"No. I have to hop so my piggies don't burn. Ouch...ouch...ouch...ouch."
"Ohhh, well maybe you could hop down to the water then, like a bunny-rabbit."
"No, Papai. Bunny rabbits hop with two feet at a time. I'm only hopping with one foot at a time."
"Of course. How foolish of me," he laughed.
Renie hopped from foot to foot down to the water and then ran along the ridges of the surf.
Keeping an eye on his daughter, Inacio turned his head toward his wife. "I wonder where she gets that stubborn streak from."
Mamãe leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his bicep. "When have you ever known me to be stubborn, my love?"
"Well, have you made an appointment with the doctor yet?"
"Oh, don't start."
"Start what?"
"You know very well what."
"My darling, it has been more than four years."
She smiled and kissed him. "Yes, my love, four years of trying vigorously. Has it been so horrible for you?"
Inacio grinned and shook his head. "That's not the point. I'd like to have a son before I'm too old."
"You are barely thirty, my love. We have plenty of time."
"What could it hurt just to talk to a doctor?"
Mamãe drew apart from him and sighed. "I hear your voice, Inacio, but I think the words, they are your mother's."
"She is just concerned for us."
"I wish she would concentrate on concerns of her own."
Inacio fixed her with a solemn gaze. "I love you more than life, my darling, but be careful how you speak about my mother."
"I am sorry. It's just that..."
"Papai, Papai. Save me!" Renie screamed as she ran from the water, "A giant shark is after me."
The little girl was soaked with seawater. She leaped into Inacio's arms and hugged him tightly around the neck.
"A shark?" Inacio played along. "Where is it? I'll kill it with my bare hands."
Renie squinted and pointed to the sea.
Inacio shaded his eyes with his hand and surveyed the beach. He made a fist and shook it in the air. "Don't you dare come near my Renie-bird, Mr. Shark, or I'll grab you by the tail and throw you so far out to sea that you'll be lost forever. Then you'll be sorry."
Renie giggled. Inacio cradled her in his arms and kissed her. "He's gone, meu coração. He's swimming away as fast as he can. Don't you worry: Your papai will never let anything bad happen to you."
Chapter 13
September 14, 1963
ON THEIR SIXTH wedding anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Inacio Raposo had dropped off their daughter, Renata Angelina, at her elementary school. Uncle Pio would pick up Renie at the end of the school day, and take her to Angelina's to spend the night. After their appointment the couple planned to celebrate their anniversary in the elegant dining room of The Clipper Inn, a wooden, oceanfront hotel with a colonial motif.
They sat across from the doctor at his large, walnut desk. Inacio twiddled his thumbs nervously. He already regretted buckling to his mother's pressure to have fertility tests and decided that, no matter what was wrong with his wife, he did not want her to carry a burden of guilt. He was already thinking about the ways in which he might console her when the doctor delivered his diagnosis.
"Well, the news is not good, I'm afraid," the doctor said in a businesslike yet compassionate voice.
Inacio took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze.
"Our tests show that Mrs. Raposo is fine but you, Mr. Raposo, are another story. Your sperm count is just too low for you to become a father again."
The Raposos were silent. Inacio, at first, looked shocked, and then embarrassed. The doctor had experienced this pause hundreds of times in his career, and had learned early on to let the couple take a moment to absorb the disappointment.
Inacio shook his head. "I don't understand. Is it because I'm too old?"
The doctor chuckled. "No, no, nothing like that. The reason is right here in your medical history: You had a severe case of rheumatic fever. I'm afraid it damaged you to the point where it would take a miracle now. You should consider yourselves very lucky to have conceived a child before you got sick."
Inacio frowned and his eyes darted about. After a moment, he turned his head slowly to stare at his wife, drawing his hand from hers as he did. His lip curled and he fixed her with an icy stare. She kept her eyes trained on her lap.
"There's always adoption..." the doctor had started to say.
But Inacio was already on his feet and leaving the office. Mamãe sat in silence, her head bowed, for a long while. Finally, she let her eyes meet the doctor's for just a moment. Then she slowly rose and walked out.
§
Mamãe gingerly opened the passenger car door and slid onto the bench seat beside her husband. They sat in silence for a moment. Then Inacio shot her a glare so contemptuous that she could feel it. She stared straight ahead and swallowed hard.
Inacio snarled, and then exploded. He punched the side of her face full-force as he screamed, "Whore!" The vicious blow sent her flying. Her momentum abruptly halted when the opposite side of her head smashed against the passenger window. Her body instinctively jerked into a defensive curl, and she struggled to stay conscious.
"I don't understand," she cried, "it must be a mistake."
"Lying whore." Inacio struck again and hit the hand she had raised to protect her face.
Inacio slipped the transmission into Drive and raced home like a madman. Along the way he alternated shrieked obscenities with brutal back-handed blows. The car skidded to a halt in the dirt driveway of their cottage on Rose Hip Point. Inacio, his face contorted, flung open his car door, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her across the car's front seat and onto the ground. She clung desperately to his forearm and flailed her legs in a futile attempt to stand up. He pulled her along the driveway, across the lawn, and over the backdoor threshold to the kitchen. He hurled her headlong across the linoleum floor and into the refrigerator with such force that she blacked out. Moments later, she shook the daze from her head and opened her eyes. Inacio stood over her holding a knife.
She began to weep, pleading quickly in her native Portuguese tongue. "Please, Inacio, please don't do this."
Inacio did not respond, and his silence and murderous stare were somehow more menacing than his screams and punches. Panic engulfed her, and she blurted out the truth.
"Inacio, please listen to me. It's true. Yes, yes, yes, it is true. It was just once, a few days before I left home. I was young and foolish. I was angry because I was being sent to a strange place to marry a man I didn't even know.
"And then when I came here and you were sick, and I was... I panicked. I was afraid. I'm sorry."
Inacio was unmoved.
"But that was before I got to know you...and love you," she whimpered.
Inacio kicked her in the stomach. "Don't you dare talk about love, you fucking whore. You tricked me. You made me love you and your bastard kid. And it was all a lie."
His eyes watered. "You were everything to me." He shook his head and turned away. "And now it's all gone," he said, more to himself than to her.
"Inacio, it doesn't have to be," she cried desperately, "Look at all we've built together, all we've been to each other. We can get past this. We don't have to lose it."
Inacio grabbed her hair, pulled her face close to his, and put the knife to her throat. "It's already gone, you fucking whore, because of you and your lies. Once a whore, always a whore. "
She feared for her very life now and began to sob. "Inacio, please, please. I'm sorry, so sorry. Please forgive me. Please don't do this to me. Don't do this to us."
She was astonished to see a slight smile come to Inacio's lips. Then the smile faded and his eyes grew colder. And she begged for her life. "Please, Inacio, don't. I'll do anything, anything."
Inacio raised the knife.
"No, Inacio... Nooo!"
Chapter 14
October 9, 1963
INACIO BECAME INCENSED as he rapidly opened and shut cabinet doors in the tiny kitchen. "Where is it?" he muttered.
"Where's what, Papai?" Renie followed on his heels. "I can find it for you."
Inacio pushed her aside.
The little girl shrank. "I just wanted to help you," she murmured.
"I don't need your help," he said. "Where is it?" he repeated, glaring at Mamãe.
Mamãe's shoulders sagged. She bent down and opened the oven door. She took the whiskey bottle out and placed it on the countertop. Inacio grabbed her throat with one hand and lifted her onto her tip-toes. "Don't ever do that again," he spat.
He took the bottle and a water glass to the living room and set them on the side table next to his easy chair. He turned the television on and poured four fingers of whiskey while he waited for the TV set to warm up. He sank into the chair, propped his feet up on a footstool, and took a sip.
Renie watched her papai for a few minutes. When he seemed more relaxed, she slunk over to the easy chair and crawled onto his lap.
"Get off," he said brusquely.
Renie scampered from the chair and across the room.
"Come, meu coração," Mamãe said, "Let me give you a nice warm bath."
Afterwards, when she was nice and clean, Renie knelt at her bedside and finished her prayers with "...and please make papai not be mad anymore." Then Mamãe tucked her into the blankets, and sat on the edge of the bed and read to her.
"In the great green room..."
"Why is Papai mad at me? Am I naughty?"
"No, meu curacao, he is just tired."
Mamãe read three and a half storybooks before Renie lost the battle with her eyelids.
Later that night a noise stirred Renie from her sleep. She listened, but the house was quiet once more. She closed her eyes and rolled over. Then there it was again—a sound she didn't recognize.
Frightened, she slipped out of bed and hurried across the hall to her parents' bedroom. The door was closed. She reached for the doorknob and heard the sound a third time: WHAP. It came from her parents' room.
She gathered all her courage, turned the doorknob, and pushed inward. The door swung open.
Though they faced her, they did not see her. Mamãe was naked and knelt on the far edge of the bed, her bottom high in the air. Her welt-covered back curved downward, and her shoulders and face were buried in the bedspread. Her black hair splayed out around her. Her hands clutched the bedspread in tight fists.
Papai was naked too. Eyes closed, he stood behind Mamãe and thrust his pelvis against her bottom. Papai's right hand held a thick leather belt. He raised it high in the air and then brought it down hard on the small of Mamãe's back: WHAP. Mamãe's body twitched and her cry was muffled by the bedding.
Little Renie gasped.
Mamãe's face came up, and Papai's eyes flew open at the same time. Mamãe's eyes were teary and swollen.
"Get out!" Inacio screamed, "Get out!" He launched the belt across the room. It struck Renie on the cheek.
The little girl recoiled in horror and her lower lip quivered.
Mamãe implored, "Go, meu coração, quickly. Get into bed, and I'll come to you soon."
Renie turned and ran back to her room, crying "I'm sorry, Papai, I'll be good," as she went. She flung the door shut, ran, and jumped into bed. She pulled the covers up over her head. Her little body trembled as she sobbed.
Soon, her mother came to her, wearing a heavy cotton bathrobe. Mamãe settled in next to her daughter and held her close. Renie found reassurance and comfort in the warmth and scent of her mother.
"You were naughty, Mamãe?"
"Yes," she answered. "Mamãe made a mistake."
"That's okay, you won't do it again." Renie's tone sounded very adult.
Mamãe stroked her daughter's hair. "No, I won't."
Later that night Renie dreamed that she was floating in the ocean while a giant shark circled her. She saw Papai on the beach. She screamed to him and swam toward him, but the harder she stroked, the farther away he became.
The shark was upon her now. It opened its huge mouth wide and bared its enormous razor-sharp teeth. Renie felt herself being sucked in to its mouth along with volumes of sea water. The shark's jaws began to close as if in slow motion and Renie knew that she about to be bitten in half.
She sat up in bed, screamed and flailed, and called for her papai. Mamãe held her, whispering, "Shh, meu coração, it is just a pesadelo, a bad dream."
PART TWO
The Light Keeper
Chapter 15
Present Day
MARK VALENTE STOOD hunched over a laptop computer on the Cape Ann Oceanographic Institute's research vessel, Ved-ava, as the ship bobbed on the calm Atlantic. He was looking at a nautical chart, but his thoughts had turned to Jill, as they so often did.
They had met while undergraduates at Boston University. His major was biology, hers, political science. They had fallen in love and made the beginnings of a life together in a tiny hovel at the north end of Boston.
When Mark received his Ph.D., the Oceanographic Institute offered him a job. That night Mark and Jill celebrated at a small Italian restaurant. Later, after making love, they held each other in bed, kissing. Jill's eyes closed and her breathing became deeper with the beginnings of slumber.
Mark studied her face and stroked her blond hair. His heart joyful, he put his lips to hers and whispered, "Marry me?"
Jill's blue eyes opened wide, and she smiled. "I thought we didn't need that whole marriage thing."
"I need you, and I want to marry you."
"Then, yes."
But that had been twenty years ago, and Jill had been gone for ten years, now.
An intern entered the bridge, interrupting his thoughts. "Excuse me, Dr. Valente," he said, "but there's a call for you on the satellite phone."
"Do you know who it is?" Mark asked without taking his eyes from the computer.
"Somebody from a Veterans Affairs hospital. They said it's personal."
"Veterans Affairs? Hospital? Hmm." Mark stood up straight and made eye-contact with the young man. "Thank you."
Mark took the phone and put it to his ear. "This is Mark Valente."
As he listened to the voice at the other end of the call, Mark's face turned ashen and his jaw slackened.
"Dr. Valente, are you still there?" the voice on the other end of the line asked when Mark let silence hang between them for a moment too long.
"Yes, yes, I'm here," he said. "Sorry, it's just a bit of a shock. Are you certain it's him?"
"Yes, we're certain. I take it you weren't aware of his condition."
Mark shook his head in disbelief. "I don't see how I could be. My uncle disappeared from Rose Hip Point lighthouse more than thirty-five years ago, and hasn't been heard from since."
§
Mark drove from his house on Cape Ann to the Soldiers' Home on the outskirts of Boston in less than an hour. He locked his pick-up truck with a click of the remote and walked across the parking lot.
This responsibility for Uncle Pete had been thrust upon him for no better reason than that he happened to be the man's next of kin. He just wanted to do his part and be done with it. He shook his head and took the marble steps of the large brick building two at a time.
He was torn by the prospect of coming face to face with his uncle. Mark's mother, Marybeth, had always spoken affectionately of her troubled brother, but Mark knew that Pete's disappearance had caused her a heartache that had stayed with her for the rest of her life.
Mark had never really known his uncle. He had met him a few times as a child, but he'd been too young to remember much. His mother had described Pete as "broken." The war had broken his body, she'd said, but a girl named Cindy had broken his heart and spirit. Mark's father just thought Pete was nuts.
Now, after decades of silence, Pete had turned up here. The Director of Social Services had tracked Mark down and a
sked if he'd be willing to become his uncle's court-appointed guardian. Because he knew it was what his mother would have wanted, Mark had agreed.
The clerk at the information desk directed Mark to the office of Dr. Patel, who explained that Peter Ahearn suffered from a form of dementia, possibly early-onset Alzheimer's. "There's no way to know the cause for certain in a man so relatively young," she said. "But during his service in Vietnam, your uncle was exposed to Agent Orange.
"Peter spends most of his time sleeping or staring at the television. He seldom speaks anymore. And on the rare occasions when he does, it's usually incomprehensible, a kind of gibberish that sounds like mee-nall-may-soo-ah.
"If they mean anything at all, they might be Vietnamese words he learned long ago. Victims of dementia often remember the distant past with crystal clarity. But to be perfectly candid, we're somewhat baffled. When he was brought to us three months ago, his impairment seemed pretty moderate, and he was functioning and communicating rather well. He was diagnosed with MCI, or mild cognitive impairment, and I prescribed a daily dose of Aricept to help alleviate his symptoms.
"We completed a CT scan and an MRI, which showed some signs of plaque on his brain, as might be expected, but no indication of a tumor. Then he just stopped talking overnight—well, except for those sounds he makes..." the doctor paused for a moment. "The thing is: When he says those things, he sounds as if he's practicing, like it's something he's afraid he'll forget. There is no medical reason for it that I can see. It's as if he just made a conscious decision to shut down."
Mark nodded. "Doctor, you said someone brought him here: Who? And where did they bring him from?"
"Good questions, Mr. Valente. But I don't have the answers. I was hoping that you might know."
What Mark knew of Peter Ahearn would fit in a thimble: He only had a few blurry childhood memories of his own, and the recollections his mother had passed on to him over the years.
Chapter 16
Hollistown Harbor, Massachusetts
December 24, 1969
For Renata Page 5