Read Timothy of the Cay for Free Online

healt'?" the cab driver asked, using English with a Creole twist. The moment he spoke I knew he was a native.
    He'd heard about me:
Local Boy and Cat Found Alive.
The rescue operation had been in the papers as well as on radio. An Associated Press reporter had interviewed me in the hospital.
Time
magazine had called.
    "I'm fine," I said.
    I stroked a nervous Stew Cat as we scooted along. He'd have to adapt to a new land.
    "Dat's good," the driver said.
    The native islanders usually spoke Papiamentu among themselves. It was Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, English, French, and more than a little African mixed into one language, the heritage of slavery. It was usually heard nowhere on earth except on Curaçao and her sister islands, Aruba and Bonaire.
    I knew a few words.
Ayo
was "good-bye" and
mashi danke
was "thanks."
    "Here we are," my mother said when the car stopped in the front of our house. My father made a joke about my luggage. I had no possessions except for Timothy's knife and the clothes on my back, bought the evening before in Panama City.
    Our small stucco house, painted soft green with white trim and a red tile roof, was on the north edge of Scharloo, well in back of the old mansions owned by the rich merchants. The oil company paid our rent.
    Still holding Stew, I said, "Let me feel my way in," and moved across the uneven sidewalk. When I reached the iron gate and opened it, I fell down, Stew leaping out of my arms. I'd forgotten there was a step up.
    "You okay?" my mother asked, and touched my shoulder.
    On hands and knees, angry at myself, I said, "Yes." I'd fallen down hundreds of times on the cay. But the cement walk wasn't as forgiving as sand.
    There were four steps up to the front door, I remembered, and I navigated them all right, finally entering the living room. To the left, against the left wall, rose the stairs to the second floor, where my room was. Almost dead ahead was the doorway to the dining room; beyond that, the small kitchen.
    The smells and sounds of that gabled house came back—the sounds especially: floor creaks, the swish of the wooden-bladed ceiling fans, the wind chimes outside the back door.
Yes, I was home.
    I thought I knew where every piece of furniture was but right away tripped over the coffee table in front of the couch. There were two overstuffed chairs between a floor lamp by the opposite wall. I lost my bearings and went that way, falling over one chair, knocking the lamp down.
    Suddenly, tears rolled over my cheeks. I hadn't cried since the day before I was rescued, hearing the sound of an airplane flying overhead, then dying away.
    Knowing they were looking at me, I lashed out at my parents. "Stop watching me!" I yelled.
    My father said quietly, "Okay, we won't."
    I knew how I looked—hands outstretched, frustration on my face; angry at being blind.
    "Would a cane help?" my mother asked.
    I sighed and nodded.
    "We'll get one for you this afternoon," my father said.
    So, with everyone watching, I'd have to get around like an old man. Before, the only eyes focused on me had belonged to Timothy and Stew Cat.
    "Just let me alone for a while," I said, sitting down in the chair I'd bumped into. "Where's Stew?"
    One of them placed him in my lap.
    "Would you like something to drink?" Mother asked.
    I shook my head. I felt like a stranger in my own house.
    They left the room and I could hear them talking in the kitchen, though they'd closed the door. They were talking about me, I was certain. What they needed to do was let me make my mistakes. Like Timothy had done.
    Soon I smelled bacon frying. A little later my mother announced that lunch was ready, and I made my way into the dining room, felt around the table, and sat down in my own chair. I wasn't as helpless as they seemed to think.
    On the cay, Timothy had placed my food—fish or
langosta
or coconut or boiled sea-grape leaves—on a driftwood plank. We both ate with our hands, naturally. The navy nurses had told me