An Obvious Enchantment

by Tucker Malarkey

  Stanley’s hand was back on top of Ingrid’s. “You’re not like them, are you?” he asked quietly.

  “I might be.”

  Stanley looked at her closely.

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “It seems everyone mocks everyone here.”

  “It’s quite sad, isn’t it.” Stanley took her hand. “What lovely hands you have. Long, lovely hands. Oh, that tea has done me a disservice. May I look at your palm?”

  “Your wife is not pleased,” Ingrid said as Stanley drew her hand to him. “Here she comes.”

  “Do you mind?” Daisy asked Ingrid. “Stanley, my smokes, please. I asked for them ages ago.”

  “Sorry, darling. That tea has me a bit loopy. Here they are.” Stanley smiled contritely up at his wife.

  “That was turtle soup,” Rudy announced. “For all you vegans.”

  “Thank heavens I didn’t touch it,” Stanley muttered.

  A small child appeared at the end of the table. She was holding something in her dress. “Rudy,” Danny said. “Your brat’s here.”

  “What have you got there, sweetheart?” Rudy asked. The child moved next to her father and opened the folds of her dress. “Where did you get that, sweetheart?”

  “I found it under a bush. All alone.”

  “Its eyes aren’t even open.”

  “What’s she got?” Judy asked.

  “A kitten. Newborn.”

  “Oh.” A few sympathetic sounds came from the women.

  “Put it back where you found it,” Danny instructed. “It was abandoned for a reason.”

  “Danny’s right, honey,” Janine said. “It’s probably sick.”

  The child’s features hardened as she stepped back, out of the torchlight.

  “It won’t live,” Danny announced. “Wasn’t meant to. Dead by morning.” Without a word, the child disappeared.

  Conversation resumed and Finn had still not appeared. Rudy circled his arm around Ingrid’s waist. “On a personal note, I’d like to know how you feel about swallowing,” he said. “I can’t tell you how important it is for a woman to swallow. It’s about trust. Remember that. Janine knew that, right from the start. You don’t know how devastating it is for a man when a woman spits out; it’s like she’s spitting out his deepest love.”

  Ingrid picked at the lettuce in her salad. “Are there really no forks?”

  “Eat with your fingers. You can wipe your hands on me,” Rudy said, slapping his thighs. “The hair picks up the particles and the skin absorbs the grease. I’m a walking napkin.” Rudy put his mouth to her ear. “And if, by chance your hands want to go walking farther north, well, they’re welcome there too.”

  “Ingrid, taste this flower. It’s delicious.” Stanley held some kind of blossom to her lips.

  “Adolpho!” Daisy yelled. “Come over here, my shoulder is killing me.” A muscular young man rose and stood behind Daisy while she positioned his hand. “Right here. It feels like a bloody rope knot. See if you can work it out.”

  “Have you got a masseur with you?” Lady Emily asked, her lethargic features roused with a half-smile.

  “He’s divine,” Daisy confided. “I don’t know how I lived life without him.”

  “May Staz and I borrow him sometime?”

  “Of course, that’s what he’s here for. Though he’s not really for public consumption. But that doesn’t apply to you, Lady Emily.”

  “He may never go back to his employer after he sees your Greek perfection, Emily,” Danny said. “Incidentally, are you still waging war with those nasty pregnancy pounds, Daisy?”

  “Thank you, Danny,” Daisy muttered. “That was a nice little dig.”

  Danny shrugged. “You’ve got some competition in the leg department, Em. Miss Muffet down there is sporting some fabulous limbs. Stand up, Miss Muffet, show us your gams.”

  “Yes,” Rudy agreed. “Show us.”

  Ingrid stared at a button on Stanley’s shirt.

  “Don’t be such a brute, Danny,” Lady Emily said. “Can’t you see she’s shy?”

  “Stop harassing her,” Judy chimed in. “She’s done nothing to deserve it.”

  “She was born and somehow she made her way here. That’s enough. Tell you the truth, your gams are enough for me, princess Em.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “Sit on my lap, won’t you?”

  “Not tonight, Danny, I’m being good.”

  “Well, then, for chrissake, let’s drink to Finn!” Danny raised his glass. “And then let’s smoke to Finn. And then let’s shoot up to Finn! And then let’s bonk to Finn!”

  “Let’s bonk with Finn,” Judy added. “The rest of you I wouldn’t bother with.”

  “If only he knew of your love, his heart would be going pitter-pat, pitter-pat.”

  “Stuff it, Danny. You’re only jealous.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s it. How astute you are. Why, you must be a writer. A genius of human nature.”

  Ingrid stopped following the banter. It was coming from all ends of the table and converging above her head in a merciless web she felt would snare her if she raised her eyes from the tablecloth. Then anything could happen. Danny would force her to strip and parade up and down the table naked. She would be molested by sweaty, corpulent Rudy while his skinny wife looked on. Daisy Wicks would burn her eyes out with a cigarette. If she couldn’t leave, she had to make herself disappear. Think about something else, she told herself; think about Templeton.

  Instead, Ingrid thought about Sari and what she might wear to bed at night. Did she cover herself there too? She remembered that Sari had no windows in her room. It seemed impossible that she slept at all in such heat, especially if Abdul paid her nighttime visits. Withered old Abdul on top of lovely, perspiring Sari.

  A sauce-covered lump was placed in front of her. She looked around the table to see if others were eating it and how. Down the table, Judy had gotten hold of a spoon. “If you weren’t so horrid,” she was saying to Danny, using the spoon to point at him, “you’d get laid more often.”

  “Another pearl drops from her lips!” Danny cried. “Quick, out of my way so I can catch it.”

  “Don’t let him bait you,” one of Judy’s friends said. “Remember what we talked about today.”

  “He’s not worth resisting,” Judy said. “Such blatant misogyny needs to be stamped out.”

  “If you’re doing the stamping, Lady Beluga, I shan’t live long.”

  “Bastard.”

  “A quick, painless death. Some would agree you’d be doing me a great favor.” Danny held his lighter to a bowl of hash. “Death by stomping,” he said, inhaling. “I always wanted to be remembered for something. Pity we can’t choose these things.”

  Lady Emily laughed. “Staz darling, how about a little lap dance?” She walked in the sand to her lover and straddled his thighs. He pulled the animal hide up over her bare buttocks.

  “Oh, no,” Stanley muttered.

  “She’s not wearing anything,” Judy hissed.

  “Isn’t it glorious?” Rudy said. “We should all be so wise. The closer we are to animals, the better.” Lady Emily began gyrating her hips. She rested her head on Staz’s forehead, covering them both in a cascade of shiny hair. Ingrid stared at the flame of a candle.

  “To the fall of Rome!” Danny yelled. “Finn will be sorry he missed this.”

  Ingrid slipped away to go to the restroom and found her feet turning away from the lights of the party and taking her back to her guesthouse, to where Sari slept.

  She slowed soon after she left, when she felt a presence along the path.

  He was sitting on the stairs to the upper bungalows of Salama—she could see only a pale stripe in the pattern of his kikoi. He spoke her name softly. She stood on the path and waited for him to say it again, louder. A small demand; but he could not give her even this.

  Their silence was corrupted by the sounds of the party, by drunken laughter in the distance. She imagined he
was someone else, someone she had never seen or heard, and continued along the path.

  His arm encircled her from behind, walking her backward to the steps, his face against her cheek like a brace to keep her steady. The stubble dug into her skin. She pivoted around while he caught her hand in his. He sat on a stair and held her in front of him. His fingers stroked her hair back from her face. She knew he was drunk.

  “Are you enjoying my party?” he asked.

  The parts of her not touching him melted into a liquid state of wanting. She ran her hands slowly up and down his thighs and arms. “Why is Wicks afraid of Templeton?”

  Finn laughed softly. “He’s a frightening fellow.”

  She leaned her head against his chest. “Someone left me a frightening note at the guesthouse.”

  “Frightening how?”

  “It said if I didn’t stop my activities, they would be stopped for me.”

  “Yes, well, your activities might be offensive to some. I’ve been trying to tell you that. Perhaps it’s time you pay attention.”

  “And sit here and do nothing?”

  “What is there to do?”

  Above them a woman’s voice called his name with modulated urgency and suddenly they were apart.

  “Who is that?” Ingrid asked.

  “A guest. An old friend.”

  She looked up into the darkness, seeing only his outline. “No,” Ingrid said. “Don’t leave me. Don’t open me up and then leave me.”

  He leaned down to kiss her. “I think a little silence is good for you.”

  Ingrid watched him appear briefly in silhouette as the lights of the upper gardens found him and took him away.

  Part Four

  CHAPTER

  21

  The Safety of the Sea

  Uma started with a bang and a rumble and headed out to sea, passing the dhows of the night fishermen on their way in. Boni steered near them and stood in his dhow. With his foot on the rudder, he held up a snapper as long as his arm and shook it at Uma. Finn saluted him with a fist.

  “Bravo, Boni!” he yelled over the engine.

  By lunchtime Uma had reached Kifi Island, where the night fishermen sometimes slept. The few who lived on the island dried their catch and sold it in town every month. Without the gentle rise of smooth rock where the fish were left to dry, the island, thin and round as a coin, would have been invisible to everyone but the birds. Finn and Jonah anchored Uma and swam ashore to see what they could find on the rocks. On the beach, they passed a carcass of a large tiger shark surrounded by tuna and snapper. Finn whistled through his fingers and a man appeared from behind the rocks. “Habib!” He greeted the man in Swahili. “How is it?”

  Habib scratched his head and looked at the sky. “Not bad. The fish are biting.”

  “I can see. And the shark?”

  Habib turned to look at the fly-covered carcass. Next to it was its jaws, huge and gaping. “It’s big.”

  “Very. The biggest I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “We found it on the beach. The tide brought it in.”

  “Propeller?”

  “No.” Habib picked something off the bottom of his foot. “It had a hole in its head.”

  Finn looked at the shark. “A hole? How big?”

  “Not big.” He made a small circle with his fingers. Finn squatted, picked up a handful of sand and sifted a little at a time.

  Back on Uma, they ate cheese sandwiches and bananas. “Where have you been sleeping at night?” Jonah asked. “You are not in your bed when I come to wake you.”

  “But have I been late?”

  “No.”

  “So you know I have not been exerting myself with nighttime activity.”

  “Then where do you sleep?”

  “Abdul’s guesthouse.”

  “The American girl!” Jonah grinned.

  “It’s not what you think,” Finn said, lying down. “She is alone here.”

  “Ah, noble Finn. My faith in you grows with this information. Finn, the guardian angel.”

  “You’re laughing.”

  “Only because no one would believe it.”

  “Our finest acts, my friend, are witnessed only by God.”

  “Well, I hope he is watching you.”

  Finn groaned and put a hat over his eyes while Jonah cleaned up and brought him a glass of water. Finn took it and held it on his chest. “Drink it,” Jonah said. He waited until Finn had propped himself up and begun drinking before going to the back of the boat, baiting a hook with squid, spitting on it for luck and throwing the line. Finn closed his eyes while Jonah trolled out a kilometer and threw another line, running the engine just above idle.

  While Finn slept, Jonah caught three bonitos and a snapper, working both lines.

  The sun was sinking toward a sliver of land to the west and the heat was beginning to die when Finn finally awoke. He stood, looked around, and then sat down quickly. “Bait?”

  “Four bonitos. Female first.”

  “Good.” Luck was with them, and it had put Jonah in a good mood. He took a cigarette from Jonah’s shirt pocket and sat next to him. “And for supper?”

  “Snapper.”

  Finn ran his fingers through his hair, still wet with perspiration. “Too much time on land,” he said. And then, after a pause, “I got hold of a konahead.” Jonah scoffed and made the sign for bad luck. “What the hell, Jonah, it used to work for us.”

  “Those were small fish. We used rubber bands.”

  “Same idea.”

  “And the bait?”

  “We’ll use the bait first.” Finn held his cigarette between his lips and adjusted the strap on his hat.

  When Finn tossed the konahead up from belowdecks, Jonah let it go by and land with a thud, eyeing it from the wheel. It was half a meter long and had one large eye and neon orange stripes. It lay there untouched until Finn came up with two mugs of tea. “Where’s its body?” Jonah asked.

  “Doesn’t have one.” Finn handed Jonah a mug. “Doesn’t need one.”

  “And this color? What fish would bite this color?”

  “It’s the way it moves. The color doesn’t matter. It fades twelve meters down anyway. Thirty, thirty-five meters down and it’s gone completely.”

  “That’s nice, but marlin feed on the surface.”

  “Not after they hit the bait.” They sipped their tea. The sun was disappearing and the horizon around it glowed.

  “Does Tarkar use konaheads?”

  “That’s where I got it—it’s an old one of Nelson’s.” Finn met Jonah’s eyes. “Look, we won’t know until we try. You didn’t want to use rubber bands either.” Jonah was unmoved. Finn went in to cook the fish.

  The sea was calm. A few stars pierced the sky as they threw small bait overboard and drifted, eating the snapper with bread. Uma bobbed gently in the still air. After they had eaten, Jonah wiped the rods with varnish and Finn took the wheel. He steered south by the stars. Past midnight, he grew tired. He sang to himself and chewed a few sticks of miraa, thinking of Boni.

  Had a shipment of miraa not arrived from the mainland every afternoon at three, there would have been a riot, led by Boni, who chewed the natural amphetamine into the dawn. After a bundle or two, miraa had mind-altering effects. Boni would report communications he had witnessed between schools of snapper and the constellations: their movements were affected by cloud cover, eclipses, meteor showers. Boni detected patterns and repetitions. They were quick, but often predictable. They couldn’t lose him, for he, Boni, relied on something more powerful than any instrument: an intuitive sense of where, within his domain, the fish would be.

  When he was drunk, Boni bragged. He sat at the Salama bar and spun tales. The white women were drawn to him, and he played them the way he played his fish. His haul was always the largest, he told them. And it was true. When the morning sun filtered through the baobabs on Tomba Island, Boni could be found angling his dhow along the seawall, where people were waiting to b
uy fish from him. He grinned up at them while they stood on the narrow stone wall, the frayed edges of their kikois fluttering in time to Boni’s loosened sail.

  When he had sold half his fish he would head, pockets full of shillings, to Salama, the only place he could get a drink at daybreak. He told himself he would sell the rest of the fish later. But by lunchtime, he would be lunging at passing women. By late afternoon, when he became obscene, he was invariably kicked out of the bar. Boni then stumbled off to sleep somewhere in the vicinity of a woman. Sometimes that woman was his wife: often by accident or habit he crashed onto the floor of his own home. His wife left him lying there until dusk eased her shame into pity and she tipped a glass of water to his parched lips.

  “Boni,” she said. “You are a bad man.” He avoided looking at her eyes and instead nestled his gaze into the deep folds of her black bui-bui. Only occasionally did he have the urge to discover the shape it hid. It wasn’t for lack of beauty; it was what she knew.

  “Have you brought me money?” she asked. “We need food.” Boni’s eyes climbed the soft hills of her cloth to find her round, solemn eyes with his own drunken stare. He did this to avoid words. By dinnertime he was back at the hotel bar, washed and rested and chewing the night’s first bundle of miraa with Jonah or Finn.

  Finn woke Jonah just before dawn, when he was too tired to stand. After a quick bread and tea, they headed for the blue water northeast of Malindi. Finn had made good time. He dropped a bonito at sunrise and hooked a small spearfish almost immediately. He netted it and flipped it on board, where it twisted and slapped against the deck. Jonah cursed the spearfish, which was no good for anything. Finn tossed it back and rebaited the hook.

  By ten, they were almost in blue water. “Get something to eat,” Finn said. “I’m following gulls.” Jonah climbed up to the lookout with bread and jam. Single gulls didn’t constitute a flock, but if they were headed in the same direction, there might be something. Jonah wrapped his kikoi around his head and squinted out beyond the gulls to a horizon of swells. A marlin feeding would ride the swells, showing its fin as it glided down into a trough.

  The sun was directly overhead when Jonah shouted and clambered down on deck. Finn slowed the boat. They each reeled in a rod to check the bait. Finn picked strings of seaweed from the mouth of his bonito, and they threw them back. Jonah took the wheel and angled the boat in the direction of the dark shape he had seen just below the surface.