Fred Waitzkin. Deep Water Blues. New York: Open Road, 2019. Print.

We come on the sloop John B
My Grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam

Even though the Bahamas are only a four hour trip in a small boat from the coast of Florida, this reader does not know much about them. I recall pictures in Life magazine when I was a child of a high-rolling congressman gambling in Bimini. And there is that well-known folk song The Sloop John B: “This is the worst trip I’ve ever been on.”

Deep Water Blues is in the vein of both of those images—along with the ad copy that tells us about that paradisaical archipelago: “It’s better in the Bahamas.” The small, laid-back island of Rum Cay experiences something like a range war in the Wild West.

The author in this slightly fictionalized account “based on a true story” tells how he and his father enjoyed fishing the waters of Rum Cay. Even long after his father has died and the author is retirement age, Mr. Waitzkin would sail there periodically in his fishing rig Ebb Tide looking for prize marlin.

His observations focus on Bobby Little, owner of the island’s marina, with sketches of other inhabitants of the island. Bobby is a charismatic entertainer, telling stories and offering delicious local fare at the small eatery associated with the marina. It is idyllic, and there is a sense that most people want it to remain that way forever.

But change comes to Rum Cay in an intense and frightening way. A small boat carrying fifty or sixty refugees fleeing Haiti capsizes in a storm off the coast. Some of the people make it ashore. Bobby and his friends rescue others even as they put their own lives in danger. Some do not make it and are left to the sharks after they drown.

The shark is a recurring image throughout Deep Water Blues. They are never very far away. We see them at night in the lights by the marina. They become a symbol for the human predator lurking in Bobby’s life.

Shakespeare refers to some people like “a beast that wants discourse of reason.” Dennis is such a person. Big and strong, he is motivated by instinct only. He does not have a girlfriend, he just takes advantage of whatever woman he wants. He and they both know there is nothing they can do about it.

Bobby has a relatively carefree life cooking, tending the marina, fishing, and making sculptures out of coral. He falls for a young visitor named Hannah, and they marry. Hannah is an aspiring poet who finds the daily routine of Rum Cay delightful beyond words. The couple travel off the island for about four months, and when they return, they hardly recognize the place.

The marina is gone. Dennis is building a large resort to put Bobby out of business. Dennis has all the paperwork to show that his building projects and even ownership of much of Bobby’s land is legal. One by one Bobby’s pets and animals start dying. A lab report says they have been poisoned.

Dennis has paid off the local police, and few people on the island even talk to Bobby any more. They are afraid. Waitzkin and some fishing buddies cannot believe the changes on the island when they return after being away for three years. Dennis has “allowed” Bobby one shack to live in. Nearly everything else has been torn down.

Things begin to escalate. Bobby retaliates with his bulldozer, but soon has to escape through the bush to a sheltered spot along the island’s shore.

Between the tales of this turf war, there are stories of storms and fishing parties. The island could be the setting for an idyll. One can imagine Rousseau settling here among his “noble savages.” We can hear Shakespeare’s minstrel singing:

Here shall we see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

We understand why Waitzkin loves Rum Cay, and in spite of the violence, Deep Water Blues might kindle a desire in the reader to visit.

There is, as we have seen, a snake in the Eden. Our fallen nature brings conflict with man as well as with God. As the Raiders once sang, “You think you’re gong to find yourself a little piece of paradise?” This is elemental. Heart of Darkness. Good vs. Evil. Justice vs. Corruption.

Waitzkin writes well. His prose is understated, almost poetic. We not only see Rum Cay, we smell it, hear it, taste it, and feel its shadows and its joys. Here is a brief introduction to a furtive resident of Rum Cay:

Also, tied to the dock with frayed lines, a sailboat, once a graceful sailing sloop, rots in the harbor. Her gear is rusted out, rudder glued in place by a heavy rug of seaweed and barnacles, sails and rigging long since ruined, no lights inside, apparently abandoned; and yet, she’s parked alongside this glistening fleet of custom-built yachts like a freakish mutation. Suddenly, a man pokes his head out of the companionway. He breathes the heavy night air, smells the delicious meal drifting from the club, and looks around a little, and then goes back down below. (6)

Besides the reclusive Mike who lives on that wreck, we meet other people from Rum Cay including Biggie and Rasta, Bobby’s friends, and Flo, who used to sing lovely blues but has been silenced by Dennis. Her experience is a little like Browning’s “My Last Duchess”: “Then all smiles stopped together.”

We cannot forget Waitzkin’s sailing companions John and Doron, and the elemental sketches by John which accompany the text. Much of the text is understated, but the tale is not. Keep an eye on Flo.

Deep Water Blues is a gem. It is violent. It probably would be rated at least PG-13 if it were a film. Still, it is a tale of humanity, the image of God and the fallen Adam together. The lovely language makes the reader think, “I would like to visit that tropical isle.” But at the same time, he or she would say, “I’ve got to keep an eye on the weather and watch my back.”