving the appearance that he was leading us even though he was in actuality just moving in the same direction. We worked our way through wandering locals, the pattern only occasionally broken by the sight of tourists like ourselves. Andrea stopped to take another picture, then white knuckling her bag, hustled to catch back up. Sam pointed at a sign on a large building, which read Twin Brothers in an elegant script. Orlando slipped away into the place next door, a place called Deep Creek, its name on a big sign next to rows of beer bottles on a pristine beach. He quickly reappeared with a large bearded man, whose belly was only partially covered by a halfway unbuttoned shirt. The man approached with a jaunty air.
“Orlando says you’re looking for a place to eat.”
We huddled in our group, unsure of what to do. The man gestured at the picnic tables behind him.
“I’ve got some of the best food along the whole of Fish Fry. You need to try my conch fritters. Best in Nassau.”
Sam gestured towards the Twin Brothers.
“I think we were headed there.”
The man moved his hand as though sweeping the crumbs off of an imaginary table.
“My name is Avery and I’m the owner here. Eat here and I’ll take care of you.”
Andrea took a picture of a group of people sitting at a table. Sam conferred with Silky. The rest of us just kind of milled about, doing our best to stay out of the way. A hint of desperation worked its way across Avery’s face. He licked his lips and gestured for us to cross the imaginary line into his kingdom.
“I’ll throw in free shots of Bahama Mama. I’m the owner here. I’ll take care of you.”
Andrea perked up.
“What’s in a Bahama Mama?”
Avery smiled warmly at her.
“They’re delicious. I’ll throw in some conch fritters too.”
Andrea turned back to the group.
“Free shots. That’s a deal.”
We all looked at Sam, who just shrugged. Avery motioned again and this time we followed, sitting down at a long picnic table, Silky sitting at the end, his backpack next to him on the bench. Andrea gestured at Silky’s backpack.
“You might want to put that down under the table.”
Silky looked at her. She gestured at the people walking down the street.
“Someone might run off with it.”
Silky shrugged and put his backpack underneath the table.
Avery hustled back with menus. Orlando stayed near the street, eyeing the people walking by. Avery returned again, this time with small plastic cups of bright red liquid. He passed them out to everyone at the table. Andrea lifted hers up high.
“What’s a traditional Bahamas toast?”
Avery stopped to think for a moment, then clapped his hands together.
“Here’s to good friends eating good food. Amen.”
We all raised our little cups of Bahama Mama and drained them on down. Avery collected up the cups and walked away. Silky grunted and rolled his eyes.
“He’s not the owner.”
Andrea turned towards him, her face quizzical.
“How do you know that?”
Silky just shrugged and started eyeing the menu. Everyone started asking him questions. What was good? What was conch? What was a good local drink to try? Silky answered everything so that we were all ready to order by the time Avery got back with the promised free conch fritters, which proved to be much more fritter than conch. On Silky’s recommendation, most of us ordered Sky Juice, a combination of coconut milk and gin. Andrea ordered a margarita. Silky ordered a Sands beer. Andrea pulled her bag out from underneath the table and took a picture of the people walking past. She then put the camera back in her bag and carefully wedged it back between her legs before quizzing Silky on what it was like being an American in Nassau. The rest of us discussed things mostly about the trip so far.
Orlando came over and sat down facing out at a nearby table. He leaned forward with his arms draped on his legs. He gestured with his head towards Silky, gaining his attention.
“Buy me a drink.”
Silky’s eyebrows raised up on his head.
“What was that?”
Orlando gestured again.
“Buy me a drink.”
Silky’s face turned cross.
“Leave me alone.”
Orlando got up and walked away. Andrea touched Silky’s arm.
“What was that about?”
Silky turned back to the table.
“Nothing. He just wanted me to buy him a drink, then he said he was going to beat me up or something like that.”
The talk of the table shifted to Orlando. Sam looked quizzical.
“Why would he want to beat you up?”
Silky just shrugged. Andrea looked worried. She took a drink of her margarita and then gestured towards the building.
“You should go complain to the owner.”
Silky only shrugged and took a drink of his beer. After a while Avery brought out the food. He paused for a moment to give his shtick to a small group of tourists coming by, but they did not seem all that interested, so he went back inside. Soon after, Orlando reclaimed his perch at the nearby table. Andrea glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the rest of the group.
“He makes me nervous.”
Silky took in a deep breath and let it out. He got up and walked inside the building, then came back out a few minutes later and sat back down. Avery followed less than a minute later. He walked up to Orlando and took him by the shoulder. He whispered, but not quiet enough for his words not to carry to our table.
“Leave these people alone Orlando. Let them eat.”
Orlando hissed something at Avery, but the bigger man cut him off with a wave of his hand. Orlando glowered at Silky, but he did as he was told. He got up and disappeared into the crowds of people moving up and down the street. Avery shifted and stood over our table.
“Sorry for any trouble. How is everything?”
Andrea beamed upwards at him.
“Delicious.”
Avery smiled and then checked to make sure nobody needed anything else. Silky ordered another beer. Avery nodded and then disappeared back inside. The conversation at the table returned to the various sights and sounds seen so far. The evening light grew darker and street lights popped on with a muted hum. Music was playing somewhere down the street. The crowds of locals grew thicker, divided by the occasional beams of headlights cutting their way forward. Orlando emerged from the crowd. He walked by the table without stopping, heading into the building. After a bit he left again, glowering at Silky as he went. A few minutes later Avery came back to the table, a short round woman in tow. He gestured down at Silky.
“Can you tell my partner what Orlando said to you?”
The entire table focused on Silky. The woman’s face looked serious. Silky scowled.
“I don’t have to be here. I can eat somewhere else if you want.”
Avery moved his hands back and forth in a placating gesture. His voice was strained.
“I just want my partner to hear what Orlando said to you?”
Silky swept one leg out from under the picnic table.
“I can go if you want. I don’t like being hassled when I’m trying to eat.”
The woman looked at Avery, at Silky, at all of us, and then at Silky once again. She smiled and clapped her hands together. Her voice was soothing.
“Never mind. Never mind. How was the food?”
Silky looked down grumpily at his empty plate.
“It was good. I just don’t like being hassled.”
Sam raised his arm up from the other end.
“I think we’re ready for the check.”
The woman clapped her hands again.
“Of course. Of course.”
The bill was slightly higher than expected. We paid it without a word of complaint and then started heading back towards the cruise ship. We moved through the locals, a pale undulating globular form in the dim artificial luminescence of the street lights. We found Orlando where we had first met him, slouching near the food carts on the other side of the street. He gestured at Silky as we passed.
“You owe me a drink.”
Silky jerked his chin upwards.
“Fuck off.”
We kept moving. Orlando didn’t follow. The lights of the food cars faded as the waters of the bay found their way back to us again. Sam mentioned something about reading that it could be dangerous to be out at night. Silky only shrugged. The moon hung in the sky like a juicy half orange sitting on its rounded end just above the far off cruise ships. Andrea got out her camera and took a picture.