Mr. Ingledale’s burn turned out to be more major than minor. He didn’t make his way back into the sun until our second last day on the island. Remember fellow travelers – do not apply spray sunscreen outdoors in the wind, unless you are trying for that just burned look.
The two Mr.’s had a great time body surfing. The waves were massive and constant. Mr. Ingledale’s laughter could be heard by all as his body was continuously smashed by the waves. Mrs. Ingledale refused to watch them so I tried to provide the adult supervision. Eventually, I got bored watching the grown men at play and returned to revising my manuscript.
Mrs. Ingledale and I enjoyed the beach candy – very lovely indeed. We also scouted the various sun bathers for tattoos – doing research for Family Pictures. To the women who were inked – What were you thinking? One woman had wings on her back, but they were not angels’ – more demonic with claws. And the men? We saw the standard barbed wire, crosses and various beasts. The man whose back was tattooed with what appeared to be the face of death – again, what were you thinking?
I changed Mr. Ingledale’s name from Indian Jones to Captain Highliner. He was our rain adviser as he looked out onto the horizon and told us how much time we had before the rains came. He was always right. We also made use of Captain Highliner’s iPhone so that we could keep track of the Toronto Maple Leafs, the weather back home and in Samana. The translator app came in very handy as we tried to sing along with Beatles songs being sung in Spanish.
I was the teller of time, being the only one who brought a watch to the beach. Usually it would be Mr. Ingledale who would ask me the time and it was always time for lunch, drinks, snacks, more drinks, time to move to the pool, time for cocktails and time to get ready for dinner. He had an uncanny talent for asking the time at the right moment.
Mrs. Ingledale was our humorist as she read aloud from her book about one man’s hike through Ireland. We were amazed to learn that the Irish were involved with Noah’s ark and had also attended the crucifixion of Christ. I think the gist of the story was that whatever the event, past or present, the Irish were there.
As for Mr. Armstrong – he was our scout for the prime beach location – the right amount of sun and shade, close to the water and visible to the waiters for bar service. He would also provide commentary or the right answer for the rest of us when we were too fried (by the sun, of course) to know the correct answer to our questions. I don’t know if his answers were correct, but he gave them with so much confidence we had to accept them as the truth.
As I write this, I can’t help but smile and shake my head as I think about the four of us and wonder how we would ever survive on our own. We had one rule – Make sure you tell an adult where you’re going. I think that says it all and it’s all good.
