Did he apologize? Nope. Did the guests feel the tension between us? No doubt. Was there an awkward-as-fuck silence on the boat as we came back to shore? Indeed. Even now, as people are stripping out of their wetsuits, the chatter is subdued.
“Let me stamp that for you,” I say as I move behind the counter to stamp and sign the paper dive logs some people still keep as mementos.
“Those were two great dives,” the guest says, but we exchange an awkward glance.
FuckRoger. “Tomorrow will be better. I’ll have those whale shark photos for you to download.” I smile wide, and inwardly I steel myself. The diving is phenomenal here, but Roger’s attitude is enough to give us a bad rap anyway. I’m not going to swim against the tide here all the way until April, so something’s going to change, and it’s going to do so today.
As soon as the guests leave for lunch, I strip off my wetsuit and go to the back where Roger is hanging up gear that’s been rinsed in fresh water. I add mine to the production line.
“What happened this morning?” I ask as I start dunking the equipment that still needs to be rinsed.
Roger shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Fuck that.” I’m not on this island to dance around someone’s mood. “Four of our guests are here to specifically photograph Indian Ocean nudibranchs I’ve already spotted at the Pinnacle, but no, we got dropped down at Shark Alley to find only sand and sea cucumbers. That isn’t how I’d like to start my day. Why did you change the GPS coordinates?”
He doesn’t look me in the eye as he drags the line of dripping wetsuits to the side to make space for more.
“Roger?” I push him.
“You know nothing about this place,” he bites through his teeth. “I saw two dhows on the horizon I’d rather avoid, so I did.”
Several seconds of silence bounces between us as he glares at me, waiting for me to crap him out.
“Why?”
“People I don’t want to be associated with. People that we,” he says as he waves a hand between us, “don’t want to be associated with.”
“What do you mean? Illegal fishing? Smuggling?” The coastguard is out and about all the time. We’ve spotted them at least three times since I arrived here.
“Something like that.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“There’re people making thousands of dollars out there doing illegal shit and I—” He breaks off, but his gaze burns with anger he’s trying to subdue. “It’s nothing.”
To say I despise illegal fishing would put it mildly, but this is about so much more than him avoiding those two boats he spotted. I huff out a breath, softening. It’s probably about money.
“For your information, I’m not doing another dive like that.” It’s an idle threat, but honestly, Mike can come out with us if Roger’s going to be like a teenager, Tarzan-ing around on his mood swings. “If you’re pissed at something or someone, I’d like to know what or who it is before we head out, understand?”
Roger leans over the big plastic barrel, gripping the edge so tightly that his dark skin pops veins. “You’ve got it so easy, you know? You come here, do your time, go back to wherever you came from as if this means nothing to you. As if this place means nothing to you.Nothing.” He looks like he wants to flip the barrel, water and all, he’s so riled up.
“I don’t know what to say to that. This three-month stint is actually my salvation.”
“How? You have a good job in America; you have education; you can go work and dive anywhere around the world. You come in here, take over, and leave for the next place once you’re done. Ne’emba and its people can hardly matter to you.”
I stop what I’m doing to stare at him. “Do Iworkas if Ne’emba doesn’t matter to me?” If Roger knew what’s at stake for me, he wouldn’t be so flippant.
He doesn’t answer, and it’s just as I thought. He’s pissed at me, but I’m only the tip of his iceberg. He’s now dragging wetsuits out with such fury that I want to hoist the white flag and assure him I come in peace.
“Hold on a second,” I say, hands raised. “Let’s get to the bottom of this. Do you hate your job?”
He shoots me a glance. “No… Yes.”
“I see.” I take a deep breath. “Which part do you like, and which part do you hate?”
Roger is quiet for a moment, and I give him time to arrange his thoughts. I’m almost done with the masks and fins when he speaks up.
“I love the sea. I grew up on Pemba, and there’s salt water in my veins. But I want more. I want to do more.” He stalls, and it’s as if he’s gathering courage. “Last night you dismissed me as if I had no place here, but I didn’t go. I listened to your conversation with the guests, and I should have been there. To learn. What do I even know about these nudibranchs these guests want to see?”
