81 The Pain of Losing It All (1/2)
A few hours later, Cruz was crying again. At least he didn't have to hide it from anyone: he was alone in a large room which had served as tourist accommodation in happier times.
He had just found out he was a beggar. His billions were gone, just like that. In just a few days, a new, coin-based currency was to become the only legal tender in the entire world. All the old money would become almost worthless. It could be used for one purpose only: the purchase of licenses to colonize the New World.
That was the last thing Cruz felt like doing. His experiences of the last weeks, culminating with the terror-fraught boat trip, had given him a new appreciation of his life on Earth. He had become determined to enjoy it to its fullest. He wasn't going to spend any of his remaining time on Earth stretched out on a hiber bed while his second persona dodged dinosaurs in the New World. That kind of thing was fine for excitement-hungry kids, too stupid to understand and appreciate the extraordinary richness of ordinary life.
Being alive at all was magic! Unfortunately, it was magic with a best-before warning and an expiry date. In Cruz's case that date wasn't as distant as he'd have liked it, and it was getting closer every day. He wasn't going to waste any of his remaining time on this whole New World business. The simple act of breathing was pure poetry!
Those had been his thoughts when he finally got to leave the boat, and felt solid ground under his feet: it actually felt odd not to feel it move. He'd had to wait quite a while before that happy moment arrived: they had to sail practically the length of the whole island to dock at a small pier squeezed in between rocks. Unlike Henderson, Pitcairn Island was mountainous and didn't have a single beach. If one of the island's longboats hadn't come out to guide them, they would have never found the tiny harbor that was the island's only port.
They were also lucky to arrive the one day when everyone in Pitcairn was wide awake despite the late hour. Earlier on, the island's only functioning short-wave radio established contact with Welington, New Zealand. The islanders had been completely cut off from the world for eight weeks. The news they heard turned everything upside down for them as well as Cruz.
However, Cruz noted that they weren't half as dejected as they should be. In fact, they seemed to be in high spirits. He quickly noticed almost everyone was wearing headgear of some sort: baseball caps, beanies, straw hats. The only people he saw bareheaded were people with a head of thick hair, long enough to completely obscure the scalp. There weren't many of those. The permanent population of Pitcairn counted forty people, and most of them were around retirement age.
They greeted Cruz and his crew affably enough, but with none of the cordiality that follows a successful rescue. An old fellow named Peter Christian introduced himself as the mayor; moments later, another geezer presented himself as the island's governor in the name of His Majesty the King. Pitcairn Island was a British Overseas Territory, but the English spoken by its inhabitants sounded like a different language to Cruz. That was even though he was someone who had traveled extensively, and had heard English being mutilated by a staggering multitude of voices.
The governor's name was Paul Christian, and indeed he and the mayor were brothers. Power was something that seemed to run in the Christian family: they were both descendants of the infamous Fletcher Christian who had led the mutiny on the Bounty. The mutineers had settled on Pitcairn with a bevy of Tahiti women, and burned their ship in a ceremony meant to show their commitment.
The mayor and the governor were the sour fruit of that commitment. They quickly dispersed Cruz's crew around Adamstown. Pitcairn's sole settlement had plenty of tourist accommodation, and very few tourists. The mayor was quick to stress he was offering everyone a reduced rate because of that when he was showing Cruz into his room.
This was when the first complications ensued. Cruz had taken his wallet, loaded with glittering credit cards as well as a wad of American dollars. But the mayor shook his head dolefully.
”No cards, no cash,” he said. Then he explained why.
It took him a long time. Cruz interrupted him constantly with angry, disbelieving questions: a couple of times he lay down on the bed, clutching his chest as if he was having a heart attack. Midway during this show, the governor showed up, expressing the hope that Cruz would pay for his crew's rooms. After some more explaining and tough negotiations over the value of Cruz's gold watch, bracelet, and neck chain, the matter was finally settled.
Cruz asked about food and drink, even though he had taken a small stash of supplies from the boat. After some hemming and hawing, the two gentlemen agreed to deliver something to Cruz and his men. Then they all agreed to meet again the next morning, and Cruz was left alone.
The food and drink showed up surprisingly promptly. It consisted of a bottle of water and some sort of fish paste mixed with leaves. Cruz forced himself to eat it: he had to admit it wasn't as bad as he'd feared.
It was nearing dawn by then, and he was completely exhausted. But he couldn't fall asleep. He just wasn't able to get his head around everything that he'd heard from the mayor and the governor. Everything wiped clean, including debt! That hurt: a number of people owed him lots of money. He reminded himself that this money was worthless anyway, but that hardly made him feel better.