An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (7 page)

The
scent of hot corn oil and fried dough made John’s stomach grumble. He ordered
arepas
stuffed with
queso
and a Medalla. The dumplings’ flaky crust tasted so
wonderful that he found himself ordering more. Tomás grinned at him when the
waitress brought over a second plate heaped with extra
arepas
. John ate
these so quickly that the bubbling cheese burned his palate, but still his
stomach felt hollow. Perhaps he’d better order something more sustaining,
something more basic like rice and beans. When the waitress set the bowl of
arroz con habichuelas
in front of him, he started to sigh until he caught sight of the chunk of ham,
a dark pink iceberg floating in a sea of rich brown. Even then, he almost
tasted it. His mouth watered while he struggled against the complex scent of
cilantro, garlic, and smoked meat. The waitress, who’d come to check on his
food, saved him from himself. He sent the bowl back untouched.

Tomás
came over looking concerned. “The
arroz con habichuelas
, they are bad,
señor
?
They are
una especialidad de mi esposa
.”

John
squirmed and made an embarrassed face. “I’m sure they’re
deliciosa
,
Tomás. But I don’t eat ham.”

Tomás’s
face cleared. “Oh, I see,
señor
.
No problema
. I will tell her to
make you some without.”

“You
don’t have to do that.”

“Oh,
it’s
no problema
. Many people, they don’t like ham. We often eat it
without ourselves.”

Thankfully
Tomás hurried away before John could protest again. He longed for the ham, but
everything tasted so good here that he shouldn’t give in to his baser cravings,
even though the hollowness in the pit of his stomach had spread down his
thighs.
To distract himself while he waited for the
vegetarian beans and rice, he pulled
Zoë’s postcard out and laid it on
the table to consider.

Fifteen
minutes later, the waitress deposited another bowl in front of him with a
thunk
.
John looked at her, but she’d already turned, disapproval in her meaty
shoulders. John shrugged and scooped up a mouthful of the savory beans and
rice. Before he could stop himself, he’d shoveled the contents of the bowl into
his maw. Afterwards, he still felt empty. He’d hardly begun to study the menu
when Raimunda, pink and brown and luscious, sauntered into his line of vision.
She stopped at his table, a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from her fingers.
She smiled, her dark eyes bold.

“Find
your mystery woman yet?” He couldn’t believe how attractive he found her husky
voice. The hollow feeling spread to his chest.

“Nope.”
John hoped that he sounded casual. He nodded toward a seat. “You’ll have to
do.”

Raimunda
sat down and pulled her chair closer to his. “Buy me a beer?”

John
waved the waitress over and ordered two Medallas. Raimunda put soft fingers on
his wrist. He felt rather than heard his stomach growl.

“A plate
of
alcapurrias
, too. You do not mind?” She smiled. “I am ravenous.”

When the
basket of deep-fried yucca fritters arrived, John’s stomach did rumble aloud.
He smiled and shrugged and focused on his order of
sorullos
, a cornmeal
“log” stuffed with cheese.

Raimunda
picked up one of the
alcapurrias
, broke it in half, and offered it to
him. John shook his head, but his gaze stayed on the tantalizing deep-orange
pocket filled with what looked like ground beef. Raimunda took a dainty bite
from her half, and John could almost taste the savory meat-and-yucca.

“Have
some, my friend,” Raimunda said and brought the
alcapurria
nearer to his
nose.

They sat
that way for an eternity while John’s heartbeat filled his head and hunger
filled his whole body. He leaned over and took a deliberate, large bite from
the fritter. It was his first taste of beef in almost a year and it tasted out
of this world. He took another bite, his lips brushing Raimunda’s fingers as
she popped the last of the
alcapurria
into his mouth. She said nothing,
just pushed the basket closer to him.

He ate
three more orders of
alcapurrias
before the hollowness inside him had
been satiated. He’d had no idea how hungry he’d been until the relief at not
being hungry left him drowsy and unfocused. He slouched in his chair and played
with the label that he’d stripped from his Medalla bottle. Through its brown
glass, he saw Zoë’s postcard lying under an empty basket. Grease spots speckled
his handwriting. He found that he didn’t care.

They sat
drinking and talking for another half an hour. A few more customers wandered in
and the conversation at the bar grew lively, but no one looked their way. John
let words slip from his mouth, too overwhelmed by Raimunda’s scent, her throaty
laugh, the hollow at the base of her neck, to have more than a passing interest
in the sound of his own voice. He floated just outside his head, detached from
himself and yet aware of how hot he was, how slick his palms were on his
thighs. When Raimunda edged her seat closer, he knew only the reality of the
pulse fluttering in her throat.

“Let’s
leave.” She spoke low, sending a thrill through him.

“You got
someplace in mind?” He heard the tremor in his voice.

She
stood up. Held out her hand. “Come,
gringo
.”

They
left his bike outside Isla Encantada. She held his hand in her warm, dry one
and led him through Dewey, past the disapproving Catholic Church and the darkly
officious post office. A few Culebrenses congregated on lit porches drinking
beer and listening to tinny radios, their warm laughter muffling John’s steps.
Raimunda padded along on cat’s feet. On the far side of the plaza a couple of
sailors sauntered into the liquor store, but the
pueblo
was otherwise
deserted at this hour. No one called out to them or even looked their way—they
were wraiths. Near the clinic, Raimunda turned west and headed away from town.
John tried to picture where they were going, but a fuzzy Culebra map only
flickered and died in his memory.

They
walked close to each other, Raimunda’s arm grazing his every so often. As she
moved, she exuded the spicy scent of cloves and musk that he already associated
with her. It made him lightheaded. Perhaps Raimunda clicked no castanets nor
seductively twirled any long skirts, but in her company he had no desire to
meet a
señorita
. He’d just begun to wonder where she was leading him
when he saw the sign for Playa Melones, a small stony beach near the southern
tip of the canal. Except for a red navigation light glowing at the tip of a
thin tower on the point, only the sound of lapping waves and the pungent odor
of seaweed and salt greeted them.

Before
John could speak, Raimunda sank down onto her knees and tugged at a sandal
strap. She braced her shoulder against his thigh and lifted his foot to remove
the loosened shoe, running her warm fingers lightly up his calf afterwards.
John let his hand drift to her shoulder where it rested among soft dark hair.
He leaned into her as she stripped the other sandal off. Again she caressed his
calf. Gooseflesh sprung up in the wake of her fingers, which traveled as far as
his shorts. Just as they tickled the skin under the hem, she jumped up and
pulled John toward the water. As soon as their feet touched the wet stones, she
ran ahead of him on the thin strip of beach.

John
stood, gasping faintly.

“Catch
me,
gringo
,” Raimunda called over her shoulder.

His legs
carried him forward before his mind had chosen to act. As John ran after her,
she swerved into the ocean. Water swirled around his ankles before he realized
what he’d done and stopped. She appeared not to notice and continued until the
water reached her thighs. She turned around to face him.

“You
must follow me to catch me, my friend,” she said. The warm huskiness of her
voice made the night intimate. “Rescue
me
.”

The soft
sibilance of her
rescue
twined around him, tugged him toward her even
though the rush of the water urged him to stay safe on shore. Heart pounding,
he waded deeper, his eyes locked onto Raimunda, her head dark against the night
sky and her face hidden in shadow. And then she turned and headed toward the
path of flickering moonlight caressing the waves. Without warning, she slid
under the surface and disappeared. John’s heart lanced his throat and he lunged
toward the spot that she’d last been standing. Water cascaded over his head as
he plunged into the suffocating ocean and grabbed for her. His hand closed on
her hair. He snatched her head up and stumbled back until his feet touched the
bottom.

They
stood there, panting, faces dark and streaming.

 “What
did you say last night about making me glad to be alive?” The words tumbled out
of him. Beyond recall.

For an
answer, Raimunda pressed her chest against his and leaned in to kiss him. Her
hot, salty mouth clung to his. The water tugged at their shoulders, pulled at
their legs. But it could not separate them.

***

John
woke up late the next morning, headachy and stiff—and bemused. He’d only had
three or four beers last night, but the fuzzy feeling between his ears and
along his tongue testified to former intoxication, as though the forbidden
beef, or Raimunda, had made him drunk. He sat up and rubbed his temples,
squinting against the light. He’d slept heavily, dreamlessly. A sense of regret
filled him as he realized this. He’d missed something. Or someone. Regret and
peevishness sharpened the ache between his eyes, but he managed to shoulder
them aside as he ate a cold breakfast of bread and cheese. He had the
campground to himself now that the weekend beachgoers had returned to the
mainland so he left his sleeping bag unrolled when he left to go kayaking. He
biked into town, passing parents kissing children good-bye at the school. It
was a familiar, if unexpected sight. That sealed it. No paradise contained a
school.

He
arrived at Luís Peña around nine-thirty and paddled around to the north side of
the cay to the small beach there. Like much of the larger Culebra, the
uninhabited Luís Peña Cay was covered with low-growing vegetation, stunted
trees and dense shrubs; at its highest point, south of the beach, it reached
nearly five hundred feet. Even though it was a nature preserve, day trips for
hikes, snorkeling and swimming were allowed. Still, he was almost guaranteed to
have the entire cay to himself on a Tuesday morning in March. He’d maneuvered
his kayak without any difficulty, gliding smoothly and silently over the innocuous
seawater, its clear depths hiding no dangers. After securing the kayak, he set
out to explore the cay, taking forty-five minutes to walk its perimeter. By the
time he returned to the beach, the fuzzy fatigue had burned off in the morning
sun, taking his black feelings with it.

While he
drank some water, he imagined that he was Robinson Crusoe. Castaway and forced
to survive by his wits. No hard drives. No fluorescent lights. No windowless
lab space. Just him, his hands, and what God and nature provided. An image of
himself, woolly bearded and tanned sinew, filled his mind. He laughed. He
wouldn’t last three days let alone twenty-eight years. Still chuckling, he
stripped off his sweaty t-shirt and shorts, leaving them to dry on a rock.
After a few minutes, he added his sweaty underwear, too.

He
considered the ocean before him. Unlike the fear that had gripped him last
night when Raimunda beckoned him into the water, this gently lapping expanse
promised peace. As long as he went no deeper than waist high, he should be
fine. He wandered fifteen feet into the water, which was too warm to cool off
in, and swam across the length of the small bay twice. The desire to separate
from his body as it moved, to recapture the sweet blankness that had freed him as
he’d cycled yesterday afternoon flitted in his thoughts, but a shadow on his
spirit stoppered them inside his head. He flipped over onto his back and
floated, his hearing muffled by seawater and his eyes dazzled by the sun.
Seabirds streamed overhead like bits of windblown confetti. He tried to
distinguish different species, but outside of the laughing gulls he was
familiar with and a variety of pelican, the rest remained unknown—just as his
rescuer remained unknown. She was one more element of nature, inextricably
linked to Culebra’s beauty and serenity.

As if
conjured up by this thought, an upside-down face blocked his view of the sky.

“Ahhh!”
He pulled his feet to the sandy bottom to right himself. His heart zigzagged
and his breathing sped up.

Saltwater
streamed into his eyes and blinded him. He swiped at the water running down his
forehead. When he could see again, he realized that a young woman swam nearby.

“You
scared the shit out of me.” Even as he said this, his heart righted itself and
his breathing calmed.

She
flinched and backed away from him.

He
regretted his words, the sharpness of his voice. He extended a hand toward her.
“No, don’t go. I didn’t mean to yell at you. You just surprised me, that’s
all.” Could this be his mystery woman? Only her face, her hair plastered to her
head, appeared above the water’s surface. Hard to know if she had the hair or
the breasts to be the one.