CHAPTER IV: BUNKER PORT
I get up and go down to the hostel restaurant to have some breakfast. From the stairs I can hear the hubbub that's building in the bar. This drives me crazy; after last night, it's tiresome to have to endure more hubbub. The restaurant is full, and I scan the crowd for a seat. I spot Monica, sitting alone, so I approach her table and she invites me to sit with her.
"Nomad, where were you yesterday?" Monica asks. "I was calling you, but you didn't pick up."
"I was on Palm Road all day," I reply.
"On Palm Road?" Monica asks, surprised.
—Yeah, didn't you hear about Nicki's accident?
"Sure, the party ended when the police arrived," he answers. "Luckily, it wasn't anything serious. Were you there?"
—I helped her out of the water, and the Bassets invited me over to their house for helping her. Then I went with her and her brother Justin to a party at Mia's house.
—And how was it?
"It wasn't as nice as I expected," I tell him, "although the neighborhood is very nice."
"It's normal that you didn't have a good time," Monica tells me, "it was a party on Palm Road."
"Nothing there is what it seems," I tell him with great conviction.
"Absolutely!" Monica says. "The people at Palm Road are only interested in material things; they have no feelings. Besides, they don't care about the injustices on the island," Monica adds. "By the way, speaking of injustices, would you like to come to a demonstration?"
"A demonstration?" I ask him, puzzled.
"Yes, in Bunker Port," he answers. "My friends and I are going because a friend lives there, and the president of Nomad Coast wants to auction off the area. Several construction companies are interested in buying the land to demolish and develop it. The demonstration is being organized by a political group on the island and residents' associations in Bunker Port, but we're going separately. Are you in?"
I don't know what to say to this. I remain silent for a brief moment, but finally I say:
—I've never been to a demonstration.
"It doesn't matter, there's always a first time for everything," Monica interrupts me, insisting that I go.
—Well, I'll go, but you should know that I'm not a revolutionary, I add at his insistence.
"You don't have to be a revolutionary to fight against injustice," he replies with a smile. "Go up to your room. You'll have to bring something. We're going to camp there. I'll wait for you here; I've already got everything ready."
I'm not keen on the idea of going to a demonstration, but since I haven't been to Bunker Port yet, I agree. I finish breakfast, quickly grab my backpack, and decide to embark on a new adventure on the Nomad Coast. At the doorstep of the hostel, I meet up with Mónica again. We leave and get in her car to head to Bunker Port.
On the way to Bunker Port, from the window of Monica's car, I contemplate Nomad Coast on a sunny morning that shines all over the island. The road runs along the coast, and the beach dazzles with its golden sand and the shimmering water, which is calm and crystal-clear. At Bunker Port, everything is very different from what I've seen so far on Nomad Coast. A beautiful, unspoiled beach stretches along the coast to a stone pier where, nearby, stands a giant Ferris wheel, and a little further away, a lighthouse near a port. A few feet from the shore, beach houses are scattered throughout the area; anyone who lives there must be very lucky. Finally, we reach the part of the pier where the demonstration is taking place. There is a crowd of people with banners and flags against the President, demanding his resignation and the end of the Bunker Port auction.
Monica parks near the demonstration, and as we immerse ourselves in the tide of protesters, we meet her group of friends.
"I'm bringing someone else," Monica warns. "I finally got him to come."
"You sound familiar," Fabio, a TASURF finalist, tells me.
"Of course you've heard of him!" Monica chimes in again. "He was with us at the surfing tournament party, or do you forget?"
"Fabio, wake up!" Jordan exclaims. "Don't you remember how he saved Justin Bassett's sister when the posh guys from Palm Road started messing with her?"
"Oh, okay," Fabio recalls. "With everything that happened in the competition, my mind was elsewhere. Nice to meet you again. My name is Fabio."
Fabio shakes my hand. Jordan shakes mine too. We start talking about surfing and how unfair the jury's final decision was. Soon Lena and Dafne appear, whom I also met at the party at Playa del Carmen. Golden .
"They're already messing with your surfing," Lena tells me. "Guys, just accept it, you're really bad at surfing."
"You're really bad at surfing," Fabio teases her.
—Come on, guys, you were great, Dafne chimes in.
—Well, it's true that it wasn't our day, next time will be, we have a year to prepare —says Jordan.
"You can sign up for Surf Bay Academy," Lena suggests sardonically.
"Of course, I'm dying to share a desk with Noah Ross," Fabio tells him sarcastically. "When the Palm Road kids stop invading your dad's surf school, then I'll be happy to go."
This is followed by peals of laughter. Shortly after, the protesters begin to mobilize. Such is the fury of the political groups and neighborhood associations that the police are on the lookout for their every move. Monica's group follows the tide of protesters with banners on which the words "speak" in giant letters:
PRESIDENT RESIGNATION, NO TO DEMOLITION
The fervent activists demand an immediate halt to the sale of Bunker Port. Suddenly, a fleet of armored vehicles appears from the distance. People begin to boo them, and a police cordon immediately blocks their path. Some of the protesters try to get past them, but the police thwart their attempts. From the powerful black cars that have just arrived, men in suits wearing very dark sunglasses emerge. They are followed by a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a circumspect face. He has a chestnut horse, his hair is neatly combed with hairspray, and he is wearing a suit. The whistling and booing increase, and some protesters even throw objects at them.
"This is Blaine, the President of Nomad Coast," Monica tells me, amid the hustle and bustle of the demonstration.
"But if the construction companies are the ones who are interested, why are they attacking the President?" I ask Monica.
"Because he's the architect of everything," he answers. "He's a very powerful person; he's the one who draws the lines of the system and who holds the reins of the island; however, we're here today to try to prevent that."
Surrounded by his bodyguards, Blaine steps onto a platform guarded by police, taps the microphone twice, and begins a speech followed by thousands of boos and hisses.
—Neighbors of Bunker Port,—says the leader of Nomad Coast,—my goal has always been and always will be to improve the lives of all the island's inhabitants. Although many of you are against the auction of this place, you are unaware of the improvement that the construction and reconstruction of Bunker Port would bring to our island and to all of you. I know that many of you don't want to leave behind what is a part of your lives; I understand that feeling, but it can continue to shape itself, in a better way, with new opportunities and advancements that will allow us all to progress together on Nomad Coast—this is followed by countless whistles—. We just need to hold hands and walk together, with nothing external to separate us...
The protesters continue to boo him, and some attempt to attack the president of Nomad Coast, but are quickly repelled by his bodyguards. Since they can't get too close, some begin throwing all kinds of objects at him. The police intervene, and many of the Nomad insurgents charge at the officers. The situation turns violent. The president leaves, escorted by his guards. They get into the cars, but the protesters surround them, making it impossible for them to escape. Police reinforcements arrive. The demonstration turns into a turbulent riot, and Monica takes my arm to escape the tumult.
"Guys, let's get out of here!" Jordan shouts amid the commotion. "Let's go back to the wasteland."
"The Nomad Action people have messed up again," Fabio says. "They don't fight for the cause, they just do what they're told from above."
—The demonstration was supposed to be peaceful, Dafne says, we won't achieve anything like this.
"We have to have hope," Monica chimes in. "We can still do something for this place, we just have to be smarter than them."
We return to the vacant lot, where the Bunker Port residents are camping. A guy approaches us. He's tall and has golden skin, wearing a brown sweatshirt with retro-style lettering that says: Bunker Port. His face looks familiar, and suddenly, I realize who it is. My mind goes blank. I realize it's Alex, the guy who was arguing with Troy at Mia's party. I don't know how to react; he caught me watching them arguing. He's probably telling me something for glaring at them that night.
"Alex, you missed it!" Fabio says. "The Nomad Action people screwed up again. The president had to leave with an escort, and the police had to intervene."
"We're not going to achieve anything like this," Alex says. "These people think that by violently expressing their dissent, they're going to do something good for Bunker Port."
—But at least they're rebelling, Lena chimes in.
"Nonsense! They're just political party hacks," Alex retorts, "they say yes to everything, they don't care whether Bunker Port is auctioned or not, they just do what they're told."
"Well, let's try it our way," Monica says. "Maybe we'll get something."
"I find it very difficult," Alex replies, hopeless.
We remain in the vacant lot all day. The residents of Bunker Port, who are against the auction, not out of political ideology but out of longing for their own homes, begin to put up tents and light fires to ward off the night's cold. Monica's group does the same. While we set up camp, Alex keeps staring at me questioningly. He knows who I am, but he hasn't deigned to speak to me yet. Monica hasn't introduced us because the opportunity hasn't arisen, as Alex is constantly pacing, overcome with a nervousness that won't let him sit still.
As night fell, we sat around a fire on some palm trunks, eating grilled marshmallows while we chatted. Alex kept looking at me. I knew he wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the opportunity. Monica's friends chatted among themselves about island gossip and things I wasn't familiar with. Jordan took out his acoustic guitar and started strumming a few chords, followed by a chorus of voices. Dafne and Summer got up and started dancing to the music. At that moment, Alex got up too and took the opportunity to approach me, now that his friends were absorbed in the music.
Alex sits next to me.
"Hey, you didn't see or hear anything that happened at Mia's party," she says suddenly, almost whispering. "Forget I talked to Troy, and don't you ever say anything to them."
"Why?" I ask suddenly. "Are you hiding something?"
Alex remains silent for a few moments.
"It's none of your business," he replies.
"I understand that you're not telling me," I say, "but you shouldn't hide it from your friends."
"If I tell you, promise me you won't tell them anything," he says with some confidence.
-I promise you.
"Everything you heard that night has to do with the demolition of this place," Alex says.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
“Look, I’ve lived in Bunker Port my whole life. I’m the lighthouse keeper’s grandson, I’ve been working at the lighthouse for a long time, and there’s no way I want Blaine to buy this place,” Alex tells me flatly. “But no protest or sit-in will change anything. The only thing that can keep this whole thing from disappearing is money. That’s why I turn a blind eye when the boats of drug dealers who have business with Troy, the guy you saw me arguing with at the party, pass by the dock. I need the money to keep this place from disappearing. My life is here, and I won’t lose it for anything in the world.”
"But is there another way to get the money legally?" I ask.
"There isn't one," he replies, "looking away is the quickest and most cost-effective way to achieve it."
"There has to be one," I insist. "You're risking too much in this place. If you get caught, you'll lose everything."
—I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that the Bunker Port lighthouse continues to rise above the pier and continues to illuminate with its splendid light the course of all the ships that sail these seas.
"Why is the lighthouse so meaningful to you?" I ask.
—One of the first people to arrive on this island was my great-grandfather. He was the one who built the lighthouse and guarded it his entire life. My grandfather honored his legacy by taking on the responsibility of watching over and maintaining it. When I was a child, he used to take me to the lighthouse at night, and from up high, we would watch ships sail by under the starlight. For my grandfather, the lighthouse wasn't just a waypoint for ships; it was much more than that. He used to tell me that the lighthouse represents your purpose in life; it's the guide that lights your path and keeps you focused on what truly matters.
While looking into my eyes, Alex says:
—Keep your headlight on...
I remain in suspense because of the words you just said to me.
—That's what my grandfather used to tell me. Keep your beacon lit, Nomad, because I'm not going to turn it off.
I don't know what to say to him. His words have pierced me so deeply, as if, upon speaking them, an arrow of wonder had pierced my heart. I snap out of my daze and say:
—I'll help you, we'll find a way for you to save Bunker Port.
—Believe me, I've been trying to find a solution for months, but money doesn't fall from the sky and for now Troy is my only option —he tells me, his head down.
"Forget Troy, he's not a clean slate," I tell him. "We'll find a way..."
As we said this, we looked at each other knowingly and together we joined in the dance that had formed around the candle. We stayed at Bunker Port all night, and the next morning, when we turned on our phones, we saw on social media and in all the Nomad Coast digital newspapers that the date and time of the Bunker Port auction had already been set.
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