An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (14 page)

“I know
what your mouth tastes like. I know what your hands feel like on my body. I
know what you feel like inside me.” She paused and held his gaze with her own.
“I know what desperation feels like,
gringo
. Desperation and escape.”

She
stood up. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave you to your misery, my friend.”

John
watched as she turned, her hair thick on her shoulders. In the dim light of the
restaurant, her skirt glowed. He couldn’t take his eyes off her hips as they
swayed up the stairs and out into the Culebra sunlight.

***

Zoë’s
head ached after so much sun and wind on the Sakitumi
and she suspected
that her sun block had either worn off or that John had applied it haphazardly.
After leaving him outside the Dockside, she headed straight for Mayte’s
supermarket—shaking her head at the generous use of the term “super”—to look
for water, Tylenol, and Aloe Vera lotion. She bought a bottle of water, but
after drinking some of it, she wished that she’d purchased a Diet Coke instead.
Studying the label, she saw that it wasn’t spring water at all but distilled
water. It tasted awful, like salty dishwater.

She left
Mayte’s and headed southwest toward the ferry dock and the lowering sun. Along
the way, she passed Dewey’s two churches, one Methodist, the other Catholic. A
red rooster bobbed ahead and across the street from her, proudly leading
several smaller hens to some unfathomable destination downtown. As she got
closer to the intersection with the road in front of the ferry dock, she
noticed a brightly painted figure leaning against a tree.  Not having seen any
other local art, she paused and studied it. The figure’s staring eyes unnerved
her and she wondered if Culebra had any practitioners of Santeria or voodoo. On
a nearby abandoned building someone had spray painted the words
Culebra para
los Culebrenses
. Together, the figure and words presaged some eruption of
cruelty or of violence against interlopers. She shivered and hurried away
toward the bright plaza.

Zoë
passed the island’s tiny post office and a Chinese restaurant on her left. Both
appeared deserted, exacerbating her foreboding. Ahead, the pink and gray
concrete blazed. A solitary figure sat under a tree on the small plaza. As Zoë
got closer, she saw that it was a wizened old woman who sat on a mat or
blanket. Dozens of small bottles and bags lay in neat rows before her. The old
woman’s head nodded and her hands lay loose in her lap. Napping. Which made a
lot of sense in this stultifying heat.

Ignoring
the cool lure of the seawater near the dock, Zoë turned away from the withered
form. A heat vise clamped around her forehead and temples. If she didn’t find
an open, air-conditioned shop along this stretch of downtown waterfront, she’d
have to head to the liquor store at the far end of the street and hope that the
owner wouldn’t throw her out for loitering. A door opened ahead of her with a
jingle and she drew close enough to see a line drawing of a mermaid and the
words “The Mermaid’s Purse” on a sign protruding from the storefront. Sighing,
she picked up her pace and reached the door panting.

Inside,
air conditioning took the edge off the swelter but disappointed Zoë’s hopes.
Scowling, she barely returned the owner’s greeting and drifted over to the far
corner of the shop to pretend to study the cotton batik dresses until her
headache abated.

“You’d
look good in the red or the blue,” the owner, a deeply tanned, champagne blonde,
called. “Although I think the red is more dramatic.”

Zoë
lifted the colorful fabric away from the hanger and studied it. “I don’t know.
I wear a lot of black.”

The
woman came out from behind her desk and walked over to the rack where she
folded her arms and appraised Zoë.

“Black
is good, but red is bold, especially this color of red. It’s
flamboyan
red. You’re too early to see the blossoms of the
flamboyan
tree, but
they’re unmistakable. Try it on and see how it makes you feel.”

Zoë
accepted the dress and headed to the single, closet-like dressing room in the
back. She thanked her lucky stars that her skin had dried and didn’t stick to
the cotton. The material draped nicely along her hips and the camisole fit
well, not too loose along the seams and not too tight across the bust. The
dressing room lacked a mirror so she stepped out into the store. The woman
waited for her.

“Sweet
Mother! You look fantastic!”

Zoë
smoothed the skirt. “You think so? Or are you just trying to sell me a dress?”

“Well,
sure, I’m trying to sell you a dress. But I don’t need to lie to you. I’d kill
to look like that in one of those dresses. You buy that, and you’ll be the best
advertising I could get. Just to show you how happy I am to see someone look so
good in one of my dresses, I’ll take twenty-five percent off.”

Zoë
laughed. “Okay, okay! You sold me. I just hope you’re not feeding me a line….”

She kept
the dress on and paid for it along with three turquoise and lime t-shirts
emblazoned with a mermaid. When she stepped out into the plaza again, she
scarcely noticed the heat that accosted her. The solitary figure no longer
napped on the plaza but stared at Zoë, who felt a tingle. Was it curiosity?
Whatever it was, it compelled her toward the figure. As she approached, the
woman’s face clarified within her crazy white hair and crumpled skin. She
peered at Zoë, who saw that a milky cloud swirled over her left iris. She was
half-blind then, and harmless.

“What’s
all this?”

The
woman shrugged. “Just some tinctures for stomachache or headache or diarrhea.”

“Are you
some kind of folk healer?”

The
woman grinned, showing small, even teeth. “You might say so. Sometimes I heal
other things, like broken hearts.”

“Really?”
Zoë stepped forward a single step and then stopped. “Good grief! What am I
doing? The Caribbean sun must have fried my brains good.” She turned to go.

“Ah, a
skeptic. I just thought a woman who wore such a vivid color might take a chance
for the right man.”

Zoë
turned back. She stood looking down at the herbal remedies, trying to discern
whether any of the bottles or bags held any merit. Nothing appeared especially
enticing to her inexpert eyes.

“Is he
here on Culebra with you?”

“Who?
Oh, yes. ‘
The right man
.’  Yes, he’s here.”

“That
dress is sure to get his attention.”

“I sure
hope so. Being away from me for two weeks sure hasn’t whet his appetite any.”

The old
woman sat up and stared at Zoë, her blue eye intent. “Perhaps it’s another
woman.”

Zoë, who
had been idly rubbing a small glass bottle in front of her, blinked. “Another
woman?”

“Here.”
The old woman picked up a green glass bottle in the shape of a tiny flask, slid
it into Zoë’s limp palm and pressed her fingers closed with both hands. “Just a
drop of this will spike his lust for you and drive away all thoughts of other
women.”

Zoë
murmured something without being sure whether she said thanks or if she
muttered nonsense. A fierce headache swelled and the next few minutes grew
confused. She didn’t know whether a heat haze blurred her vision or whether sun
block got into her eyes, creating a film over her sight. She clutched the
bottle to her chest and whirled away from the old cretin. Scurrying across the
street, she wasn’t aware of her steps or her surroundings. A cloud passed
overhead, dimming her vision. Her heartbeat fluttered against her ribs. Almost
as quickly as the cloud appeared, it scuttled away again and Zoë plunged down
the street away from the plaza. She no longer felt the old woman’s piercing
gaze on her back and her heart settled into its usual rhythm. She held her hand
open in front of her.

“Fucking
garbage.”

She
looked around for a trashcan but saw none nearby. For a moment she considered
smashing the bottle against the side of the nearest building, but then she
caught sight of the painted figure and realized that she hadn’t paid for the
promised aphrodisiac. Just thinking about returning to pay the creepy old witch
made her shudder. She looked again at the innocuous little bottle and then hid
it in the pocket of her skirt.

When she
descended into Señorita’s colorful cave, she stopped at the bottom of the
stairs to let her eyes adjust. At first, she didn’t see John because she
thought he’d be waiting at the bar, but only Hemingway’s double sat there
drowsing over an empty pint glass. She finally saw John sitting at a table in a
dark corner. He stared out toward the small canal on the far side of the
restaurant and his forearms rested on the table. A full glass of beer stood
untouched in front of him. When she walked over to stand at his side, he didn’t
stir.

“Is this
seat taken?”

“What?”
He looked at her. Catching her eye, he looked away quickly but not before she’d
seen something there. Fear? Guilt? “Uh, no.”

She slid
into the seat. “You’re on your fourth beer already? Drinking alone is a bad
sign.”

John
refused to look at her. “I haven’t even touched this one.”

“I see
that.” Zoë picked it up and sipped it. “What is it?”

“A
Heineken. They don’t have any microbrews around here.”

“Ugh. How
can you drink so much of it?”

He
shrugged. “It beats the water.”

She
sighed and stretched her legs under the table. “That’s true. I bought a bottle
of something euphemistically called water earlier and gagged on it.”

Silence
fell between them while the waitress came at last to collect the empty glasses
and take Zoë’s drink order.

“Did you
get enough souvenirs?” John watched his hands playing with his Heineken bottle.
As if nothing else mattered.

“Just a
few t-shirts.” She held up the bag. “And this fabulous dress.” She winced at
the bitterness in her voice. He still hadn’t looked her in the eye. “John.”

Now he
looked up at her. His green eyes were opaque in the dim light.

“John,
I–” She paused. “Is something wrong? You don’t seem as relaxed as I expected
for two weeks away from the gray skies of Pittsburgh and the dungeon we
lovingly call our office building.”

He
seemed to struggle with focusing on her words. His lips worked a bit before he
got an answer out. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just really wiped out from the
boat ride. I can’t believe you’ve got enough stamina to traipse around to gift
shops after that struggle with the amberjack.”

“I do
feel like I’m hung over. Another reason to avoid this.” She tipped the beer
glass slightly, studying the amber liquid, which glowed in the dimness. She
couldn’t bring herself to push harder, not here. Not now. Maybe later, when
they were alone.

“Well,
tank up on some bottled spring water here and then let’s head back to the room.
Maybe a nap is in order. I’ve got just the island hangout for tonight.”

Tamarind waited
until
Black Urchin walked away from the old woman before she shifted her cloaking
glamour to the aspect that she’d worn for John. When she felt certain that no
one else ventured out during the heat of the afternoon, she sidled over to the
woman, who busied herself with wrapping her sundry bottles and tins into the
woven mat. Tamarind watched the efficient brown arms, little more than bone and
sinew, as they scuttled around. She knew that the old woman kept her waiting.

“You’re
an idiot, young one.” The old woman didn’t raise her eyes from her task.

Tamarind
flinched but said nothing.

“I told
you to stay away from that man, that he’s dangerous. His woman is on the
island.”

Tamarind’s
glamour wavered, but she clamped down on her control.

“His
woman?”

Now the
ancient woman did look at her. She put a hand-rolled clove cigarette into her
mouth and then lit it. After a moment, fragrant smoke clouded the air between
them. “The term is ‘girlfriend.’ That was her in the red dress.”

Tamarind
bit her lip. “That was his girlfriend?”

“Yup.”

“She’s
as prickly as a long-spined urchin.”

The old woman
barked a laugh. “For one so foolish, your description’s apt. Nevertheless, he’s
leaving the island with her.”

Tamarind
tossed her head. “No, he’s not.”

The old
woman looked at her for a long moment. “Ah, you know something.”

“Perhaps.”

“He’s
coming back to Culebra, isn’t he?”

The wind
off the sound surged through the spirals of Tamarind’s hair, blocking her
vision in a tangle of fine copper.

“Yes. He
says he wants to volunteer to count sea-turtle eggs.”

“And you
want to try winning his heart, don’t you? It’s not enough for you to sneak
around on the island after I warned you. Now you want me to help you. Help you keep
those lovely legs of yours?” The old woman blew scented smoke out of the corner
of her mouth.