An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (19 page)

Tamarind
had grown still. “I’ve never gone dancing.”

“Don’t
worry.” He put his hand on her back. The heat from her skin warmed his palm
through the cotton of her t-shirt. “I’ve seen you dance every day for the past
six weeks and you’ll put everyone else to shame.”

“As long
as I don’t have to read to them.”

A few
days later, Teresa Jimenez, the refuge manager, called an end to the season’s
turtle watch. All the volunteers met at Señorita’s at sunset that day to drink
beer and poke fun at each other in the brighter lights of the restaurant. John
had forgotten the burnish of Tamarind’s hair, the peculiar blue of her eyes.
For all that she drank only Coke—albeit several of them—her face flushed as the
evening wore on. She even imitated birdcalls for their group with astounding accuracy.

He
couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been out with a group of people,
chatting and drinking, and having such a good time. Probably last fall, around
the time he and Zoë met. Even Jesus seemed relaxed, his sleepy eyelids
minimizing his flat gaze and lending him a seductive air. John suspected that
Jesus remained as alert as ever, however.

Half an
hour later, Jesus proved John’s suspicions right.

“Do you
know what ‘Culebra’ means, Juanito?” He’d taken to calling John by the
diminutive, but John knew that it had nothing to do with affection.

Everyone
stopped talking to listen.

“Yes.
‘Snake.’”

“Ah,
bueno
,
good.” Jesus toyed with the neck of his Medalla bottle. “There are no snakes on
this island. Why is it ‘snake island’ then?”

“I
dunno.”

Inez
spoke. Where she’d been red-faced and laughing only seconds before, she was
very serious. “To remind us about the snake, the evil, that lives at the heart
of paradise.”

Serena
picked up where Inez left off. “There cannot be an
isla encantada
without a
culebra
. Some say a great snake sleeps at the heart of the
island, waiting for the end of the world when it will hunt again.”

Jesus
sneered. “These two, they are
virginal
. They do not understand, Juanito.
Pero tú comprendes, sí
? You want to show our little bird of paradise
here the true meaning of
culebra
. You don’t have it in you, though.”

“What
does that mean?” Tamarind’s voice broke their locked gazes.

Pablo,
who’d had too much to drink, slurred his words. “Means Jesus is jealous.”

“Jealous?
Why?” Tamarind looked at Jesus, puzzled.

“Not
jealous. Just waiting. Waiting for you to fly from this spineless worm. When
you do,
mi reina
, I will be ready.”

The
evening’s mood soured after that. Inez and Serena, darting looks at Jesus, made
excuses for leaving. Pablo, lurching to his feet, declared that he needed to
get up early to go out on a dive and asked Jesus to walk him the five blocks to
his apartment. Jesus finished his beer and dropped some cash on the table as he
stood to go. He looked down on John and Tamarind but said nothing more. They
watched him trail Pablo out Señorita’s door, his posture sober and cocky. They
didn’t move or say a word until the waitress came five minutes later, and then
John roused and said that it was time to head out.

As he
drove Tamarind home, he reminded her of his promise.

“Looks
like we’re going dancing tomorrow.”

“It’s
Friday?”

“Yup.”

“Okay
then.” She looked out the window at the moon-washed road for several moments,
but then a song on the radio caught her attention and she hummed along with it
and tapped her fingers on the doorframe.

“Tamarind?”
His voice had grown deep in seriousness.

She
turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Forget
about Jesus. We’ve got bad blood between us, that’s all. It isn’t about you.”

“‘Bad
blood’? Has he hurt you, John?” She’d sat up straight, her face in darkness
against the moonlight.

“No, of
course not. ‘Bad blood’ is just a saying. It means we’ve disagreed before.”

“Oh.”

Something
in her voice, in its small uncertainty, caused him to reach out and push the
hair from her face. Tendrils curled around his fingers almost as if they were
alive. “See you around sunset, then?” He spoke gently.

She
nodded. “I’ll be here.”

When
John let her out at the bottom of the hill, he watched her silhouette shrink
against the pricks of starlight until it winked out at the top. With her
disappearance, the night diminished and became ordinary. Even the music on the
radio sounded tinny and weak. He quickly turned and drove back south into town
and bed.

Tamarind
leaned against a palm tree waiting for him the following evening. She wore the
blue dress that he’d bought her before he left the island in early April. For
the first time since he’d known her, her hair looked combed and smooth curls
lay sedately on her shoulders. Shell hair ornaments clipped long strands
together in small bunches away from her face, and around her neck hung lures on
transparent fishing line. But her feet were still bare.

She slid
into her seat.

“You
look great. You even make bare feet look dressed up.”

Tamarind
looked down at her feet as she pulled her door shut. “Should I have worn shoes
then?”

“No, no.
Wouldn’t look natural on you, I think.”

“Feet
do?”

He
glanced over as he pulled away and saw her looking down at her feet. Another
glance told him that she wiggled her toes.

“I’ve
never seen anyone whose feet look more natural on her than yours do on you.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sensed her looking at him. He grinned.

“We’re
going to the Dockside for dinner. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

They
chatted about books during the ten minutes it took to get to the Dockside. John
wanted her to take the ferry with him to San Juan and visit a bookstore.

“Really?
You’d really take me with you?”

“Sure.
You should get to help pick out the next books I read you. I also need to pick
up some supplies, if you don’t mind tagging along that is.”

“Oh, no,
I don’t mind.” She vibrated a low hum; a few soft clicks escaped her mouth.

“You
know you hum and click all the time? I’m starting to be able to tell what all
the different pitches, tempos, and volumes mean. I’m guessing you’re being
polite. Am I right?”

“No. I’m
excited. And scared.”

“Really?”
He looked at her. “Well, I’ll try not to disappoint you then.”

The
Dockside had few customers this hour in the off-season. The waitress led them
to a two-person table looking out over the canal where they ordered
buñuelos
de queso
,
mojo isleño
, and
tembleque
. John ordered a Medalla
and watched with a smile as Tamarind ordered a Coke.

“How do
you like your fish?”

Tamarind
wrinkled her nose and sliced off a tiny wedge from the
mojo isleño
. “Not
much. I can hardly taste the fish with all the other flavors. I like my fish
fresher, too.”

“How do
you normally eat it? I thought this garlic sauce was popular in Puerto Rico.”

“Oh.
Well, we usually eat our fish raw.”

“Like
sushi?” At her puzzled look, he said, “That’s what the Japanese call raw fish,
seaweed, and rice. You’d probably like it.”

“It
sounds good. How do you like to eat fish?”

John
sipped his beer. “I don’t normally eat fish or animal flesh. I’m a vegetarian,
but it’s hard to stick with it here on the island so I’ve been eating fish.” He
figured that there was no need to mention his brief deviation into beef.

“No
fish?” Tamarind sounded shocked. “Why not? I thought everybody ate fish.”

“I guess
there’s a lot of reasons.” John ticked off some of the issues that Zoë had
given him when she insisted he become a vegetarian. They still seemed
reasonable. “Mostly, it’s not sustainable. I mean, huge fishing boats come
along and trawl with their nets, scooping up whatever gets trapped in them. The
fish can’t possibly keep reproducing fast enough and sometimes other creatures
die simply because they’re caught in the net. Plus, I think it’s healthier to
cut out fish and meat.”

“It’s
not because you don’t like to eat fish?”

“No,
actually, I love fish, especially sushi.”

“But you
don’t want to kill them to eat them? Didn’t you go fishing here?”

John
squirmed a bit. “Yeah, but that’s not what I find objectionable. It’s kind’ve
hard to explain, but it doesn’t bother me if somebody catches a few fish using
a rod and bait. That’s just not how most people get fish in the U.S.”

“Oh.
Okay.”

They
fell silent. Tamarind continued to pick at her
mojo isleño
.

John
decided to rescue her. “You don’t have to finish that.”

She
sighed and pushed the fish aside. She dipped a tentative spoon into the coconut
custard. “The
tembleque
’s good, though.”

“Anyone
who loves Coke as much as you do obviously has a sweet tooth.”

Tamarind
began rubbing the tip of her tongue over her teeth. “How do I know which one?
None of them taste sweet.”

John
laughed. “Sorry! That just means you like to eat sweet things.”

Tamarind
frowned. “I always get it wrong.”

He put
his hand briefly on hers. “I love the way you get it. I feel like I’m looking at
the world through fresh eyes when I’m with you. It’s wonderful.”

Tamarind
blushed and dipped the spoon back into the
tembleque
.

They
drove to Isla Encantada twenty minutes later and found the live music just
getting going. Even in the dim lighting, John recognized Jesus in the far
corner. To his surprise—and relief—he recognized Jesus’ date as well.
Raimunda’s voluptuous curves and luxuriant hair were unmistakable. He didn’t
know what relieved him more: Jesus having a date or Raimunda’s near-feral
sexuality being contained. A small sound at his side made him look down to see
Tamarind gazing at Jesus. John squeezed her hand and smiled.

Tamarind
said nothing but sidled closer to John, who forgot all about Jesus at her
nearness and led her onto the dance floor. She watched John and imitated his
movements, but after John ordered a beer she drank half of it without taking a
breath. She closed her eyes when she returned to the dance floor and appeared
to listen to something in the music audible only to her. John couldn’t take his
eyes from her, barely dancing. She looked like a poem set to music.

They
might have danced minutes or hours. The heat of bodies, the dim interior and
flashes of mirror and lights, the beat of drums and the sound of Spanish—all
these cocooned John in a timeless world. At last Tamarind opened eyes in a
flushed face and grabbed John’s hand.

“Let’s
get out of here!” She pulled him to the door and outside into the cooler,
though still warm, Caribbean night. “I need water.”

“We can
get something to drink inside.”

“No, no.
I need to swim.”

The
cocoon had split open and the night air touched a fingertip to John’s damp
forehead. The need for full immersion in water of any kind seized him after she
spoke.

“Me too.
Let’s get out of here.”

John
headed north toward Playa Tamarindo, but Tamarind tugged on his arm when they
approached the right onto 250. He turned as she directed and they headed east.
He’d driven this route only one other time since coming to Culebra—the time
that Zoë visited and they’d driven around the whole island. Even so, he’d
kayaked and cruised the eastern shore and visited Culebrita and its
hundred-year-old lighthouse so he knew the eastern shoreline. Since 250 ended
at Playa Zoni, he thought he knew where Tamarind intended for them to go.
However, not long after the road bore sharply to the north, she asked him to
pull over.

“Here. I
want to show you Puerto del Manglar.”

After
he’d parked the Samurai along the deserted two-lane road, they descended a
rocky path toward the lagoon, which was bordered by a narrow muddy rim. A
westerly breeze passed over the water and cooled their skin. Around them and
along the shoreline of the lagoon, darker mangrove trees framed the night sky
where stars lay scattered in brilliant disarray.

John tilted
his face up to the dome of the night sky over them.

“I’m an
explorer at the end of the world,” he said. In the still night, his quiet voice
seemed loud to him. “Thanks for showing me this place.”

“Wait.
There’s something else you need to see.” Tamarind bent down and picked
something up from the ground. When she tossed whatever it was into the still
waters, the incandescent filament of its plunge lit up the lagoon before his
eyes. “There are tiny creatures that live in this water that react to movement by
lighting up.”