I did as the outline specified. On the other end of the line a sleepy sounding Customs agent informed me that it would be a couple of hours, as the shifts were changing. We should wait and the agents would be with us just as soon as they could.
Back at the boat the crew waited anxiously for my return. I�d barely gotten out the fact that we were to wait a couple of hours and the agents would be with us just as soon as they could before the anxious crew were hard at work sawing logs in their bunks. I pulled up a Styrofoam lifering to put my head on, wrapped my jacket around my belly, and resigned myself to waiting for the officials. I was fast asleep in five minutes.
�HEY.�
Voice, my subconscious whispered. Mmmm. Yes. Of course, I told it.
�Hello? Excuse me?�
VOICE! My subconscious was getting irritable, prating. I cracked my eyes open enough to make out a black silhouette. No, a black uniform. Two. The uniforms were wearing a pair of men � scratch that, other way around � with badges and guns and name tags� HEY! My eyelids shot completely open almost as fast as my body pivoted from total sprawling relaxation mode to full, sitting up attention.
�Hi!� I said.
�Hi, US Customs. Are you the one who called?�
�Yes! We just got in early this morning.�
�Oh, right, sorry it took us so long, we just came on shift and usually we�d be getting coffee about now but we heard and came down first thing��
This is different, I thought, the Immigration people are apologizing to me? And where are the dogs and soldiers?
�Come on aboard,� I invited them. Brian heard the conversation and popped his head out from the cabin. Slowly, of course, so as not to startle the guys with the guns. We�d learned to treat armed officials as if they were interesting and curious, but wild, animals. With guns. �Hello,� said the First Mate.
Customs Inspector Number 1 climbed aboard while his partner slowly paced the dock, palm caressing the butt of his service 9 mil. Customs inspectors treat itinerant sailors like interesting and friendly, but potentially rabid, animals. With boats. �Thanks,� said Customs Inspector Number 1.
We prepared ourselves for the battery of questions, the inevitable minute search, the grilling over the exact details of any and every aspect of our journey. �Boy it�s early,� said Customs Inspector Number 2, �and we haven�t even had coffee yet.� Customs Inspector Number 1 nodded in solemn agreement. �Coming from Mexico?� he asked, �Got your Zarpe?�
I handed over the document, which he checked for dates and signatures, then filed in his briefcase. �OK,� he continued, �any fresh fruits or vegetables? Guns?�
�No and no,� Brian and I chorused.
�Good. How many aboard?� Customs Inspector Number 1 brushed a hand across his forehead in that particular early morning shock way people who drink a lot of coffee have before they�ve gotten their fix.
�Four,� I responded, �three crew and one passenger. I�m the captain.� The agents looked at me as if to affirm this, then asked everyone to show a passport and themselves. By now the Erics were awake and relatively aware. Two more heads popped into the companion way, accompanied by open passports.
�Right�.right,� noted Customs Inspector Number 1, matching faces to identifications and writing down the correlating numbers and names.
�Pretty small boat for four people,� noted Customs Inspector Number 2.
�Yes,� we responded quartet style.
�Ok,� Customs Inspector Number 1 went on, peeking into the now open companion way. He swept the interior with an obviously professional eye, which stopped on a certain object, �What�s in the ammo case?� Customs Agent Number 2�s palm went back to caressing his piece.
�Medicine!� Brian piped up, �That�s our medical kit! Here, I�ll show you if you want��
The agents leaned in, keeping a close watch on us while Brian unlimbered the hinged top. Band-Aids, gauze, Neosporin, Tums, Tylenol, Midol, sterile pads�
�That�s fine,� the first agent swiped the mounds of gear, cooking implements, books and movies with his searching gaze. �No fresh fruit or vegetables?� his searing gaze flayed my countenance; it would burn away all but the sterling truth. �Not even a mango or an avocado? A coconut? Maybe some leftover tomatoes?� His brow was raised hopefully, eyes piercing.
�Nope. Sorry.�
�Well, alright then.� He stepped back up onto the dock, shooting one last look across the decks.
�Welcome back,� said Customs Inspector Number 2.
They walked away, trailing voices leaving snippets behind: ��sure could use some coffee��
And that was that. We were back. And welcome. Amazing.
�Wow,� four voices carried the word in unison.
�I thought it would be�.�
�Jesus, that was��
�They didn�t even��
�They were here, what, ten, twenty��
�Wow.�