by CJ Brightley
So by the time I started school, we didn’t have the fire festival anymore. I didn’t think about it much as I was growing up. I was busy studying hard. I went to a special high school in the capital city, on the coast. And then I went to your country for university, though in a place far away from where you live. I wish I could have visited your lagoon home.
Some months after I came back to my country, I had a dream about the Lady of the Ruby Lake. I dreamed she had become a very old grandmother. She asked me why nobody celebrated fire anymore, and I didn’t have an answer for her. She shook her head and said it was too bad, just too bad, and started to walk away. I felt so sorry. I said, “I promise we’ll have a festival again.”
And when I woke up, I thought how good it would be to have a celebration, like we had when I was little. I got my friends to help me, and we worked hard to recreate our childhood memories. I didn’t think the government would mind, because we had no rebellious intentions at all, but I was wrong. The day of the festival, they arrested all of us.
I told them that we were only doing it because of my dream, that we didn’t care about a separate country or any of that, but they didn’t believe me. And meanwhile people in the mountains were angry about us getting arrested, so angry that they did start up the old talk about a separate country—which made the government all the more sure of our guilt. They put my friends in an ordinary prison, but they made this one specially for me. They said, since I was acting as the voice of the Lady of the Ruby Lake, they’d make a house for me right over the Ruby Lake, as an honor to her. It’s a kind of taunt; they have no real respect for the Lady.
Sometimes I wish the Lady really had chosen me to speak for her, but I highly doubt it’s the case. If she had, shouldn’t I have more dreams and visions? What does she want me to say?
Truthfully, I don’t know if I even really believe in her. Do you believe in the Seafather? Are you truly expecting him to rescue Jiminy? I hope somehow it can be so.
My regards to both your parents, and to your friends. As I fall asleep tonight, with this house swaying over the Ruby Lake, I will think of you, rocked by your house as the tide comes in.
With gratitude,
Kaya
August 10 (Em’s diary)
This afternoon, all the time we were guiding our dinghies through the maze of little water paths in the hushing, shushing grass (me and Small Bill in his, Tammy and Clara in ours, and Wade and Skinnylegs in Wade’s), I was thinking about Kaya’s letter, that I got in the morning. The part about her country and its government made me a pricking, jellyfish stinging kind of mad. Not letting people speak their own language or sing their own songs? How can the government make rules like that?
That’s one thing about being a seachild. Dry-land kids can tease and grown-ups can frown when we’re up there on the dusty shore, but when we’re in Mermaid’s Hands, they leave us alone. The sea hold us cupped in its palm, and who’d fight the sea? You can never win against the sea. Dry-land people are scared of it. That’s why their boats are so big. And the government never bothers about us. Mermaid’s Hands ain’t even written on maps. I looked.
The part of Kaya’s letter that made me the angriest, though, was the part about sticking Kaya right over the Ruby Lake and pretending it was out of respect. It’s like when a bunch of the girls at Sandy Neck High School told Small Bill’s biggest sister, Jenya, that they wanted to crown her Mermaid Princess, and that it was like prom queen, only better. They made a crown of gulfweed and decorated it with fishing lures and put it on her head and said how pretty and took photos, and Jenya was flattered, because gulfweed is pretty, and so are fishing lures, but then they all started laughing and saying, “She believed it! She believed it! Wearing seaweed in her hair!”
Jenya had the last laugh, though. Those girls were jealous because Cody Boyd was paying her so much attention, and now Cody and her are engaged, and Cody’s going to come live with us in Mermaid’s Hands and become a seachild.
I wish Kaya could have the last laugh, too. Being trapped above a volcano’s way worse than having people make fun of you for wearing a seaweed crown.
Those questions Kaya asked in that letter … Some of them make me a little dizzy, when I try and think about them.
Do I believe in the Seafather? That’s what I was pondering when Skinnylegs said, “Here’s a good spot.” The water lane had opened up into a wide pool, with grass walls all around it. He jumped in with a splash, and a heron at the other end of the pool flew off. “Coming?”
“How’s the bottom? Soft or supersoft?” Wade asked. Skinnylegs was up to his hips in water, so we couldn’t see how deep into the mud those skinny legs of his were.
“A good amount of soft,” he said. “Not too slurpy.” The rest of us jumped in too. I went completely under, so that the breeze would feel cool on my wet skin when I came back up. The soft mud squeezed my ankles. We spread out all across the pool and began dipping our umbrella nets.
“You ever hear of anyone talking with the Seafather?” I asked Small Bill. I was thinking about how the Lady of the Ruby Lake talked to Kaya in Kaya’s dream. When the Seafather gave fins to Vaillant, did they talk, one to the other?
Small Bill looked surprised. “Well, when the tide comes in, and you hear the surf and the shells on the sand—”
“I don’t mean that kind of talking,” I said. “I mean with words, like you and me are using.”
Small Bill dipped his hand in the water and ran it through his hair. Little drips came down the side of his face.
“Why does he need to talk in words?” he asked. “Don’t everything talk its own language? Gulls talk a lot, and dolphins, but not in people words.”
“I know, but—”
“Is it your ma again, saying that the Seafather’s nothing but stories?”
“No, it’s not her, it’s my pen pal, Kaya. She was asking if I really believed in the Seafather. Where she lives, they have the Lady of the Ruby Lake, who lives in volcanoes, to look after them the way we have the Seafather. The Lady of the Ruby Lake spoke to Kaya in a dream and asked for a festival, and that’s why Kaya got in trouble, because in her country they’re not supposed to have any festivals for the Lady of the Ruby Lake.”
“That don’t make sense. If the Lady of the Ruby Lake looks after them, then how come they can’t they have festivals for her?”
“It’s something about politics. Not everybody in Kaya’s country believes in the Lady. The people that live in the mountains believe in her, but there’s not many of them, and there’s whole boatloads of people living in the lowlands that don’t.”
“Like there’s not many of us who know the Seafather, compared to people on dry land, who don’t.”
“Yeah, like that. Only worse, ‘cause dry-land people don’t pay no never mind to the Seafather, but in Kaya’s country—”
“‘cept for your ma. She minds,” Small Bill interrupted.
“Ma’s not a dry-lander! Don’t call her that! What I’m saying is, nobody cares, here. We can call to the Seafather each morning, and the school don’t care, and the police don’t care, and the president and the army don’t care. But where Kaya is, the government thinks calling to the Lady equals calling for rebellion.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. That’s why Kaya got arrested.”
Small Bill waved his hand by his head, maybe to drive away gnats, maybe to drive away politics.
“So what’s all that got to do with whether the Seafather talks in words?” he asked.
“The Lady of the Ruby Lake spoke to Kaya in words, in her dream. But in her letter, Kaya said she wasn’t sure if she believed in the Lady … I don’t know. If someone like the Lady talks to you, person to person, wouldn’t it make you believe?”
Small Bill shrugged. “Well, you said it was a dream. That’s not the same as when you’re awake.”
That’s true, and when he said it, I nodded. But just now, writing it all down, I’m thinking, but Kaya organized a wh
ole festival because of that dream. If you do something because of a dream, then don’t that show you believe it even more? I wonder if Kaya believes and just don’t realize it.
“Kaya also asked if I thought the Seafather would rescue Jiminy.” I kept my eyes on the water when I told Small Bill that, so as to keep my feelings on the topic horizon-level.
Small Bill got his considering face on, the one where he sticks out his lower lip a little. A dragonfly buzzed between us. I could hear the others splashing and talking on the far side of the pool.
“I wish I could go see him,” I added, watching the puffs of silt that rose up each time I put my foot down. Little underwater explosions.
There was a splash right by us, and up came Skinnylegs out of the water.
“You gonna check your net at all or just let it sit under there? We’ve already got half a bucket full.”
We lifted up our net and put the good stuff into our bucket, then moved on a bit and put the net down again. It was getting headache hot, so I took another dip and let the water finger through my hair a bit. It feels good while you’re under, but then your hair’s just heavy when you come back up.
“There’s Mr. Tiptoe’s truck,” Small Bill said, when I resurfaced. It took a minute for me to realize he was still trying to think of a way for me to visit Jiminy. “Maybe you could go with him next time he takes a catch to the restaurants inland. Then maybe he might …” He frowned. The thought was probably occurring to him that occurred to me, when I first thought of begging a ride from Mr. Tiptoe: that Jiminy’s prison is hundreds of miles away, and across state lines. “Too far?” he asked. I nodded.
“Probably. I think it would take all day.”
Actually, I ought to check that. I ain’t sure exactly-precisely how long it would take.
“Anyway,” I said, “Mr. Tiptoe has Cody to help him—I’d just be in the way.” Ma’s always telling us not to be in the way, and Cody has a driver’s license and strong arms, so he’s a better helper. He’s always offering, too, to help Mr. Tiptoe or anyone else in Mermaid’s Hands with anything that needs doing, and he’ll do things no one else much likes doing, like dealing with folks on dry land.
Cody’s the opposite of Ma: he slid right into Mermaid’s Hands like we were holding a spot open for him. Mrs. Ovey says he must’ve been stolen away from the sea as a baby. “Good thing we’ve got you back now,” she tells him. “Good thing Jenya recognized a sea spirit when she saw one.”
It’s hard not to like Cody. He has time for everybody and never loses his temper. There’s lots of things he don’t know about, growing up on dry land, but he’s not bothered when there’s stuff that even a little kid can do better than him. He just says, “Wow, you’re so good at that,” and he means it.
But what if the spot Cody slid into is the one that opened up when Jiminy left? Sometimes I get the feeling everyone else thinks if it’s a trade, Cody for Jiminy, then Mermaid’s Hands won out. It makes it hard for me to like Cody one hundred percent.
“Ready to go?” called Skinnylegs.
Tammy and Clara had already given up on fishing and were chasing each other in and out of the cordgrass, shrieking and laughing.
“Just about,” I called back, and me and Small Bill pulled up our net one last time.
There was a battered tin cup in it.
“Sabelle Morning’s cup,” Small Bill said, eyes wide.
“Sabelle, Sabelle Morning
Catch her if you can
Sharptongue crow on her shoulder
Tin cup in her hand.”
We whisper-sang it together.
“You think it’s really hers?” I asked. He picked the cup out of the net and turned it over in his hands. Every dent and bang was greeny black, and there was a tiny crab inside.
It sure looked old, but once a thing’s been asleep in salty water for a while, it gets hard to tell its true age.
“Look,” Small Bill said, showing me the bottom of the cup. There was a bird stamped in it, a bird with hunched shoulders, perching on a key—a crow. Tingles of excitement bubbled up from the bottom of me to the top. It had to be hers.
“‘Drink the cup of fortune that you make for yourself.’ The grown-ups are always saying that. Sabelle Morning’s motto. Maybe it means we can find a way to get you to see Jiminy,” Small Bill suggested.
“You think?”
“C’mon, you guys!” called Clara. “We’re going to the garden floats next!”
“Okay, okay!” we called back, and quickly poured the keeper fish from the net into our bucket and dumped the rest.
“Let’s not tell anyone else about the cup just yet, okay?” I begged. Small Bill nodded.
Sometimes you gotta keep some things private for a while. Like Kaya’s letters. Small Bill’s the only person outside my family I’ve told about them.
It was only when we were checking the garden floats that the thought hit me, Is the cup the Seafather talking? Maybe Small Bill’s right: it’s best for him to talk with the voice of the sea. When you’re hungry, he sends you fish, and when you’re losing hope, he sends you a cup.
We were late getting back. The tide had already set our houses down, and we had to drag the dinghies over the mud the last little bit. The parents had relit the fires from yesterday, right on the mud, only instead of cooking up seagift stew, like they were yesterday, they were mainly canning the extra, to take to sell in Sandy Neck and other towns. But Mrs. Tiptoe and Skinnylegs’ stepmom Silent Soriya were reheating a portion for everybody to share, and when they saw we’d come back with fresh fish plus vegetables, they called us over so we could add what we had to the pots. Clara’s twin brothers were playing with Skinnylegs’ little sister Anna, and Mrs. Tiptoe and Silent Soriya were letting them all take turns stirring, even though they can barely reach over the top. Brightly Tiptoe, who’s a bit bigger than the twins, was sticking bits of driftwood into the fire and watching the flames turn colors. Lindie Ovey and her friends had gone to the other garden floats and gotten mint, and Cody and Jenya were pouring cups of mint water for everyone from the Oveys’ rain barrel.
“You’re gonna empty your barrel,” Clara said, peering into it. Her voice echoed.
“It’ll rain again soon enough,” said Jenya. “Our dad’s been listening to the weather channel. Hurricane Gaspard’s gonna miss us, but there’ll be thunderstorms. Maybe tomorrow. What do you think, Granddad?”
Jenya and Small Bill’s grandfather is also Clara’s grandfather, because Mr. Tiptoe and Mrs. Ovey are brother and sister, and Snowy Tiptoe is their father.
Thing I wonder: What did everybody call Snowy Tiptoe before his hair turned white?
Snowy smiled in my direction and said, “Why not ask the girl who knows when the Seafather’s herding fish our way? She’ll be able to tell you. Right Em?”
That made me feel sunshiny bright.
When someone puts sunny words on you like that, the thing to do is pass the sunshine on, so I said,
“Seafather sends them to us cause he misses his smallest mermaid,” and I gave Tammy a nudge. “Don’t go back to the merlands just yet, okay? The longer you stay, the more seagifts we’ll get.”
I thought Tammy might fall over for grinning so much.
“Okay,” she said.
Ma was over with Dad and Uncle Near and Auntie Chicoree, helping with the canning, and I caught her looking my way and smiling.
That had to be one of the perfect moments, right then.
August 10 (Em’s diary, second entry)
And now Ma and Dad are arguing again. It started out with Ma saying something that sounded like a good thing, something like, “Now see, Brett’s idea of canning the stew and selling it is a good one. Don’t see why Deena and the rest won’t consider selling those sun capes and straw hats. Those are real handicrafts. If we sold those—”
And Dad laughed and said, “Can you imagine some dry-lander wearing one? It’d be like putting fins on a cat,” but Ma came back with, “There’s p
lenty of people could use them on dry land. And dry-land folks fish, too, you know.” And then Dad just said, “They’re for people in Mermaid’s Hands. They’re part of Mermaid’s Hands. We don’t sell parts of ourselves.” And if it was me arguing with Dad, I would of known to shut up then, cause his voice had gone from laughing to hard, and who keeps arguing when someone says we don’t sell parts of ourselves?
Ma does. She said, “You know Mermaid’s Hands needs more money than we can get just selling fish we don’t need and jars of seagift stew. It ain’t just us needing money for the doctor, it’s for things everybody needs.”
And from there it turned into one of their favorite fights, with Dad saying how Mermaid’s Hands has always managed in the past and always will, and why can’t Ma like it as it is, and Ma getting going about all the things wrong with it.
“Must be true love, the way y’all fight so hard,” Gran said, and sometimes a line like that’ll get them to calm down, but not tonight. I hate falling asleep with them fighting. I’m going to write to Kaya.
August 10 (Em to Kaya)
Dear Kaya,
We went to the post office today, and your letter was waiting for me, but there was a new lady working there, and she gave me a hard time. Dry-land people do that sometimes. There’s one librarian who says things like, “Don’t come in here with your muddy bare feet,” or if I pick up a book she’ll say, “Do you have clean hands?” So this post office lady said, “This can’t be really for you, a letter from overseas.” “That’s my name,” I said, pointing. “You better give her her letter,” my dad said. “I hear it’s a federal offense to tamper with the mail.” And the lady rolled her eyes and grumbled stuff about offenses and lazy and criminals.
But she gave me the letter.
It makes me pretty mad to think that your government has you locked up over the Ruby Lake and pretends it’s an honor. How could anyone believe that? I wouldn’t believe it if I lived in your mountains. I’d hate your government.