There’s a saying here on the island: “one man keep secret”.  A fisherman said that to me during my fifth month on the island.  My landlady had given me his name and number; said he was the provider of some of the freshest and best fish. At the time, I keenly felt that it was not concern for my health which drove her to soliciting this information. 

Dark suspicions were put to rest when I realized she just wanted to keep the small talk going. I could feel her eyes raking over my “6’2” frame, assessing my built.  Well… on second thought, she might have indeed been thinking… about some aspect of my health.

It was a few months before I got around to calling this fisherman of hers.  By then, I was hankering for some fish- the freshest that could be found. I do very much enjoy fish.  I procured a first, then second and third batch from the fisherman. It was very good fish.  Either I was being more attentive in the kitchen, or, this man knew where the tastier fish congregated. While I was procuring my fourth batch of fish (enough to last five long winters), I asked him about this.  He grinned a gap-toothed grin before replying: “one man keep secret”.

I had to agree with him. If you have a secret and wish for it to remain just that, you would be wise to share it with no one. There are never any exceptions; no allowances made for best mates, parents, siblings or partners. There’s also another saying: “a fisherman will never tell you his fish rotten.”  Again, this is about keeping a secret- and maybe self-preservation. A fisherman might know that his fish is well-near toxic, but, rest assured, that he will fill your ears with praises about his catch. He knows the value and profit to be had in keeping a secret.

The business of keeping a secret is something in which I have been tirelessly schooled. If I could ever believe that I was once young, I would think that my first word would have been “secret” or some variation of it. I would imagine that it was a word used very often around our house. The ability to keep a secret was something in which my family specialized.  It was something, given who and what we are- very important to us.

In the flashes of memories that come and go, there is one very distinct memory, which is, refreshingly, all mine.  In it is my grandmother surrounded by pounds and pounds of raw fish.  She is in the bathtub; I’m standing over her.  Her long hair covers her breasts and fish messily cover her lower half.

Her hands move at the speed of lightning between the fish and her mouth.   She is busy in her frenzy; it is a few minutes before she senses my presence. When she does, she starts, and then smiles a messy smile at me: “our secret?”  I agreed.  That was the last time I saw or sensed her.  But, I kept her secret. Even when the women marshaled their tears and resources to find her. Even when the men with worried and stern faces formed a team to hunt for her- so sure that someone or something had gotten her.  I kept her secret.

 (V).Damien