Late last night when he arrived back on the island after taking a charter flight with a pilot, who made no secret that he thought John had lost his marbles, he went straight to Posada La Diosa. Valerie sat listening to her radio in her kitchen. When she caught sight of him, she jumped up from her chair, threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him hard.
“You’re a welcome sight! I’ve been pretty nonchalant this season, even though Luís gave everyone else a scare. But after what Hugo did to us, I’m not sure I can weather Marilyn by myself.”
“I don’t know what help I’ll be.” He looked down at Valerie’s jewelry-making supplies and the wire-wrapped pieces laying there. “Is Tamarind still making jewelry with you?”
Valerie went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade, which she poured into two glasses.
“Here.” She handed him one. “While we still have electricity, we should enjoy cold drinks. Yeah, I see Tamarind a few times a week. We’ve been going to San Juan every now and then. She’s never been off this island so I’ve made it my duty to educate her a bit, take her to museums, shopping, whatever.”
John nodded once and sipped his lemonade.
Valerie sat down at her table and studied him. “But that’s not what you wanted to know is it? She’s not seeing anyone. I think she’s still stuck on you.”
“Is she still staying with that old hag, Ana?”
“John! That’s a horrible thing to say! Ana’s rough around the edges, I’ll give you that, but she does a lot of good for the folks around here.”
“I’m not a big fan of herbal lore and witchcraft.”
“Don’t knock what you don’t understand, John. To paraphrase Shakespeare, there are more things in heaven and earth than you dream of, my boy. And, yes, Tamarind still lives with Ana.”
“Do you think she’ll be safe there?”
“I think Ana’s one tough cookie who’s weathered a lot. I think she’ll know when to run for cover. But if you’re so worried about Tamarind, why don’t you go find her?”
John hadn’t left town to look for her this morning, even though the hurricane watch had been upgraded around midnight to a warning. Instead, he’d gone to the ferry dock with Valerie to help unload a shipment of plywood, nails, and water. Everyone’s mouths remained in tight lines, even the people that John knew and greeted. Today, everyone would be consumed with boarding up windows and buying supplies. And then they’d wait.
Somewhere in the small guesthouse, he heard a door slam and then low voices. Luís had already spooked most of the guests away from Culebra, and only one other of Posada La Diosa’s guests planned to stay through the coming storm. He got out of bed, dressed hastily and went into the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth. He’d borrowed Stefan’s cell phone so that he could call his parents before the storm hit—thank God he’d be able to reach them if the power went out. After he’d grabbed a bagel or something like it, he’d head over to the Sunken Reef Dive Shop and help Chris secure his boat in the marina and finish boarding up the windows in the shop. After that, he’d make sure that Valerie had gotten enough bottled water and groceries to last for a few days.
He arrived at the dive shop to find Chris already hammering at the piece of three-quarter-inch plywood he held over his front door; the larger sheet for the front window lay propped against the side of the shop. Chris said only “hey” when he saw John and handed him the bucket of nails to hold. Together, they finished boarding up all the glass surfaces for the shop before heading to the marina to add a few more lines from the dive boat to its mooring at the dock. As they worked, John paused frequently to stare at the southern horizon, which seemed a little darker to his searching eyes; even though the weather was still mostly sunny, the wind had picked up considerably. By the time they’d finished at the marina, it was mid-morning.
John wished Chris good luck, then almost ran all the way back to Posada La Diosa where he came across Valerie trying to herd the stray cat from the neighborhood into her door with her foot, her hands filled with grocery bags. The stupid animal refused to enter the half-opened screen door, instead insisting on winding itself around Valerie’s ankles until she nearly tripped. Bending down, John swooped the cat through the door and left it in the entranceway where it stood mewling in outrage. Valerie, clucking, urged John to grab the bag of cat food just outside the door and feed the cat to make up for its rough handling. John held the cat back with one hand while he reached through the half-open door for the food, and then squatted down to feed the stray, which purred vociferously. John laughed at how greedily, yet delicately, it ate its meal.
“Hey, Johnny. I have a couple cases of bottled water in the back of my Jeep. Can you bring them in for me?”
“Sure, no problem.”
She came out with him to unload still more bags. John hiked the box of bottled water onto his shoulder and followed Valerie into Posada La Diosa. Valerie had already set the other remaining guest to boarding up the windows to his room, and his hammering blended with the hammering echoing up and down the street. She took the bottled water from John and directed him to the back porch where there were sheets of plywood propped against the guesthouse wall, an open paper bag of nails, and a couple of hammers. Grabbing a handful of nails, he tucked them into a front pocket of his shorts, slid the hammer’s claws into his waistband, and then lifted a piece of plywood before heading toward the northwest end of the guesthouse and the window to his room. On this side of the guesthouse, which was less sheltered by the surrounding buildings, the gusts of wind were strong enough to whip his ponytail into his face and eyes. Still, he managed to nail the plywood securely in place without too much struggle and he prayed silently that all their efforts would be unnecessary.
When he returned to the back porch, Valerie was waiting for him.
“Why don’t you come in and grab a sandwich? It might be a long couple of days and you don’t need to start skipping meals now.”
Valerie made hummus sandwiches and poured lemonade for both of them. They sat at the kitchen island eating and listening to Latin pop on the radio. Before they’d finished, reports from Miami aired. Although Marilyn currently moved toward St. Croix at more than 70 miles per hour, forecasters didn’t expect her to strengthen beyond category one once she passed St. Croix. Still, she would reach Culebra before midnight.
“Dear God, why do they have to use the term ‘strengthen’? It sounds so positive, like what you do for someone who has a bad back or weak immune system.” Valerie licked the tip of her index finger and pressed it against the crumbs on the counter. She was about to stand up when John spoke again.
“Do you remember what you said about Shakespeare last night? You know, about more things in heaven and earth than I dream of?”
“Yes.” She pushed her empty plate and glass away from her and bent her head in an attitude of listening with all her attention.
“Well, I’ve had some pretty vivid dreams in the last six months, nearly all of them on Culebra. For most of the time I was back in Pittsburgh, I didn’t have any dreams—it was like I slept in a coma while I was there. And then two nights ago, I dreamt again about Tamarind.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. One time, when I was in San Juan, I dreamt she’d come into my room and, you know, did that humming thing she does. But she looked and sounded so real I nearly reached out and touched her. A couple of nights ago, I dreamt that she was in my apartment with me and she looked frightened. She asked me to come back to Culebra before the storm hit.”
Valerie squinted her eyes before standing up to get a cup of coffee. “Dreams are powerful messengers.”
“This was more than my subconscious trying to tell me something, Val. Look, I know this sounds crazy, but I think Tamarind really came to me somehow, that she needs me.”
“You must not believe too seriously or you’d have gone to find her before now.”
John stuck his fingertips into his hair, pulling out long strands from his once-
neat ponytail. “I believe it, but I also don’t believe it. I believed it enough to get on a plane and come here, but now that I’m here all these doubts crowd in my head and I can’t bring myself to face her.”
Valerie sipped her coffee and Latin pop filled the silence around them. After a moment, she spoke as if measuring out each syllable.
“John, did you happen to hear the phrase del mar while you were here this summer?”
John scowled and stared at his empty plate. “Yeah, I did. From Tomás and Chris. They suggested the woman who saved me from drowning back when I first got here was del mar. I thought Tomás was mocking me. And Chris? I just thought Chris had a lunatic edge.”
Valerie looked at him, her lips pursed. She tapped the counter with her fingertips and then sighed noisily. “Look, this will probably sound nuttier to you than your theory about Tamarind achieving astral projection, but I think Tamarind is a mermaid.”
John choked on the swallow of lemonade he’d just attempted. “Wha-at?”
“Okay, I know you’re a rational, science-type of guy, Johnny, but hear me out. Mermaids have been a part of the mythology of any number of peoples around the world—from India, China and Japan to Native America. Maybe there’s some basis for these myths.”
“Mermaids are about as real as leviathans.”
Valerie played with her napkin. “Actually, some scientists have proposed that leviathans might be a prehistoric ancestor to modern snakes.”
“But that just means that mermaids are really dolphins or–or manatees. Not some half-person, half-fish.”
“Once I read this book. I think it was called The Aquatic Ape. Anyway, the author hypothesized that if marine life crawled out of the primordial oceans and adapted to land, what’s to say that some of the primates that evolved didn’t go back into the ocean?”
John said nothing. He remembered thinking about what motivated sea turtles to split their time between land and sea. On the face of it, the idea of a primate heading for the ocean and adapting to it wasn’t so outrageous.
“I guess.” He laid his hands on the counter and studied them. “But why hasn’t anyone confirmed this theory? Why are mermaids still just myths? Beyond a cheesy Tom Hanks movie and kitsch in resort towns, no one has ever seen a mermaid.”
“That’s not true. Why do you think the Culebrenses talk about the gente del mar? In fact, many natives of the Caribbean whisper about them. They say they walk in human form among us, that they protect the sea turtles and reefs, and that they bring vital sea life to help heal humans. They even say some of the mer folk fall in love with humans and leave the sea to be with their chosen loves.
“Besides, if you were a merman, would you willingly swim up to a human and announce what you were? If it were me, I’d probably stay as far from shore as I could. But Tamarind isn’t me, is she?”
“No, she’s not. So, what do you propose I do? Ask her outright?”
“Sure? Why not? Can’t be any worse than asking her if her spirit leaves her body behind and travels to visit you, can it?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Astral projection couldn’t work for her anyway. Mermaids don’t have spirits.”
Eighteen
Raimunda sat at the bar of Isla Encantada watching Tomás and the bartender, Enrique, nailing plywood over the bar’s windows. She sipped her Medalla and nibbled on the stale surullitos resting on a small platter near her right hand. Every few moments her eyes slid to the door, which remained closed despite her vigilance. After a while, she pulled a packet of cigarette papers from the bag that hung at her waist and a handful of her special tobacco mix. Sprinkling a pinch onto a paper, she rolled a tapered tube, licked the edge of the paper, and lit it. As she sucked the sweet, spicy smoke into her mouth, she heard the door creak behind her.
She kept her face forward, the hand holding the cigarette propped up on an elbow next to her on the bar. Her lips curved at the corners. She set the cigarette into the ashtray next to her and picked up the Medalla.
“Mi sirenita.” Jesus kissed the back of her neck. “Somehow I knew I’d find you here, when everyone else is working so hard to save themselves.”
She shrugged. “Why work when I don’t have to?”
He sat on the barstool next to her. “Ah, yes, mi alma dulce. You live in a cave, don’t you?”
“Always trying to find out where I live, mi guapetón? Let’s just say that my home es inexpugnable. Comprende?”
“Well, not every woman is as agradable as you, mi reina. Sometimes I need some loving arms to welcome me.”
“Necesitas no más que llamarme buscarme.” She sipped her beer. “Was it not a few weeks ago I saw you here, mi amigo, with that chica deliciosa? Cómo se llama? Tamarind?”
Enrique interrupted them to ask Jesus what he wanted to drink. After the bartender left to get another Medalla, Jesus picked up a surullito and broke it between his thumb and forefinger. Cornmeal crumbs powdered the counter in front of him.
“Sí, we were together that night. She was very coy and left here alone, only to show up later and drag me away, begging me to fuck her. Pero no la he visto en mucho tiempo. It’s as though she doesn’t want me to see her.”
“I’ve seen her.” Raimunda pulled on her cigarette, her lips making a slight smacking noise as they clasped and released it. “She was at the norteamericano bar, the Dockside, a few days later. She complained she hadn’t had a good lay todo el verano.”
“Es la verdad?”
“Sí. Te mentiría? I was very surprised, mi amigo, very surprised. I listened while she told todas las mujeres about how small the cock was on her last fuck, smaller than that of the norteamericano.”
Enrique clanked Jesus’ Medalla onto the bar. Raimunda saw his eyes flicker at her last words, but he said nothing, only took Jesus’ money and returned to his inventory in the back.
“Esa bruja! Le voy a demostrar mi miembre! How do I find this bitch?”
“She’s known to stay with la mujer vieja Ana.”
Jesus swigged his entire beer in one breath and slammed the empty bottle down. “Perdóname, mi preciosa. I must go find este puta joven and teach her a lesson no olvidará nunca.”
“What’s your hurry, mi amor? Stay with me and have another cerveza. Ahora no es el tiempo.”
“Wrong, cariño. Now es el tiempo perfecto. Once the hurricane hits Culebra, only those with a death wish will venture from the safety of their houses. We will have mucho tiempo estar solos juntos. Tamarind will think again before complaining to los gringos. ”
“Ah, ya veo. Buena suerte, mi amigo. Buena suerte.”
Raimunda watched as Jesus dropped out of his barstool and loped away to the entrance. In the dim light from the boarded-up windows on either side of the door, she recognized the appetite of the man scorned, the single-minded focus of the predator.
***
Even above the noise of the wind, Tamarind heard the sound of a car motor on the hill road from town and her heart leapt. But when she saw the battered old Pontiac through a gap in the scrub, she knew that it wasn’t John and turned to look toward the canal so that the stranger wouldn’t see the disappointment in her gaze. The car rattled to a stop not far from her and a man in a red shirt blooming with hibiscus and gray polyester slacks jumped out, the car’s engine idling loudly.
“Señorita, dónde está Señora Ana? Mi esposa necesita ayuda ahora, por favor.”
By now, Tamarind was used to people driving, walking, and riding horses or bikes to Ana’s door at all hours of the day, although they had rarely shown such urgency. None of the Culebrenses had seemed very surprised to see Tamarind and she sometimes wondered if they attributed her presence to the power of Ana’s magic—for all they knew, Ana had conjured her up from lifeless dust. Shrugging, she accepted their conclusions—they weren’t entirely wrong anyway—and did nothing that would cause them to think differently. The Creator had allowed her to remain unknown among these humans and she must be careful not to invi
te suspicion to herself.
Without a word, she gestured for this latest supplicant to wait before sprinting away toward the beach, reveling in the feel of her toes pounding on the stony ground and the wind in her hair. At the edge of the beach, Ana waited for Tamarind, her knees under her chin as she squatted, her single eye glinting even though the sun no longer shone. She unfurled herself and stood up. Together, they hurried back up the hidden path toward the man, whose anxiety manifested itself in rapid, unceasing Spanish.
“Señora Ana! Señora Ana!” The man shouted even before he saw them. “Es el tiémpo. El bebé va nacer pronto. Vengate con migo, por favor.”
Ana smiled widely when she came out onto the hill. “I’ve been expecting you, Jaime. Only Carme would have the bad luck to have a baby in a hurricane.”
Jaime crossed himself. “Madre de Diós! Digáme si ellos estén bien.”
“You think you’re having a son? ‘Ellas’ estén bien, muy bien, if we leave now. Tamarind, you must come with me and help.”
Tamarind, who stared beyond the Pontiac where the road disappeared over a hill, started at Ana’s command and looked at them with narrowed eyes. “Me? What do you mean?”
Ana swiveled on her haunches to look up at Tamarind; her hands flitted in the air around her. “Look, young one, there’s a mother about to give birth. She’s in a lot of pain and needs my help. And I need yours. So stop thinking about yourself and go back to my place. We’re going to need a few things.”
Tamarind’s mouth opened, but she shut it again. Nodding, she listened as Ana told her exactly what to get before returning to the house on heavy feet. Inside, Ana’s chickens chuckled nervously from a temporary roost in one corner. She finished gathering the midwife’s book, some scissors, and the medicine basket when she remembered the moonstone Goddess that she’d hidden down on Playa Tamarindo along with all of her other belongings. Wrapping a cloaking glamour around herself, she slipped out of the door while Ana and Jaime secured a tarp over the chicken coop and the wooden seagull house. Ana had sent all of the seagulls away days ago to nesting areas on the Puerto Rico mainland. After the storm hit, they would fly over the islands and return to her with news from other midwives.
An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant Page 21