And then I could come down and pick it up and eat and get my stomach full. I learned early that if I got up high in a sapodilla tree, rather than crawling out on limbs to see if the fruit was ripe enough to eat, I could rattle the top branches of the tree and ripe fruit would come loose from the weakened stems and fall to the ground. I knew from observation that the sapodilla tree produced fruit, plump, grayish brown, soft, juicy, and delectable, at least twice a year, and that's where the wasps' nests were that got me unexpectedly and repeatedly. I mean, there were risks and there were hazards, but I could go anywhere, and I had myself as company. There were black widow spiders that were poisonous, but I doubt that my parents were fearful I would get killed by any of them. There were snakes on the island, but none poisonous. who threw me back in again, and again and again, until she was convinced that I knew how to swim. Then, mercifully, my father's hands reached under, fished me out, and handed me back up to my mother. She watched as the ocean swallowed me, second by second. She watched as I clawed desperately at the water, unable to manage more than a few seconds before starting to sink beneath the surface. She watched as I screamed, yelled, gulped, and flailed in a panic-stricken effort to stay afloat. I had the confidence, because when I was very small my mother threw me in the ocean and watched without moving as I struggled to survive. I would even go in sometimes and swim by myself.
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