An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (4 page)

BOOK: An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant
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“Of
course you did well. The midwife in Guadaloupe still watches. She’ll signal
when the winds turn ferocious. All right, all right.” She reached into a pocket
of her skirt, pulled out a rectangle of dried tamarind pulp, and broke off a
corner. “Don’t be so greedy or you’ll shit yourself silly, Ai.”

She
tossed the bit into the air where the gull snatched it. As she walked on, a sea
of thorny acacia and guinea grass, unremarkable yet as familiar to her as the
thicket of lines on the back of her hands, rolled away. She didn’t have to look
over her shoulder to know the acacia and guinea grass swallowed up her steps.
No one could follow her unless she wanted him to.

At the
shore, she sensed the mermaid, maybe close, maybe far—but not too far. So she
squatted at the water’s edge and rummaged through the wet stones. She’d
gathered five when a shift in the air tingled her ears. The mermaid had
released her glamour, the magic spell of disguise used by the
mer
.

“It’s
good you returned.” Ana spoke without looking up from her work. “You must be
warned.” She swiveled to face the mermaid. “That
idiota americano
is
looking for you.”

He’ll
see what I mean him to
.

“Then
careful what you mean, young one.”

But
….

“No
buts. Stay away until he’s gone.”

The
mermaid tossed her head, reminding Ana of the proud stallion who nipped the
wild mares and shied away from everyone, even her. She launched herself from
the water, arcing over backward in defiant grace, her sinewy tail slapping the
water’s surface. The air wavered around her and she swelled into a portly
manatee as saltwater and foam showered Ana. A sheet of droplets glittered in
the early sunlight, but Ana saw the mermaid torpedoing through the canal
anyway.

Ana sat
back on her heels and studied the mermaid’s wake with narrowed eyes. She must
continue to follow the stranger, but more importantly she must find some way to
distract him. She’d heard him at Isla Encantada, she’d heard his desire to find
his rescuer. He would never find the mermaid on his own, of course, but his
thoughts would be open to her. The besotted fool would linger around the edges
of Culebra, hoping to catch his thoughts. He would draw her, like a homing
pigeon, to him.

A smile
lifted her face. Perhaps she
,
Ana
,
could call him to
her
.
She’d caught him thinking of dark-haired, dark-eyed Spanish beauties and long
limbs entwined, glistening as they moved against each other. He would soon
forget the mystery woman who’d saved his life when he’d become intoxicated with
a flesh-and-blood siren. It would be done.

She
plucked up her skirt and waded into the shallows to gather more stones, shells,
and seaweed. Muttering, she placed these around the edge of the small beach.
She returned to the water and searched until she found a small sea star. At her
touch, it flexed its arms but could not move fast enough to escape. She carried
the dripping animal to the largest stone on the beach and laid it there. From
the bag at her waist, she pinched a bit of dried cactus powder and, muttering
again, outlined the sea star.

It
poured its life into her hands and into her plans.

Three

 

When John woke at six a.m.
the next morning, cool sand and
crisp light buoyed him. Sometime in the night, he’d freed himself from his
sleeping bag, which lay in a heap at his feet. He stretched and grunted,
reaching overhead and breathing deeply. He sighed and released the stretch.
Overhead, terns and gulls fluttered, their sharp cries counterpointing the
rhythmic
shoosh-shoosh
of the waves. Palm and acacia leaves tangoed with
a flirty breeze tangy with salt. John closed his eyes and sighed again. All his
senses had heightened. Sounds were clearer, smells sharper. Even his sunburn
had cooled.

Sitting
up, he scooped some sand and let its powder slip through his fingers. It was as
fine as confectioner’s sugar and almost as white. An urge overcame him and he
scooped up more and rubbed it into his stubble. The sand felt less gritty than
he did. He grinned. He was alive and he’d never felt better.

His
stomach rumbled. He was hungry. He rummaged in his backpack and found a
Snickers bar. Breakfast of champions it was not, but it would do for now.

It
wasn’t until he bent over his sleeping bag, smoothing it before rolling, that
he remembered the dream. It was less a vision than a memory of movement, a
flowing along dark, swift currents studded with lights and teeming with music.
Infinity swirled at his feet and forever arched over his head. He’d been
without form, yet he’d been everything. He’d traveled alone, silent—yet not
alone. A multitude of others swam beside him. Together, they swam always, yet
they needed no destination. Once recalled, the dream disappeared like smoke on
the breeze. Even though he’d lost its details, it left a sense of fulfillment
in its wake.

He
hummed and stepped over snoring campers toward the Portajohns. That’s when
Zoë’s absence hit him. He hadn’t slept away from her in nine months. A shadow
crossed the sun and he glanced up reflexively. The morning brightened even
before his eyes adjusted, but his peace faded. He shook himself. He needed to
find the mystery woman.

Not
knowing what else to do, John decided to return to the scene of his rescue.
Perhaps, in the clear light of early morning, he’d be able to spot some clue
that he’d missed from the day before. The hike over the Carlos Rosario trail
only added to his perplexity. There was no good reason to think that a stranger
happened to be hiking along this trail, heard his floundering in the canal,
dove in and pulled him out, and then returned to her hike post-haste. It just
didn’t make any sense at all. The Luís Peña Canal was a destination, not
someplace anyone would just pass by. And what had brought Ana, the local witch
woman, to the shore with her pungent herbal medicine?

The
trail ended near the quiet little beach where his rescuer had brought him. John
searched the perimeter of the shore again, but the only thing that he found out
of the ordinary was a shriveled sea star lying exposed on a large rock. He was
the last one to know anything about sea animals, but it seemed a strange place
to find a sea star. There was something forlorn about it. He touched it with the
tip of his finger. Out here, it was nothing but some tern’s morning meal. He
cradled it on his palm and turned to face the canal.

The last
thing that he wanted to do was go back into the ocean. He stood for a minute or
two, studying the impervious water—water that had nearly swallowed him. He
looked again at the sea star, desiccated when it should have been moist,
living. He was too late to save it, but he couldn’t leave the sea star lying on
the stones. Returning the helpless creature to the ocean was the best he could
do to set things right. He owed it to the woman who’d risked her life to save
his. Holding his breath, he took a step into the canal. The water was blood
warm and silky. It caressed his thighs and urged him deeper. He sighed and sank
to his knees. Beneath him, the sand shifted to accommodate him. He lowered the
sea star below the surface and watched as the water lifted its husk off his
palm and carried it away. The current swirled around him, alive and tender.
Like being naked and draped in satin sheets. He knew that he was alone. He saw
nothing through the crystalline water, not even a darting fish, yet fingers
stroked his calves and thighs, toyed with his hair, caressed his shoulders. A
hallucinatory torso pressed against him, arms encircled his neck and he bent
forward….

The
water turned playful, rolling and ducking him. John, water sheeting over his
face, laughed and began splashing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he
realized that he’d look totally bonkers to anyone who stumbled upon him, but he
didn’t care. Nothing held him back, entangled him, under this infinite sky.

 “Where’s
my lady
del mar
when I need her?” He didn’t realize that he’d spoken
aloud until he heard an answer.

“Will I
do?” Ana stood at the mouth of the trail; her wild white hair spun wisps around
her face. “Or are you looking for something else? You seem recovered.”

John
hung suspended in the water, which had lost its charm. He felt vulnerable to
the old woman’s sharp gaze. “I am.”

As
dainty and graceful as a mountain goat, the old woman picked her way across the
stony shore. She squatted down and toyed with some broken bits of shells. “Saw
your flyer at Isla Encantada. Think to catch your mermaid, eh?” Her rough voice
stayed even, but John heard the scorn in it.

“I never
said that.”

“Tomás
thinks you did.”

John
sighed. “No.”

“Don’t
believe in mermaids, do you? Why not? Maybe one is swimming right beside you.”
The old woman’s right eye glittered. “Close to us vile humans, eh?” She chortled.

John
squirmed. “Look, you see who pulled me out of the canal or not?”

“I saw
no woman. Either there’s a lady
del mar
or you made the whole thing up.”

“Why
would I do that?”

“Hm.”
She picked at some seaweed on the sand, swirling its limp strands on the
stones. “Ask yourself.”

He had
to get out of the water, fast. He lurched upright and strode to the shore,
water spraying from his quick arms. He stopped next to her, but she didn’t look
at him. “I’m not making this up. I didn’t imagine nearly drowning. I didn’t
imagine the woman who saved me.” He paused and then braved a question. “Do you
know more than you’re telling?”

She
swiveled and looked up at him. A sly smile oiled her wrinkled cheeks. “Maybe I
pulled you out.”

John
ignored her. “How’d you happen to find me?”

Ana
shrugged, stood up, and brushed her hands on her threadbare skirt. “Came here
to gather this and that for my remedies.”

“Maybe
you’re not the only one who gathers ‘this and that’ for her remedies.”

“Perhaps.”
She shrugged again. “Whatever makes you happy.”

John
watched her bend over the stones, dismissing him. He didn’t need to stay and
watch her pick over rocks, to have her pick over his story. What did it matter
what she thought? He’d already passed her and reached the trail before something
in her manner made him turn around. She seemed to scour the rock where he’d
found the sea star. After a minute, she turned to stare at him.

“Maybe
Tomás has found her for you.”

“I’ll
ask. Good hunting.” He nodded and turned back to the trail.

If he’d felt
perplexed before, now he felt angry. He stopped walking after ten minutes and
closed his eyes. The memory of saltwater filling his lungs choked him. Fresh
panic shocked his heart into erratic beating. His eyes flew open. Brilliant
light haloed his vision in the rising heat. He
had
almost drowned. But.
He tried to recall the feel of her arms around him or the sound of her voice.
All he summoned was a feeling of warm security, of relief from suffocation. Had
his oxygen-starved brain hallucinated her? The inexplicable image of curly hair
and brilliant blue eyes returned as if to confirm this.

John
returned to his campsite. He couldn’t go to Isla Encantada for hours. He didn’t
want to read. He couldn’t snorkel. He wanted to know who had pulled him out of
the water. He wanted to know why she’d left him. He stuck the island map into
the waistband of his shorts and hopped onto the bike. He would distract himself
with a tour of the island. He pedaled so furiously that he lost himself under
the hard blue sky until a headache pounded its way into his blank mind and made
him acknowledge his need for water.

When he
got back to Dewey, John headed for Isla Encantada where water and a cold
Medalla waited. Tomás nodded and smiled when John caught his eye and brought a
bottle over before John could order.


Gracias
.”


De
nada, Señor Juan
.”

“Some
water too, please.”



.”

John
noticed a woman at the bar. He couldn’t see her face, but her dark hair
cascaded over her shoulders; her flamingo-pink skirt and white blouse popped against
the brown of her skin. He stole looks at her through lunch. No one came to meet
her. She flirted with the bartender and made Tomás blush. Her husky, Bette
Davis voice drifted across the dining area and insinuated itself into John’s
ears. He began to wonder why he’d never picked women up in bars. He’d just
worked up the courage to motion Tomás over when a man slid onto the stool next
to her.

John
watched as the newcomer leaned into the woman’s shoulder and said something.
The woman answered, shaking her head and shifting away. She lit a cigarette and
propped her elbow on the bar between them. From John’s vantage point, it was a
clear rejection. He waited for the other man to take the hint, but he didn’t.
Instead, he snapped his fingers at the bartender and ordered something without
taking his eyes off of the woman. The bartender set two beers down, his eyes
sliding from the woman—who’d grown into John’s Caribbean fantasy—to the man,
who ignored the bartender to lean again toward the woman. The bartender hustled
away but not before John saw the nervous flash on his face.

BOOK: An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant
6.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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