“Made up your mind yet, Crunch?” Biff asked the Carib Indian after they had finished breakfast. “You coming with us?”
Crunch was silent, still torn between his fear of Dietz and his admiration for Biff.
“We’re going now,” Biff told him.
Biff and his uncle went to the door. The Indian made no move to prevent their leaving.
“Good-by, Crunch,” Biff called.
Crunch stood in the doorway and watched them leave. At the arched gateway, Biff and his uncle climbed into the car. Charlie started it up. They were just beginning to roll when they heard a shout. Looking back, Biff saw Crunch coming on the run.
“Wait! Wait! Crunch come with you.”
A completely new life was opening up for Crunch. He had never been off the island of Curaçao. He had never been in an aircraft. For the first half of the flight to Martinique, he sat rigidly in his seat, hands grasping the seat arms as if he were holding the plane in the air.
“We’ll stop at Fort-de-France first, Biff,” Uncle Charlie said. “Got to pick up some diving equipment and other supplies. Then we’ll hop on over to La Trinité.”
Flying low over the waters of the Caribbean, as his uncle came in for a landing in the harbor, Biff spotted a large net bobbing in a sweeping arc between two native boats. The fishermen doffed their broad straw hats and waved at the plane. Directly over the seine, Biff could see thousands of fish leaping, swirling, their silver sides glittering in the sunlight.