John said nothing, but he kept thinking about Puneet’s remarks all the way back to campus. He was so engrossed that he didn’t see Zoë until he’d almost bumped into her as she stood chatting with a group of friends outside Wean. As soon as they made eye contact, the chatter died down among her friends and one by one they all drifted away, though most stayed just out of earshot. Puneet murmured something polite and continued into Wean, leaving John alone with his ex-girlfriend.
“So.” Zoë eyed him. “Back at last? Bring any mermaids back with you? Or have you grown up after dallying so long in the tropical sun?”
John winced and broke eye contact first.
“Ah.” He could have shaved with her tone. “You came to your senses then? Playing Pygmalion isn’t your strong suit?”
John expelled his breath, but little air returned to fill the void. “Listen, Zoë, I’m sorry you’re still upset with me. But I think it’s in both our interests if we agree to a truce right here and now—CMU just isn’t a big enough campus for us to be at each other’s throats.”
Zoë squared her shoulders and stood straighter, her book bag falling down her right arm unnoticed. She appeared to consider his words. For the first time, he noticed that her dark hair had been cut level with her chin, swinging at an angle to the back of her head. Her makeup, always minimal—foundation and powder to cover less-than-perfect skin—was now a bit more obvious, though applied with a light touch. Her nails were still short and unpolished so he suspected that she hadn’t abandoned her Tae Kwon Do or sports. The style of her clothes remained clearly in the black-is-artsy-and-cool realm—her Doc Marten boots added a good two inches to her five-nine height—but they were less secondhand-store chic and more mall-hip. Zoë had always drawn attention wherever she went, but now she demanded it.
“I don’t see why not.” She shrugged. “It’s not as though I’ve gone to pieces over our breakup—I’ve moved on. You just gave me a shock, that’s all.”
John nodded and felt his chest ease. He was about to offer to buy her a coffee sometime when a rather tall man dressed in black jeans, red t-shirt, and black leather jacket came up behind Zoë from the direction of the fine arts building and put his hand familiarly on Zoë’s forearm.
“Hey, Zoë.” When she turned to face him, he gave her a kiss. “I’ve finished fixing the problems with the design of the gallery for the new student union and I thought I’d come and take you to Buns’n Udders for coffee.”
Zoë caught John’s eye, smirking. “Sure, Greg. I was just saying goodbye to my friend John here. John, this is Greg Moreland; he’s a prof in the architecture department.”
Greg barely glanced toward John. “Hey, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
John watched them head into Wean Hall, presumably to take the elevator to the first floor where they could take the shortcut through the parking lot behind Wean to Forbes Avenue. Zoë threaded her arm through Greg’s as they walked, never glancing back at him.
***
A month later, John biked into CMU in an early-morning shower that left him drenched; in a few weeks, he’d be forced to drive again to campus to avoid the cold, but today it was still warm enough for biking while wet. A few leaves had fallen already and wet clumps of them clung to the edges of Schenley Drive and Frew Street and to the sidewalks. Students and staff alike, indistinguishable from each other in their yellow rain slickers and backpacks, hurried to shelter wherever he looked. When he came up to the fourth floor of Wean later in the afternoon for a cup of coffee, he saw that the day remained gray and overcast, bathing the lobby in its steely light.
After he’d grabbed his coffee, he planned to go up to Steve’s office on the sixth floor and drop off his latest chapter, the first one not rehashing old material. He had a surprise for Steve: instead of proposing to pursue a limited number of algorithms for recognizing underwater objects in order to model the environment captured in his Trench video, he planned to design a genetic algorithm that learned as it filtered out common noises. He’d already toyed with some basic genetic algorithms for fun when he’d gotten tired of working on networking problems for Steve and had set up a Web page of genetic haikus that “evolved” as visitors voted on lines that they liked best. It hadn’t been anything fancy, but he’d gotten some notice and inspired a few other grad students to write more advanced algorithms.
If Steve didn’t keep him too long glancing over his proposal’s new direction, John planned to take a break for a couple of hours and drop in on a talk by some guys from Pixar over in Porter Hall, one of whom was James Wilson, a former member of the graphics group. Half an hour later, he and Steve were headed over to Porter, laughing about the current crop of first years, who were both a tad too uptight and a little too business-oriented, when Zoë fell into step at his side. He managed to say hi in an even voice and to keep talking as the three of them walked together. Zoë said little, her long legs easily keeping stride with them, her arms swinging slightly and her hair pushed behind her ear. A spicy scent warmed the autumn air between them and enveloped her in a soft, invisible cocoon.
“So you think they’re gonna show some outtakes from Toy Story?” Zoë asked as if her presence wasn’t explosive.
“Absolutely.” Steve eyed them but said nothing.
“You planning to see it when it comes out?” John thought that he knew Zoë’s answer.
“Sure—are you asking me to go?” She swiveled her head and leveled her gaze on him.
John blinked. “Yeah, why not?”
The conversation halted as they reached the door to Porter and another group of CS grad students came up behind them. Members of the combined group conjectured about how much Disney had influenced the work of the Pixar animators and storytellers, but Zoë said nothing more. She remained at John’s side, however, and when he sat down next to Steve, she took the seat at his left. He became preternaturally aware of her forearm brushing against his, the swell of her breasts beneath her red camisole, the smell of her perfume.
When did she start wearing perfume?
Without bidding, images of Zoë, naked and sweaty above him, haunted his thoughts, overriding texture algorithms and rendering pipelines.
He didn’t remember much of the talk afterwards and later told Steve that he’d been too consumed with his proposal to focus on what was being said. Zoë chose to take her leave outside Porter, murmuring something about an appointment on the other side of campus and then she was gone with the crowd spilling from the auditorium. John watched her go, her hair swinging confidently about her face and her lovely legs encased in black tights under a black-and-white checked mini-skirt. He remembered them wrapped around his torso.
“That’s one cool customer.” Steve’s voice broke his reverie.
“What?”
“Nothing, John, nothing at all.” Steve grinned.
Slowly, John walked back to his office. When he got there, Stefan half sat on the long table next to his desk, one leg on the floor and the other bent in front of him, chatting with John’s office mate, Patrick. Stefan gestured for some time with his long fingers as he talked, his long face animated and his dark eyes gleaming underneath the overhang of his choppy brown hair. John sat down and began to type.
“Oy, it looks like John hasn’t got the time o’day for you.”
Stefan’s hands stilled in mid-air as he turned his face toward John.
“Hey, man! What’s up with you? You look like you just ate some unmarked leftovers in the lounge refrigerator. Steve ridin’ you hard these days?”
John stopped typing and leaned back in his chair. He stomach roiled.
“No more than I deserve.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s up? Going to tonight’s IC at Gilgenoff’s house?”
Stefan grinned. “Absolutely. You have to ask? Have you seen that new first year? Astrid? She’s smokin’.”
“No, I got better things to do these days.”
&
nbsp; “Once burned? Anyway, that’s not why I’m here, actually. I just saw CNN in the student center and there’s another tropical storm developing in the Caribbean. They’re already talking about naming it Marilyn. With all the hurricanes coming through these days, I guess you got outta there in the nick of time, man.”
John blinked rapidly and frowned. “No shit?”
“Would I lie to you?”
John rubbed his palms along the sides of his head and rocked around in his chair. “Dewey’s got one of the safest harbors in the Caribbean,” he said, more to himself than to Stefan and Patrick. “It’s been a really busy season, but nothing’s come close to Culebra, not even Luis. I’m sure they’re in no danger.”
“You look more than a little worried, my man. Don’t tell me you forgot to love ‘em and leave ‘em.”
John, who sat staring at a pile of tech reports next to Stefan on the table, missed this last remark. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Hey, wanna come with me tonight to Gilgenoff’s?”
John heard Stefan, but he still had difficulty processing his words. “Uh, what? Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll be here until you come and get me. Loads to do.”
“Okay, I’ll swing by at 6:30. But, hey, John, do me a favor and find another ride if I happen to hit it off with Astrid, okay?”
“Sure, sure.” John waved Stefan away.
He sat immobile long after Stefan had gone whistling down the hall. He didn’t move, in fact, until Patrick rolled his own chair over and very gently pushed John around to face his workstation and put his fingers on the keys.
***
Tamarind stood outside Ana’s house frowning at the sky, her hands on her hips and her hair teased by the wind. Yesterday, she’d heard the news on Ana’s radio that a ferocious storm terrified the humans living on the islands south and west of Culebra and she knew, even without Ana’s oyster-tight lips, that this storm would scour Culebra long before it blew itself out. Among the mer, it was said that these devastating winds and waves were the result of angry quarrels between Mother Sea and Father Sky and, until these two elements made peace, the mer sought refuge in the Hidden Caves. Without a doubt they swam there now, her father’s mind urging her family and community to swim faster while his strength bolstered the flagging energies of the older mer and his will compelled the youngest to stay on task. When they arrived, he would discover her deceit.
She studied the sky, gauged the feel of the air on her skin, and tested the humidity with her tongue. Each hour the air pressure dropped further. Her experience and her instinct told her that they must find shelter before the storm hit in two days. While she stood there, Ana squatted at the shore, arranging shells, pebbles, and seaweed into an elaborate and inexplicable design. Tamarind had no idea what more Ana hoped to learn from Mother Sea. She dug hard fingertips into her hipbones and waited.
A laughing gull glided silently over the spot where Ana stood. Tamarind frowned at it before turning on her heel. She flopped down into an aluminum chair outside Ana’s front door and nudged a big toe around the basket that Ana had packed that morning. It reminded her of the first-aid kit that the park rangers brought along for their turtle watches. She didn’t recognize all of the vials and baggies, but Ana had included tamarind-and-lemon syrup for an antiseptic, a diluted cone-snail extract for numbing a small area, and a plankton tincture spiked with turtle grass and algae as a sedative.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the moonstone that Valerie had given her. Just this week they’d traveled to San Juan and a jeweler that Valerie knew there. The jeweler had studied the gem for some time before lifting her eyepiece and smiling at them.
“Valerie, this is a beautiful specimen. Where’d you get it?”
Valerie shrugged. “I have a friend in New York who keeps a lookout for me. Cabochon cut, do you think?”
The jeweler rolled the moonstone between her fingers before answering. “No, I wouldn’t. This one needs to become a bead. Then I can polish it on my wheel for you, but it will take some time.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. We’ll polish it by hand.”
The jeweler nodded and pulled her eyepiece down again. “So what are you going to use it for? It’s so fine. You could make it the centerpiece of a pendant. Make a lot of money on it, too.”
“It’s not for sale. It’s a gift for a friend.” At her words, Valerie smiled at Tamarind.
When they picked the moonstone up later, all its knobby edges had been sheared away and it shimmered expectantly. Tamarind held the bead in her palm and raised it to the light. For the first time, she understood that transforming power existed outside of the sea. Even after she’d slid the moonstone into her pocket, its light called to her fingers and she rubbed it without being aware that she did.
Today while she waited for Ana to return from communing with Mother Sea, she polished the moonstone as she’d done every free moment since their return from San Juan. Valerie had given her a strip of clean felt and a small jar of tin oxide paste.
“A wheel would polish it faster but not better. Besides, I rather believe in the lore around this gem. By polishing it yourself, you make it your own. Just remember to keep the tin oxide moist.”
“How will I know when it’s done?”
A smile lifted the corners of Valerie’s mouth. “I imagine you’ll know.”
Smooth and cool, the bead disappeared beneath the white paste. Wrapping a corner of the felt around it, she rubbed it against her palm and hummed. She thought of John, who had left Culebra weeks before without saying good-bye and she wondered if he still worked in San Juan. For the season that she’d known him, Mother Sea and Father Sky had quarreled frequently. Valerie told her that the summer storms this year had destroyed homes and businesses on islands all around them. Now, as the time that she had human legs drew to a close, it seemed that Culebra too would suffer.
Tamarind stopped humming and rubbing the moonstone. She brought her eyes back from buffing the sky and looked at her hands. The tin oxide paste rimed the felt dangling between her fingers but a thin layer still lay upon the moonstone like dust, or heartbreak. She lifted the bead up on a flat palm to her mouth and exhaled warm breath over it. Then, with a delicate fingertip, she wiped away the last of the paste. The moonstone gleamed, aloof and invincible, against her grimy palm. It was time to set it into the womb of the Goddess.
Seventeen
Ana felt the air lessening around her by incremental degrees even as she knelt on the wet stones quizzing Mother Sea. The storm she sensed had started far off to the east a week before and it gained power as it headed their way. The Culebrenses might not even sense the danger yet—it had been a long time since a hurricane had blown through their harbor. She would do what she could to warn and protect them, but strength no longer surged through her when she called on Mother Sea. Instead, she hoped for a generous upwelling to sustain her through the trial ahead of her.
“What’s this?” She fingered the seaweed and coral laid out before her that Mother Sea had licked. She sat back on her haunches.
Mother Sea swept them into a pile beside her.
Ana moved several palm-sized stones aside and buried a horseshoe-crab shell into the resulting depression. Around this, she rimmed seaweed topped with oyster shells and the carcass of a sea star. Ocean lapped at the structure until it had filled in all crevices and nothing remained but a salty pool. Ana closed her good eye and stuck the fingers of her right hand into this water. An image of Tamarind’s father filled her mind’s eye.
“Ah, of course.”
She made to draw her hand out of the water when another image replaced the first. This time, she saw Tamarind. The mermaid’s lower half wavered as if distorted by water and a tail, dark gray like a manatee’s, appeared under her transparent legs. Even though the rainy season had weeks to go, she understood at once from this image that Tamarind’s transformation would be decided one way or another by the coming storm.
Pulling her hand out at
last, Ana sat back and sighed. She plucked the dead sea star and several shells from the ground around her and slid them into the small sack propped against a rock behind her. She unfolded her legs and stood upright. Her knees ached from being bent so long.
A laughing gull surfed the air in front of her face, its wings tipping to control its descent until it landed on the rock next to her sack. On its foot, twine secured a roll of paper.
“Thank you, Ai my love.” She snipped the twine with her scissors and absentmindedly pulled some tamarind pulp from her apron for the gull. It had been a long time since she’d received a written message.
The midwife who lived on Guadaloupe had sent this one. She had read the signs of the brewing storm and tracked it as it came closer to the islands. Now a hurricane that the humans called Marilyn, it had passed southwest of her island on a course for the U.S. Virgin Islands. Its current trajectory put it on a path to cross over the eastern coast of Puerto Rico and Culebra. She estimated its arrival in less than two days.
Ana looked up as the gull wobbled into the sky.
“Hey, Ai!” She threw it another, larger, bit of tamarind pulp. The bird snatched it from the air, flapped once around Ana’s head laughing softly, and then headed back to its home. It would have to hurry to miss the rising winds.
***
John woke in the early dawn on September 15th, its pale glow filtering through the blinds in the northern wall of his guestroom in Culebra. Something was wrong, but it took him several minutes to realize that the morning was eerily silent. Every weekend for nearly five months, he’d awakened daily to the cries of thousands of brown boobies, laughing gulls, and a variety of terns at their nesting grounds on Flamenco Peninsula and, in the nearby lagoons, competing calls from brown pelicans, Bahamas pintails, masked ducks, and ruddy ducks. Then he remembered that Hurricane Marilyn appeared to be headed straight for Culebra, and he knew why the birds were silent.
An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant Page 20