An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (11 page)

“My
protector. Please, stay for a while.” He gestured to the tree where he’d been
sitting and sat down. “No more peanut butter sandwiches, I promise.”

She
squatted on the sand, imitating his posture. “How’s your diving?”

John
realized that he hadn’t stopped grinning. “Well, I passed my test so now I’m
certified! You’ll have to come up with another reason to follow me around.”

She
wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the sand near her feet. She
said nothing. His grin faded. Maybe he’d gone too far.

John
took a long pull on his water bottle and changed the subject. “You know when
the sea turtles start coming in to lay their eggs?”

Tamarind
pushed a clump of hair behind her ear where it sprang immediately to freedom.
“They come to land after the rain starts, perhaps in a week or two.”

“You
ever helped out with counting eggs or monitoring beach conditions?”

“No. But
my family helps out whenever we see any on their way here.”

“How
d’you do that? You can’t put out a beacon or anything, right? I thought lights
distracted the turtles from finding their nesting spots.”

She
shrugged. “We do whatever we can. Turtles aren’t very smart. They eat anything
that looks like a jellyfish. You people dump a lot of garbage.”

“You
sound like a marine biologist.” As he spoke, he idly traced her name in front
of his toes with his fingertip.

Tamarind
shifted so that she could bend her face nearer to the sand. Her elbows jutted
out on either side of her torso and her hair fell over her face in riotous
deluge as she studied the letters, the layer nearest her slender neck damp and
smelling of the sea. For an instant, John thought he saw the iridescence of
mother of pearl at the top of her spine, but when he squinted for a better
look, her smooth skin was bare. She wore no jewelry at all.

“What’s
that?” She pointed at his tracing. “I’ve seen that before.”

“I
should hope so. It’s your name.” He touched each letter as he called it out.
“T-a-m-a-r-i-n-d. Tamarind.”

“It is?”
She didn’t look at him. Instead, she reached her forefinger out and drew over
the letters. Under her breath she repeated their names. Then she traced the
letters again under his, repeating them as she did so.

“You can’t
read?” He said this gently but surprise still colored his voice.

“No.”

Something
in the way that she hunched her shoulders told him not to ask anything else
about the topic. She shifted back onto her buttocks and draped her arms around
her bent knee. She hummed a bit, as though trying out a tune and then began in
earnest. As abruptly as she began, she stopped.

“Did you
come just to learn to dive?”

“Pretty
much. I came to spend a couple of weeks getting used to the water for a
research mission I’m going on next week. I got seasick once and needed to get
my sea legs before I sail.”

“Sea
legs?” Then she laughed the same delightful burble that he’d heard when they
first met. He hadn’t realized that he’d wanted to hear it again until now. “
I
have sea legs and I want land legs!”

Turning
to squint at the sky, he shaded his eyes with his hand. “I also came to spend
some time away from a computer screen and cinderblock walls.” It felt safe to
let that out.

“So you
aren’t going to be here much longer?”

“Just another
week. Then it’s back to the salt mines.”

 “There’s
a lot of salt in the sea.” She looked serious.

John
whooped, a head-thrown-back, hand-slapping-thigh reaction. “That’s priceless!
I’ll have to use that next time I want to take off when I should be working.”

A sound
in the bushes behind them caused John to turn around. A dark-haired,
brown-skinned man wearing a khaki shirt and pants emerged from the path and
stopped short when he saw them. He smiled, white teeth splitting his brown
face. John guessed that he was a park ranger.

“
Hola
.”

“
Hola
.”

“
Hablás
Español
?” When John shook his head, he went on. “This isn’t the best beach
for swimming, you know. The current here is very strong.”

“No
problem. We’re just enjoying the view.”

The man
looked at Tamarind, who sat humming and tracing in the sand. He grinned again.
“I see what you mean. It’s especially lovely today.”

John
ignored the comment and he leaned closer to her. He almost put his arm around
her but stopped himself. “I was wondering. You got all the volunteers you need
this year to help count leatherback eggs?”

The
ranger, who’d been rummaging through a large olive-green duffel, paused to
think.

“Another
pair of hands, they would make the work grow lighter.” Another grin sent a
sparkle to his eyes.

“Thanks.”
After the ranger walked away from them, John turned to Tamarind and smiled.
“Maybe you should volunteer. I get the feeling you’re going to need something
to do after I’m gone.”

“I can
always find some other tourist to ‘stalk.’ You’re not much different from sea
turtles, you know.”

Zoë arrived on Culebra
the following Friday morning, an Amazon warrior
barely civilized for life among unevolved men. John met her at the airport in a
rented Suzuki Samurai and they drove to Tamarindo Estates to check in and drop
off her gear. As Zoë dropped her duffel bag onto the queen-sized bed, she
turned, lifted her arms and snaked them around John’s neck.

“God, am
I glad to be here. This trip has been one nightmare after another. First, some
guy copped a feel outside the airport while I waited at the taxi stand. He
wasn’t even very subtle about it, just grabbed my ass as he walked by me on the
sidewalk. The employees at the Marriott weren’t much better. The man behind the
counter slid the room key into my palm, rubbing his fingertips suggestively
over my wrist. Then the bellhop just happened to caress my hand as he reached
for my bag. What pigs.”

“I doubt
they would’ve pressed their attentions any more than that. If they did, you
could’ve just kicked the shit out of them. Isn’t that what you study for?” John
said this as casually as he could, aware that he spoke for himself as much as
some yokel in San Juan.

“That’s
hardly the point, John! I shouldn’t have to depend on Tae Kwon Do when I’m
traveling in the U.S. Puerto Rico isn’t exactly the third world.” She nuzzled
the side of his neck. “Mmm. You smell good enough to eat, even if I
am
a
vegetarian.”

Her lips
burned along the flesh of his neck, washing stillness down him as effectively
as a fast-acting poison. He just managed to speak before the process was
complete. It was a lame attempt to beg for forgiveness. “Where would the fun be
if you didn’t have some real jerks to deal with now and again? It’s got to get
pretty boring policing the misogynists at CMU.”

“You’re
just thrilled that these guys make you look so good.” She kissed him, pressing
her whole torso against his. “It’s been too long since we made love.”

She
pulled away long enough to close the curtains on the window overlooking the
canal. Then she twined herself around him again as if she feared his escape,
but she had nothing to fear. He was already paralyzed.

“Time to
change that.”

***

Later,
John drove her around the island, or as much of it as was accessible by road.

“Not
much to see, really.” They turned north toward Playa Flamenco. “The beach is
world-class, of course, but nothing else is here.”

“It’s
just because it’s not built up, John. Some people would think that was a good
thing, you know.” She paused. “So whadya have planned for me this weekend,
besides showing me how much you missed me?” At these words, she slid her left
hand up his right thigh and into his crotch, squeezing gently.

John
kept his eyes on the road.

“Actually,
I wondered what you’d think about going out for some deep-sea fishing. There’s
a crusty old barnacle around here with a forty-three-foot yacht, the Sakitumi.
That is, if battling big fish in the name of sport appeals to you.” He held his
breath. Given her rabid form of vegetarianism, he expected her to spit fire. He
had no idea what had prompted him to antagonize her this way.

She
stunned him with her answer. “How Hemingway. I’d love to go. Absolutely.”

She
leaned against the passenger door and looked out the open window. The breeze as
they drove dared to lift her heavy hair and caress her neck. In her dark
sunglasses and black camisole, she reminded John of a Hollywood starlet,
exuding sex appeal as cloying as night-blooming jasmine.

“Maybe a
little development wouldn’t hurt,” she said after a few moments as they drove
south on 251 toward town. “Something that would help pay to clean this place
up.”

“What?
You don’t like having such an unobstructed view to the terraced dump?” John had
forgotten the dump until it came into view and the sarcasm in his voice
surprised him.

“Not in
paradise I don’t. They should plant some of those bright red flowers—what are
they called?—in front of the trash.”

“Bougainvillea.
I think you’re thinking of that. Or maybe hibiscus.”

It took
John only an hour to drive the circuit of the island’s main roads. Perhaps it
was Zoë’s presence or the view from the driver’s seat of the Samurai, but John
surveyed all of Culebra’s eyesores for the first time in two weeks. As they
neared Dewey, they saw cramped cinderblock houses huddling along narrow
streets. Boats rested on concrete blocks in the patches of land that
constituted yards and everywhere they saw more trash: pipes, tires, and beer
cans. Zoë wrinkled her nose and shifted away from the window. Even after they
drove south past Dewey and left the houses behind, lines creased her forehead.
Little existed on the southern and eastern arms of Culebra beyond a few side
roads leading to homes that, from their vantage point, seemed to promise
privacy to transplanted
gringos
. But for John, the trip away from Dewey
reminded him of the serenity that he’d discovered while visiting the Enchanted
Isle: every rise in the road brought views of the ocean, vivid against the sere
brown and dusty green of the landscape.

Culebra
exists
only
to draw the spirit to the sea around it
. On the heels of this thought,
Tamarind’s ethereal blue eyes tantalized John’s memory, but he shoved the image
aside. Funny that he should think about a slip of a girl with crazy hair and
incessant questions while Zoë’s head rested on his shoulder—Zoë deserved
better. He turned the Samurai onto the road to Tamarindo Estates.

“Wow,
that was short and sweet. After a winter in Pittsburgh, this sun is a godsend,
but I wouldn’t want to live here.” She hadn’t moved even though he’d parked;
instead, she ran her fingers along his forearm and the back of his hand.

John
switched off the engine and looked down at her black hair, glossy and thick.
She was too close; there wasn’t enough room in the cabin of the Samurai to tell
her the explosive news that he must tell her. So he settled for what he hoped
was conciliatory humor. “Between the macho males and the roaming roosters, it’s
probably not the best place for you.”

Lunch
was larger and more gourmet than John had eaten for most of the past week; he’d
hoarded his money and eaten only one meal out—a cheeseburger at Señorita’s
where he’d avoided seeing Raimunda, who managed to find him at the camp anyway.
He had no idea why she kept seeking him out; more to the point, he couldn’t
understand the queer state that came over him whenever she appeared. He felt at
the mercy of his lust, his rational thought subsumed to the white heat
radiating from his groin. At these times, a shadow fell over his spirit that
left him in a funk until he went to sleep; and then the dream returned and
washed away the darkness as oil is washed from skin. He felt cleaner, but a
vile residue still remained. And then Tamarind would arrive somewhere on his
journeys about the shore or cays and her smile was the sun burning away the
clinging mist of night.

He shook
his head as Zoë addressed him while they waited for their Nuevo Caribbean
chickpea stew.
Now
was not the time to think of either of these island
women.

 “I need
to call the vet’s before we go snorkeling. Stella had to have surgery on
Wednesday and she’s staying there while I’m away.”

“I bet
that’s expensive.” It was perfunctory; he and Zoë’s cat had never gotten along
and it was even harder to fake concern after two weeks away from the mercurial
tortoiseshell.

“Yeah.
It’s got me thinking I should consider veterinary school after I finish my
Ph.D.” She paused. “So Heath Garrett’s just been named as faculty researcher of
the year. He won a two million grant from ARPA. But that’s not all. The rumor’s
going around that he’s sleeping with his administrative assistant and she’s
married with two kids.”