An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (5 page)

BOOK: An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant
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When the
newcomer put his hand on the small of the woman’s back, she shrugged it away.
The man put it back. That’s when John acted. His chair scraped against the
floor and he stood before he knew what he was doing. The newcomer turned and
stared at him.


Una
problema, señor
?” The man’s flat dark eyes telegraphed a challenge.

It
wicked all the moisture from John’s throat. He stood there, suspended between
his seat and a certain confrontation.

The
woman swiveled and looked at him, smoke painting a ghostly filigree around her.
She smiled. White teeth brightened her face. “
No problema
, Jesus. This
is
mi amigo
, the one I was to meet. Right?” Her dusky voice never rose
yet John heard her across the room.

His own
voice returned. “Yes.”

The
lithe Caribbean beauty slid from her stool and slinked toward him. John saw
bare feet with peeping pink toenails. She met him, slipped her arm through his,
and winked. “Buy me a beer, my friend?” She smelled of cloves and something hot
and fecund. John nearly swooned.

“Of
course.” He started to guide her to a chair when Jesus blocked the way.


Gringo
.”
Jesus’ breath stank of hops and something sour. “I never forget. Never. ” His
flat eyes regarded John. He looked at the woman. “You and I will meet later,
mi
alma dulce
.”

She
laughed, a throaty, wild sound. “I will be all the sweeter,
mi guapetón
.”

Jesus
stroked a fingertip along her forearm. “
Igual que la fruta
. Until then.”
He shot a final glance at John and left Isla Encantada.

John let
a shaky breath out and helped the woman into a seat. She reached for the dregs
of his Medalla and tilted the bottle to her mouth. John watched as she
swallowed. She kept her eyes on his.

“So.”
She passed a hand across her lips. John noticed that they were the color of
pomegranate seeds, slightly swollen and glistening. “You are visiting Culebra?”

He
nodded.

She
smiled at Tomás who brought over two frosted bottles of Medalla. “
Gracias
.”
He stuttered a nearly inaudible reply and left. “The beer is in my hand, my
friend. Now, perhaps, we share names?”

John
grinned. “I’m John.”


Hola
,
John. I am Raimunda.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, which
was oddly shriveled against her smooth cheek. “You have come for the beach and
the fish, my friend?”

“That’s
the plan. What gave me away?”

She
shrugged and tipped up her bottle to drink. “That is why most
norteamericanos
come. Others? They run away from their demons and hide here on the Island of
the Snake.”

“‘Island
of the Snake?’”


Culebra
.”
It sounded slightly dangerous when Raimunda said it. “Did you not know that you
are on the Island of the Snake?” She watched him closely. Her right eye drooped
a little. John found it enticing.

“And?
Are
there snakes here?”

Raimunda
looked at him from between lowered eyelashes. “Not enough, some would say.”

John’s
eyes widened. “And what do
you
say?”

“I say,
my friend, there are always snakes if you know how to find them.”

“I bet
you’re a regular snake charmer.”

She
tipped a modest face and the hair behind her ear slipped free. John wanted to
reach over and push it back but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her.

“You see
my flyer?” He tilted his head toward the wall next to the door. She followed
his motion with her gaze.

“That
was you?” It was her turn to widen her eyes.

“‘Fraid
so. Do you like to swim?”

“Sometimes.
Por qué
?”

John
looked at his hands, which were wrapped around the half-empty Medalla. She
didn’t match his mental image of his rescuer, but he wanted her to. “Someone
pulled me out yesterday. I would’ve drowned.”

“Oh, no!
That is terrible, my friend. No, no I could never save you.” She shifted so
that she leaned closer. Her husky voice lowered. It caressed his jaw on its way
into his ears. “I am
muy débil
. How you say? Weak. I am only
una
mujer
. How pull I such a big man from the water?” Here she touched his arm.

 John
lifted his Medalla and drained it. At the moment, finding his mystery woman
seemed less compelling.

She slid
the bottles to the side of their table and took one of his hands in her own.
“It matters not, my friend. I can make you even more glad to be alive.”

***

The
mermaid circled the canal over and over and over, long after a glaring Ana left
the shore. She worried the water over the hapless sea star. A hot, foul stench
rose off of it, poisoning the water for a tail’s length around it. Its death
stank of cruel purpose, not natural release. She hovered over it for long
seconds and then darted away toward the spot where the man last treaded water.
Here, a different kind of echo altogether colored the water’s essence. It was
soft, luminous, and warm still. When she’d had more than she could stand from
the sea star’s final resting spot, she returned to the man’s echo and renewed
herself.

She’d
hardly touched him last night. She’d found him after hours of searching along
the coasts until she’d detected him on the northern shore. She’d drawn upon the
dark energy of the earth and walked on temporary legs to his sleeping place.
His sleep was hollow and yet heavy, devoid of nurturing dreams. He’d come from
a far place where something had bound his soul, delicate as a sooty tern chick,
in a filament as light and unbreakable as whale sinew. She tested this binding,
finding that it had loosened a bit. There was hope then. She could send him
dreams and free him entirely.

She lay
next to him and sent visions into him as he slept. His dark hair covered her
cheek and tickled her nose. She nuzzled the musky hollow beneath his arm. He
smelled rich, his salty body excretions becoming his own human cologne, the
breath of plants, and cool night air. He smelled like the promise of life. Next
to his sharp odor, the
mer
males she knew smelled faint and diffuse,
pale and unreal.

In the
time between night and day, before the sky lightens with the sun’s approach,
the mermaid drew away from his warm, dry body. He sighed and she watched his
sleeping face as long as she dared. When the shifting light sharpened his
features, she stole away to the ocean. A gossamer thread connected them now. It
was enough. She could trace him, could follow where he went.

She’d
followed him to the place where she’d left him the day before. That’s when she
realized that he was looking for her. The gossamer thread binding them grew a
little sturdier, a little more permanent. His thoughts were open to her and she
urged him into the water. He came, bringing the lifeless sea star. She felt his
pity and sorrow for the small animal and it moved her. When he lowered its
husk, she sent it away on the current. She couldn’t restrain herself any longer
and she swam around him, running hidden hands along his thighs and up his
flank. He radiated heat. She wanted it to weld them.

As soon
as he sensed this, she backed away and they began to splash and roll. His deep
laugh surprised her. She’d never heard laughter quite like it before and that
too captured her. If she could elicit that again and again it would never be
enough.

When he
said, “Where’s my lady
del mar
when I need her?” she knew that it was
time to reveal herself.

At that
moment, the old woman spoke. The mermaid’s glamour wavered, but it held steady
under the old woman’s jagged gaze. The gossamer thread linking her and the man
attenuated and flattened but didn’t break. Heart skipping, she swam between him
and the old woman, who came closer to the water, squatted, fingered bits of
shell. The old woman radiated menace. Then she asked the man the unthinkable.

“Don’t
believe in mermaids, do you? Why not? Maybe one is swimming right beside you.
Close to us vile humans, eh?” The old woman laughed, a sound of broken shells
tossed on stone. The mermaid knew that she laughed at both of them. When the
man wriggled behind her, she looked back at him. She recognized embarrassment.
And denial.

Disconcerted,
the mermaid swam to a safe distance where she observed as the man spoke to the
old woman, saw him stop and scrutinize her search. She felt his perplexity when
the old woman reached the rock where the sea star had lain. Unlike the stranger
to whom she’d given her heart, this search troubled the mermaid. It troubled her
a great deal.

Four

 

On Monday morning
John awakened with an implacable urge to go to the
cay across Luís Peña Canal, an urge that went far beyond any desire to be alone
on his own private rock, beyond the fear of the ocean crouching in his brain
stem. It had all the force of ravenous hunger, of raging thirst, of insatiable
lust. After nearly drowning, he would have put off coming back to the dive shop
to schedule diving lessons—his stated reason for coming to Culebra—except that
he needed to rent a kayak
today
to quell this urge.

So he
returned to Chris’s Sunken Reef Dive Shop, a dusty storefront carpeted in beige
and lined on one side with racks of snorkels, masks, and flippers, as soon as
the shop opened, which happened to be ten a.m. Chris, a slouching tanned man
with a phone cradled between jaw and shoulder, waved him in before disappearing
into the back room. While he waited, John studied the shop more carefully than
he had on Saturday. An assortment of artifacts—links of rusty chain, several
spikes embedded in worm-eaten planking, and disintegrating portholes—studded
the opposite wall along with other less certain items. What appeared to be a
palm-size, dark-orange cannonball served as star to a solar system that
included ancient handles and a dozen verdigris lengths of metal that may have
been fasteners (of what, John had no clue) before the sea laid claim to them.
The real treasure, presumably from Chris’s underwater adventures, resided in a
glass case that divided the shop. Inside, three dark gray plates—pewter, John
guessed—lay in state along with flat oval gold rings and several heavy coins
stamped with a cross surrounded by lions and what looked like castle towers. An
emerald, the size of a teardrop, and flakes of gold held the place of honor in
the center of the case.

John
tapped his fingers against the smudged glass, his lips compressed and his chest
tight. Chris had been friendly and chatty on Saturday, saying it was good to
see someone from the States in the off-season, and told John that his diving
schedule was wide open for the next two weeks. John knew that getting certified
to dive was more important than satisfying an insane need to spend the day on a
deserted cay, but he just couldn’t think beyond renting a kayak. Would this
genial guy deny him one after he confessed that he’d lost the snorkeling gear
in Luís Peña Canal?

He found
out two minutes later when Chris, his mutt Murphy at his heels, strolled
through the doorway from the back office. He carried a flat wooden box that
looked like it had been rescued from the wreck of a Spanish galleon. John would
love to see what was inside.

“Hey,”
Chris said. He set the box on the counter between them. “I thought I’d see you
today.”

That
made John nervous. “Why?”

Chris
pursed his lips, opened the box. It contained receipts for the shop. John’s
disappointment couldn’t overshadow his anxiety at Chris’s next words, however.
“I saw the flyer at Isla Encantada. I figured you lost the gear.”

John
closed his eyes, took a breath, squared his shoulders, and looked at Chris.
“Yes, I did.”

Chris
shook his head slightly. Sighed. Then he pulled out the top receipt and noted
something on it. “Shoulda made you wear a vest. I’m gonna have to charge you
for the gear.”

For the
first time since the near-drowning, John felt like an idiot. “I still have
these.” He held out the mesh bag that stored the gear and the lone flipper.

Chris
accepted them, his face thoughtful. “Well, I can use the mesh bag, but no one’s
lost a leg to shark bite in years.” He grinned at John’s dumbfounded look and
laid the items aside. “A new set will cost me seventy dollars.”

“No
problem.” John handed Chris a credit card, simultaneously relieved that his
stupidity was out in the open and angry with himself for the cost. And then he
remembered that the cost had nearly been his life and he let the anger go.
Instead, while Chris swiped the card, he screwed up his courage. Time to ask.
“I don’t suppose I can talk you into renting me a kayak?”

Chris
dropped the card machine into the box and shut it with a satisfying snick. He
studied John while scratching his stubbly chin. “Kayaking alone? Depends. Where
you plan to go?”

That was
the best John could hope for. At least Chris hadn’t said no outright.

“To the
cay across the canal.” He paused, took a breath. “Listen, I’ve been white-water
kayaking with friends since high school. The trip to the cay will be a piece of
cake after all the rapids I’ve gone over.”

BOOK: An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant
8.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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