An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant Read online

  While she stood there, one fluttered to a branch at her head. Seaweed affixed a lace murex shell to its leg.

  “What’s this, Ai?”

  Ana slipped a small pair of scissors from the bag at her waist and snipped the seaweed. The lace murex dropped into her palm. She fingered it, turning it over and studying its lacy spines and ridges. Then she rubbed it around her palm several times, humming and chanting under her breath. When she’d released the message, she put the shell into the bag. The gull cocked its head and opened its beak, laughing at her.

  “Of course you did well. The midwife in Guadaloupe still watches. She’ll signal when the winds turn ferocious. All right, all right.” She reached into a pocket of her skirt, pulled out a rectangle of dried tamarind pulp, and broke off a corner. “Don’t be so greedy or you’ll shit yourself silly, Ai.”

  She tossed the bit into the air where the gull snatched it. As she walked on, a sea of thorny acacia and guinea grass, unremarkable yet as familiar to her as the thicket of lines on the back of her hands, rolled away. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know the acacia and guinea grass swallowed up her steps. No one could follow her unless she wanted him to.

  At the shore, she sensed the mermaid, maybe close, maybe far—but not too far. So she squatted at the water’s edge and rummaged through the wet stones. She’d gathered five when a shift in the air tingled her ears. The mermaid had released her glamour, the magic spell of disguise used by the mer.

  “It’s good you returned.” Ana spoke without looking up from her work. “You must be warned.” She swiveled to face the mermaid. “That idiota americano is looking for you.”

  He’ll see what I mean him to.

  “Then careful what you mean, young one.”

  But ….

  “No buts. Stay away until he’s gone.”

  The mermaid tossed her head, reminding Ana of the proud stallion who nipped the wild mares and shied away from everyone, even her. She launched herself from the water, arcing over backward in defiant grace, her sinewy tail slapping the water’s surface. The air wavered around her and she swelled into a portly manatee as saltwater and foam showered Ana. A sheet of droplets glittered in the early sunlight, but Ana saw the mermaid torpedoing through the canal anyway.

  Ana sat back on her heels and studied the mermaid’s wake with narrowed eyes. She must continue to follow the stranger, but more importantly she must find some way to distract him. She’d heard him at Isla Encantada, she’d heard his desire to find his rescuer. He would never find the mermaid on his own, of course, but his thoughts would be open to her. The besotted fool would linger around the edges of Culebra, hoping to catch his thoughts. He would draw her, like a homing pigeon, to him.

  A smile lifted her face. Perhaps she, Ana, could call him to her. She’d caught him thinking of dark-haired, dark-eyed Spanish beauties and long limbs entwined, glistening as they moved against each other. He would soon forget the mystery woman who’d saved his life when he’d become intoxicated with a flesh-and-blood siren. It would be done.

  She plucked up her skirt and waded into the shallows to gather more stones, shells, and seaweed. Muttering, she placed these around the edge of the small beach. She returned to the water and searched until she found a small sea star. At her touch, it flexed its arms but could not move fast enough to escape. She carried the dripping animal to the largest stone on the beach and laid it there. From the bag at her waist, she pinched a bit of dried cactus powder and, muttering again, outlined the sea star.

  It poured its life into her hands and into her plans.

  Three

  When John woke at six a.m. the next morning, cool sand and crisp light buoyed him. Sometime in the night, he’d freed himself from his sleeping bag, which lay in a heap at his feet. He stretched and grunted, reaching overhead and breathing deeply. He sighed and released the stretch. Overhead, terns and gulls fluttered, their sharp cries counterpointing the rhythmic shoosh-shoosh of the waves. Palm and acacia leaves tangoed with a flirty breeze tangy with salt. John closed his eyes and sighed again. All his senses had heightened. Sounds were clearer, smells sharper. Even his sunburn had cooled.

  Sitting up, he scooped some sand and let its powder slip through his fingers. It was as fine as confectioner’s sugar and almost as white. An urge overcame him and he scooped up more and rubbed it into his stubble. The sand felt less gritty than he did. He grinned. He was alive and he’d never felt better.

  His stomach rumbled. He was hungry. He rummaged in his backpack and found a Snickers bar. Breakfast of champions it was not, but it would do for now.

  It wasn’t until he bent over his sleeping bag, smoothing it before rolling, that he remembered the dream. It was less a vision than a memory of movement, a flowing along dark, swift currents studded with lights and teeming with music. Infinity swirled at his feet and forever arched over his head. He’d been without form, yet he’d been everything. He’d traveled alone, silent—yet not alone. A multitude of others swam beside him. Together, they swam always, yet they needed no destination. Once recalled, the dream disappeared like smoke on the breeze. Even though he’d lost its details, it left a sense of fulfillment in its wake.

  He hummed and stepped over snoring campers toward the Portajohns. That’s when Zoë’s absence hit him. He hadn’t slept away from her in nine months. A shadow crossed the sun and he glanced up reflexively. The morning brightened even before his eyes adjusted, but his peace faded. He shook himself. He needed to find the mystery woman.

  Not knowing what else to do, John decided to return to the scene of his rescue. Perhaps, in the clear light of early morning, he’d be able to spot some clue that he’d missed from the day before. The hike over the Carlos Rosario trail only added to his perplexity. There was no good reason to think that a stranger happened to be hiking along this trail, heard his floundering in the canal, dove in and pulled him out, and then returned to her hike post-haste. It just didn’t make any sense at all. The Luís Peña Canal was a destination, not someplace anyone would just pass by. And what had brought Ana, the local witch woman, to the shore with her pungent herbal medicine?

  The trail ended near the quiet little beach where his rescuer had brought him. John searched the perimeter of the shore again, but the only thing that he found out of the ordinary was a shriveled sea star lying exposed on a large rock. He was the last one to know anything about sea animals, but it seemed a strange place to find a sea star. There was something forlorn about it. He touched it with the tip of his finger. Out here, it was nothing but some tern’s morning meal. He cradled it on his palm and turned to face the canal.

  The last thing that he wanted to do was go back into the ocean. He stood for a minute or two, studying the impervious water—water that had nearly swallowed him. He looked again at the sea star, desiccated when it should have been moist, living. He was too late to save it, but he couldn’t leave the sea star lying on the stones. Returning the helpless creature to the ocean was the best he could do to set things right. He owed it to the woman who’d risked her life to save his. Holding his breath, he took a step into the canal. The water was blood warm and silky. It caressed his thighs and urged him deeper. He sighed and sank to his knees. Beneath him, the sand shifted to accommodate him. He lowered the sea star below the surface and watched as the water lifted its husk off his palm and carried it away. The current swirled around him, alive and tender. Like being naked and draped in satin sheets. He knew that he was alone. He saw nothing through the crystalline water, not even a darting fish, yet fingers stroked his calves and thighs, toyed with his hair, caressed his shoulders. A hallucinatory torso pressed against him, arms encircled his neck and he bent forward….

  The water turned playful, rolling and ducking him. John, water sheeting over his face, laughed and began splashing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he’d look totally bonkers to anyone who stumbled upon him, but he didn’t care. Nothing held him back, entangled him, under this infinite sky.<
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  “Where’s my lady del mar when I need her?” He didn’t realize that he’d spoken aloud until he heard an answer.

  “Will I do?” Ana stood at the mouth of the trail; her wild white hair spun wisps around her face. “Or are you looking for something else? You seem recovered.”

  John hung suspended in the water, which had lost its charm. He felt vulnerable to the old woman’s sharp gaze. “I am.”

  As dainty and graceful as a mountain goat, the old woman picked her way across the stony shore. She squatted down and toyed with some broken bits of shells. “Saw your flyer at Isla Encantada. Think to catch your mermaid, eh?” Her rough voice stayed even, but John heard the scorn in it.

  “I never said that.”

  “Tomás thinks you did.”

  John sighed. “No.”

  “Don’t believe in mermaids, do you? Why not? Maybe one is swimming right beside you.” The old woman’s right eye glittered. “Close to us vile humans, eh?” She chortled.

  John squirmed. “Look, you see who pulled me out of the canal or not?”

  “I saw no woman. Either there’s a lady del mar or you made the whole thing up.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Hm.” She picked at some seaweed on the sand, swirling its limp strands on the stones. “Ask yourself.”

  He had to get out of the water, fast. He lurched upright and strode to the shore, water spraying from his quick arms. He stopped next to her, but she didn’t look at him. “I’m not making this up. I didn’t imagine nearly drowning. I didn’t imagine the woman who saved me.” He paused and then braved a question. “Do you know more than you’re telling?”

  She swiveled and looked up at him. A sly smile oiled her wrinkled cheeks. “Maybe I pulled you out.”

  John ignored her. “How’d you happen to find me?”

  Ana shrugged, stood up, and brushed her hands on her threadbare skirt. “Came here to gather this and that for my remedies.”

  “Maybe you’re not the only one who gathers ‘this and that’ for her remedies.”

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged again. “Whatever makes you happy.”

  John watched her bend over the stones, dismissing him. He didn’t need to stay and watch her pick over rocks, to have her pick over his story. What did it matter what she thought? He’d already passed her and reached the trail before something in her manner made him turn around. She seemed to scour the rock where he’d found the sea star. After a minute, she turned to stare at him.

  “Maybe Tomás has found her for you.”

  “I’ll ask. Good hunting.” He nodded and turned back to the trail.

  If he’d felt perplexed before, now he felt angry. He stopped walking after ten minutes and closed his eyes. The memory of saltwater filling his lungs choked him. Fresh panic shocked his heart into erratic beating. His eyes flew open. Brilliant light haloed his vision in the rising heat. He had almost drowned. But. He tried to recall the feel of her arms around him or the sound of her voice. All he summoned was a feeling of warm security, of relief from suffocation. Had his oxygen-starved brain hallucinated her? The inexplicable image of curly hair and brilliant blue eyes returned as if to confirm this.

  John returned to his campsite. He couldn’t go to Isla Encantada for hours. He didn’t want to read. He couldn’t snorkel. He wanted to know who had pulled him out of the water. He wanted to know why she’d left him. He stuck the island map into the waistband of his shorts and hopped onto the bike. He would distract himself with a tour of the island. He pedaled so furiously that he lost himself under the hard blue sky until a headache pounded its way into his blank mind and made him acknowledge his need for water.

  When he got back to Dewey, John headed for Isla Encantada where water and a cold Medalla waited. Tomás nodded and smiled when John caught his eye and brought a bottle over before John could order.

  “Gracias.”

  “De nada, Señor Juan.”

  “Some water too, please.”

  “Sí.”

  John noticed a woman at the bar. He couldn’t see her face, but her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders; her flamingo-pink skirt and white blouse popped against the brown of her skin. He stole looks at her through lunch. No one came to meet her. She flirted with the bartender and made Tomás blush. Her husky, Bette Davis voice drifted across the dining area and insinuated itself into John’s ears. He began to wonder why he’d never picked women up in bars. He’d just worked up the courage to motion Tomás over when a man slid onto the stool next to her.

  John watched as the newcomer leaned into the woman’s shoulder and said something. The woman answered, shaking her head and shifting away. She lit a cigarette and propped her elbow on the bar between them. From John’s vantage point, it was a clear rejection. He waited for the other man to take the hint, but he didn’t. Instead, he snapped his fingers at the bartender and ordered something without taking his eyes off of the woman. The bartender set two beers down, his eyes sliding from the woman—who’d grown into John’s Caribbean fantasy—to the man, who ignored the bartender to lean again toward the woman. The bartender hustled away but not before John saw the nervous flash on his face.

  When the newcomer put his hand on the small of the woman’s back, she shrugged it away. The man put it back. That’s when John acted. His chair scraped against the floor and he stood before he knew what he was doing. The newcomer turned and stared at him.

  “Una problema, señor?” The man’s flat dark eyes telegraphed a challenge.

  It wicked all the moisture from John’s throat. He stood there, suspended between his seat and a certain confrontation.

  The woman swiveled and looked at him, smoke painting a ghostly filigree around her. She smiled. White teeth brightened her face. “No problema, Jesus. This is mi amigo, the one I was to meet. Right?” Her dusky voice never rose yet John heard her across the room.

  His own voice returned. “Yes.”

  The lithe Caribbean beauty slid from her stool and slinked toward him. John saw bare feet with peeping pink toenails. She met him, slipped her arm through his, and winked. “Buy me a beer, my friend?” She smelled of cloves and something hot and fecund. John nearly swooned.

  “Of course.” He started to guide her to a chair when Jesus blocked the way.

  “Gringo.” Jesus’ breath stank of hops and something sour. “I never forget. Never. ” His flat eyes regarded John. He looked at the woman. “You and I will meet later, mi alma dulce.”

  She laughed, a throaty, wild sound. “I will be all the sweeter, mi guapetón.”

  Jesus stroked a fingertip along her forearm. “Igual que la fruta. Until then.” He shot a final glance at John and left Isla Encantada.

  John let a shaky breath out and helped the woman into a seat. She reached for the dregs of his Medalla and tilted the bottle to her mouth. John watched as she swallowed. She kept her eyes on his.

  “So.” She passed a hand across her lips. John noticed that they were the color of pomegranate seeds, slightly swollen and glistening. “You are visiting Culebra?”

  He nodded.

  She smiled at Tomás who brought over two frosted bottles of Medalla. “Gracias.” He stuttered a nearly inaudible reply and left. “The beer is in my hand, my friend. Now, perhaps, we share names?”

  John grinned. “I’m John.”

  “Hola, John. I am Raimunda.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, which was oddly shriveled against her smooth cheek. “You have come for the beach and the fish, my friend?”

  “That’s the plan. What gave me away?”

  She shrugged and tipped up her bottle to drink. “That is why most norteamericanos come. Others? They run away from their demons and hide here on the Island of the Snake.”

  “‘Island of the Snake?’”

  “Culebra.” It sounded slightly dangerous when Raimunda said it. “Did you not know that you are on the Island of the Snake?” She watched him closely. Her right eye drooped a little. John found
it enticing.

  “And? Are there snakes here?”

  Raimunda looked at him from between lowered eyelashes. “Not enough, some would say.”

  John’s eyes widened. “And what do you say?”

  “I say, my friend, there are always snakes if you know how to find them.”

  “I bet you’re a regular snake charmer.”

  She tipped a modest face and the hair behind her ear slipped free. John wanted to reach over and push it back but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her.

  “You see my flyer?” He tilted his head toward the wall next to the door. She followed his motion with her gaze.

  “That was you?” It was her turn to widen her eyes.

  “‘Fraid so. Do you like to swim?”

  “Sometimes. Por qué?”

  John looked at his hands, which were wrapped around the half-empty Medalla. She didn’t match his mental image of his rescuer, but he wanted her to. “Someone pulled me out yesterday. I would’ve drowned.”

  “Oh, no! That is terrible, my friend. No, no I could never save you.” She shifted so that she leaned closer. Her husky voice lowered. It caressed his jaw on its way into his ears. “I am muy débil. How you say? Weak. I am only una mujer. How pull I such a big man from the water?” Here she touched his arm.

  John lifted his Medalla and drained it. At the moment, finding his mystery woman seemed less compelling.

  She slid the bottles to the side of their table and took one of his hands in her own. “It matters not, my friend. I can make you even more glad to be alive.”