Dragons in the Waters

by Madeleine L'engle

  The facts were very much as Canon Tallis had guessed. The straw that broke the back of Boon’s resistance was a hint from Hurtado that Simon had been murdered. It was this last horror which finally caused Lyolf Boon to go to van Leyden.

  “How terrible for Jan!” Poly cried.

  Dr. O’Keefe said, “But at least he’s been completely cleared.”

  “But Mynheer Boon! He was Jan’s friend!”

  Vermeer said, “Gutiérrez threatened to kill Simon and Canon Tallis unless Boon kept his mouth shut.”

  Dr. Wordsworth said, “From what you have been telling us it would seem that if Boon had not killed Propice, then Propice might well have succeeded in finding a way to dispose of Simon?”

  “It is quite possible.”

  “Then, although it wasn’t exactly a murder of self-defense, it was in order to stop Simon from being murdered?”

  Vermeer beamed. “That will be taken into consideration, I’m sure.”

  Mr. Smith asked, “But the smuggling?”

  “He will have to pay for that. He was into the art racket, as Hurtado calls it. But Propice and Gutiérrez were trying to get him involved in chemicals.”

  “So for that, too,” Dr. Wordsworth said, “he had no way out except to remove Propice?”

  “He refused to deal with drugs or chemicals. Yes. Propice would undoubtedly have destroyed him one way or another had he remained alive.”

  “And that, too, will be taken into consideration?” Dr. Eisenstein asked.

  “I would assume so.”

  “But there would still have been Gutiérrez,” Mr. Smith said.

  “There would. Mynheer Boon had—as my friend Hurtado said—painted himself into a corner.”

  Dr. Wordsworth asked, “Did Gutiérrez know that Boon had killed Phair?”

  “He guessed. He accused him, hoping in this way to avoid what Hurtado calls the rap.”

  “I hate Gutiérrez!” Poly cried. “He’s a beast! He didn’t care whether he killed Simon and Uncle Father or not. He was just using them to hurt Mynheer Boon. Gutiérrez and Propice made Mynheer Boon do—be—some-thing he never should have been.”

  Mr. Smith said heavily, “That first breach of honesty which can lead to so much disaster …”

  Dr. Wordsworth reached out and took his hand with unexpected solidarity. “We’ve been lucky, you and I, Mr. Smith. We’ve managed to break away from bondage.”

  Mr. Theo said, “Thank God Simon and Tom are all right. That’s what we have to think about. What about the captain, Vermeer?”

  “As long as Boon’s smuggling was done ashore, and not on the ship, the captain cannot be implicated. The Bolivar portrait was Propice’s first wedge. But we have the portrait. It was not only to implicate Jan that Boon sent it to the Quiztanos. It was the only place he could think of where it would not be taken by the art-smuggling ring he was trying to get free of. So we have the portrait, and I think the captain will have no problem. This is one of Mynheer Boon’s greatest concerns.”

  Dr. Wordsworth asked, “What’s going to be done with the portrait?”

  “Miss Phair and the Quiztanos wish it to be given to the Bolivar Museum.”

  “Which had not been Mr. Phair’s intention.”

  “It had not.”

  Poly whispered to Charles, “I sort of wished Simon could keep the portrait.”

  “Aunt Leonis is right about things knowing where they belong,” Charles said in an exhausted and withdrawn manner.

  Vermeer clapped his hands together. “Now, my dear friends, I have good news and an invitation. You are all free to go into town or wherever you would like, until five o’clock this afternoon, when you are all requested to return to the Orion.”

  Dr. Wordsworth’s conditioned reflex was outrage at any curtailment of liberty. “Why?” she demanded.

  Vermeer beamed on her. “Cars will be waiting to take the entire company out to the Quiztano settlement at Dragonlake, where a feast is being prepared. This will be an excitement for my fellow anthropologist, will it not, Dr. Eisenstein?” After the exclamations had died down, he said, “My dear doctors, I should count it my extreme privilege to accompany you today and be your guide if you will permit.”

  Dr. Wordsworth bowed graciously.

  Vermeer turned his sunshine on the old Greek. “Mr. Theoto—uh—Mr. Theo, a car will come to take you to the Cathedral, for as long as you desire to play the organ. Will you be ready in half an hour?”

  “In five minutes,” Mr. Theo said.

  Poly asked anxiously, “Simon and Uncle Father are really all right, really and truly all right?”

  Vermeer’s smile seemed to reach completely around his head. “Really and truly.” Then he looked at her father. “May I have a word with you, sir?”

  “Of course. In my cabin?”

  “Please.” Vermeer turned to Dr. Wordsworth. “I will call for you ladies in a quarter of an hour.”

  Despite the heat, he shut the door to Dr. O’Keefe’s cabin. “If there is anything my government can do to assist you in your investigations, Doctor, we will be glad to.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know that there have been cases of mercury poisoning near Dragonlake?”

  “Yes.”

  “What can you do?”

  Dr. O’Keefe ran his hand worriedly through his hair. “I am a scientist and not a politician. But I will use every big gun I have. And Tallis has friends with influence who will bring their weight to bear. Even Dr. Eisenstein may be useful. People all over the world are rebelling against the results of greed. Perhaps we are ready for a test case, and the problems at Dragonlake involve at least half a dozen nations.”

  “The Quiztanos do not want publicity.”

  “We will keep it to the minimum. But they will do what has to be done to save the lake and the people of the barrio.”

  “Few industrial magnates in Europe or America will worry about what is happening to a small tribe of Indians most of them have never even heard about.”

  “We will do everything we can to stop the deterioration of the lake,” Dr. O’Keefe said heavily. “I am grateful for your help.”

  “My Quiztano friends understand what is going on. They have an example of the problem in one of their Caring Places right now.”

  “Mercury poisoning?”

  “Yes. A child from the barrio. Yes, they will help. I am a realistic man, Doctor, I know how difficult it is going to be, but I also believe that if just in one place we can win the battle over greed and callousness, that one victory may swing the tide over the entire world.”

  “We’ll try,” Dr. O’Keefe said. “We will certainly try.”

  The scene being enacted in the captain’s quarters was not exactly as it had been in Charles’s dream, but it was close enough. Lyolf Boon was in his summer whites. His face was turned to Jan, a face nearly destroyed with anguish and weeping. Jan, too, wept. Hurtado wore his most expressionless mask. Van Leyden had moved beyond tears. But the Orion was still his. He was still Master of his ship. Despite his pain over what Lyolf Boon had been forced to do, his relief washed over him like a clean salt wave from the sea.

  Throughout the entire ship there was both sorrow and relief. It was not a happy ending to the story, but at least it was an ending. When van Leyden told the crew that he alone would remain on the ship, and that the rest of them were free to go to the festivities at Dragonlake, the atmosphere lifted. As van Leyden returned to the bridge he heard the sweet tone of a flute playing a haunting minor melody.

  The evening sun poured its benediction over the Quiztano village; the water was golden, and the greensward, too, was touched with gold. A long ray of sunlight spotted the ancient Umara at the foot of the great carving. She gave her blessing to the festivities of the evening, but she herself would remain in prayers of gratitude for the return of the Phair.

  The canoes were pulled up onto the beach, and the villagers were waiting for the boats bearing the passengers and sailors fro
m the Orion.

  Canon Tallis had graduated from his litter to a chair and a cane. Miss Leonis sat beside him. They had little need of conversation. They had moved into the companionship of mutual understanding. She knew, with gratitude, that Tallis would stay at Dragonlake until after her death. She wished that she, like the Umara, could spend the evening in solitude and prayer.—But there is an eternity awaiting me for that, she thought.

  As though she had spoken aloud, Tallis rested his hand lightly on her shoulder.

  A shout arose as the first boat was sighted, and then what appeared to be a small fleet appeared in the sun-flecked water.

  Poly was in the first boat, and she rushed ashore and flung her arms ecstatically around Canon Tallis, around Simon, around Aunt Leonis, and, without thinking, around Umar Xanai, as though he were a dearly beloved grandparent. “Oh, thank you, thank you! We were afraid we were never going to see Simon or Uncle Father again!”

  The old chieftain’s eyes lit with pleasure. “You are their friends. We welcome you.” He looked about him until he saw Charles, who had gone to Canon Tallis and was standing silently by him. “You are the true dreamer?”

  “Sometimes my dreams are—special.”

  “We are grateful to you.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You have dreamed true.” Then he spoke to the assembled company. “We have invited you to be with us tonight because you are friends of the Phair, and he has asked that you be present at our celebration of his return.”

  “His what!” Poly’s voice rose incredulously.

  “The Phair has come back to us, to make his life with us, as he promised us that he would.”

  “But Simon is not Quentin Phair!”

  “He bears his blood. He is part of the Memory.”

  “Simon!” Poly cried. “No! You’re not staying here, not for good!”

  Canon Tallis looked down at Charles. The boy was pale. The priest took his hand, and it was cold. “Charles, are you all right?”

  “I don’t think I want to grow up.”

  “But you already have, haven’t you?”

  “Simon!” Poly cried. “Aunt Leonis! Explain to them!”

  “Explain what?” Miss Leonis asked.

  “That Simon must return with you to Pharaoh.”

  The old woman shook her head. “I will not be returning to Pharaoh.”

  “Simon’s going to be a doctor!” Poly cried. “He can come live with us, we’d love to have him, wouldn’t we, Daddy?”

  Simon held up his hand. “I have thought about this, Poly. I must stay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is what I must do. I ran away from Uncle Father when we were in the jungle and the wildcat was about to attack us—”

  “Simon,” Canon Tallis said, “you’re making too much of that.”

  “No. It has made me understand a lot of things. About human beings. About Quentin. About myself.” He smiled at Poly, then at Canon Tallis and Charles. “The Quentin Phair I made into a god was much less real than she is.” He indicated the great carved figure. “I am learning to love him now like a real person. And that’s a good thing, I think. There’s also the matter of the revenge, of Cousin Forsyth’s wanting to kill me. Now that he is dead, perhaps the idea of revenge will die, too. But it might not, as long as there are people like Gutiérrez left in the world. If I stay, then the Phair has returned, and the revenge will be finished. And”—he pointed to the Caring Places—“Quentin Phair started these. I have his work to continue. I’m going to be a doctor, and I have a great deal to learn. When the time comes I’ll go to Caracas to medical school, or maybe back to the United States. But I have plenty to learn right here. A new language, for one thing.”

  Umar Xanai raised his arms. “Rejoice with us! Come, we have prepared a celebration.” He drew the groups together with great embracing gestures, then led the way toward the center of the greensward, where a long colorful cloth had been spread across the grass. It was laden with bowls of fruit, platters of salads, pitchers of assorted drinks.

  Dr. Eisenstein quivered with pleasure and excitement. “This is more than I dared hope for in my wildest dreams.”

  Dr. Wordsworth said, “It took a murder. So my Fernando has for once done a good deed.”

  Mrs. Smith said, “I’d like to forget him, but I’m not sure it’s possible.”

  Mr. Theo looked at the beaming Vermeer bearing down on the group, and turned to Dr. Eisenstein. “Will you do me the pleasure of sitting with me at this feast, Ruth?”

  She glanced at Dr. Wordsworth and Vermeer, and took Mr. Theo’s arm. “Thank you. Did you enjoy your time at the Cathedral?”

  “I have washed myself clean with music. That is a superb organ. Tomorrow evening, before we sail, the captain and Mynheer Vermeer have arranged for me to play for the passengers—for those of you who enjoy music.”

  “What a privilege,” Dr. Eisenstein said. “I don’t know much about music. My loss. And then you’ll be sailing tomorrow night, Theo.” He nodded. “I’ll miss everybody.” She sounded wistful. “But perhaps we’ll be able to see the O’Keefes. You know, I’m not in the least sorry for Gutiérrez, but I feel for Boon.”

  “We all do. But it’s a sorry lesson for us that one can seldom dabble only in the shallow waters of crime. There’s always someone to pull us in deep.”

  Dr. Eisenstein looked at her travel companion laughing with Vermeer. “It takes a lot of courage to get out. Perhaps Boon will be able to start a new life when he has served his term.”

  “It’s Simon who’s starting the new life.”

  “Is this really serious?”

  “Oh, yes. Simon is a serious boy.”

  Dr. Eisenstein looked about. “I think I envy him,” she said.

  Poly sat on the cool green grass between Geraldo and Jan. “It is good that you can be with your people tonight, Jan,” she said.

  Jan’s face had a prison pallor that made it seem as though he had been jailed for more than just over twenty-four hours. “I do not think that I could be anywhere else. I need to be healed.”

  Geraldo nodded solemnly, then took Poly’s hand in his. “It is good that you are staying in Port of Dragons, Polyquita. You will be able to see Simon.”

  “Oh, Jan—Geraldo—I am so confused about Simon. Do you think he’s making a terrible mistake?”

  Geraldo kissed her hand. “It is not a decision the world would understand. But it is like Simon.”

  Poly looked gratefully at Geraldo. “Charles says Simon doesn’t belong in our century.”

  The strain was ebbing slowly from Jan’s face. “It has always seemed to me that the Quiztanos do not live in time at all. When I am here I forget clocks and bells and all the things which occupy me when I am being Dutch.”

  Poly looked across the greensward to where Miss Leonis was sitting. “What about Aunt Leonis?”

  Jan said, “She will rest her bones in Dragonlake.”

  “You mean, she’s dying?”

  “She is an old woman, Polyquita, and her work is done.” Geraldo raised Poly’s fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. “It will be easier for me to let you go when we sail tomorrow night because I know that Simon will need you and Charles and your father. It will not be easy for Simon.”

  Jan said, “But he will become a healer, and the world is in need of healers.”

  “But the world won’t know about him if he stays in Dragonlake!”

  Jan’s face relaxed into his old smile. “You think that matters, Miss Poly? I am part Quiztano, and I know the things that truly matter—and so do you.”

  Simon sat between Umar Xanai and Ouldi. On the old chieftain’s other side was Aunt Leonis, with Mr. Theo by her. She looked as frail as old glass, and yet her expression was full of peace.

  She looked at him and smiled, calmly and reassuringly.

  Not everybody was seated, but Umar Xanai picked up a piece of fruit as a signal that the feast was to begin. Then he ros
e and spoke:

  Power behind the stars

  making life from death

  joy from sorrow

  day from night

  who heals the heart

  and frees the lake

  of dragons and all ill

  come feast with us

  that we may share your feast

  with all we touch.

  Then he bowed his head silently.

  When he looked up, Miss Leonis spoke:

  “Thou didst divide the sea through thy power; thou breakest the heads of the dragons in the waters. Thou broughtest out fountains and waters out of the hard rocks; the day is thine, and the night is thine; thou hast prepared the light and the sun. Oh, let not the simple go away ashamed, but let the poor and needy give praise unto thy Name.” She did not bow her head, but looked briefly up at the sky, then out over the lake, and closed her eyes.

  “Lady, Señora Phair,” Umar Xanai said, “we are as one.”

  All around them conversation and laughter rose like butterflies in the evening air. Above the lake the sky was flushed with color. The shadow of the mountain moved slowly over the greensward, cooling the air.

  Simon looked about him at the assembled company. The intensity of the past days had broken the conventions of time and he felt that all the passengers of the Orion were old and treasured friends, and he was filled with love for them. He looked at Canon Tallis, sitting at the feast, with Charles between the priest and Hurtado.

  —He has freed me to love Quentin as he really was, Simon thought gratefully.—So I must love him as he really is, too, and not make up another idol.

  —I am older now, he thought.—And perhaps it is because I have come into the right time and place for me. Where Cousin Forsyth would have destroyed, I must learn to continue what Quentin began.”

  Tallis looked at the untouched plate in front of Charles. “You’re not eating.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Charles said.

  Hurtado said, “My plate is already empty. You need food, Charles.”

  “I’ll try.”