The Man Who Ivented Florida (22 page)

Z-Z-Z-clack-VOOM.

With the storm pod over them, the lightning blasts seemed to suck air out of the bay, replacing it with an odor of ozone so penetrating that it might have been the fluttering debris of an explosion.

"That was close!"

"Yeah."

"Oh damn. . . ." The woman was looking down at herself, as if she'd spilled something.

"What's wrong?"

"Um .. . lightning scares the hell out of me." Ford's quick look was a question, so she added quickly, "Not that I want to go in. I was just saying it scares me."

"You still see it?"

Sally had her face pushed forward. "No-o-o-o."

"Keep looking."

"Slow down." She was making a hushing motion with one hand, holding the other up to protect her face. "It can't be far."

Ford pulled the boat off plane to fast idle speed, stepping up onto the boat's gunwale to get a higher vantage point. The rain was so heavy now, he couldn't even see the hedge of mangrove trees that formed the boundaries of the bay. Plus, his glasses were a smeared mess. He took them off, squinting. "Lost it." - "Hey—" Ford could feel the woman pulling at his T-shirt. "What's that?"

Ford turned the boat, looking. The tide was so low, he tilted the engine to keep it from kicking up bottom, going slow, searching. "Where? I don't—"

"I've got it. I've got it." Sally put her hand on the wheel, steering the boat in the direction her finger pointed. "You see it now?"

Ford did: a dark shape isolated by the scrim of rain, moving. He shook the water from his glasses and put them on again. There it was, a large gray dolphin probably seven or eight feet long, twisting, thrashing in water so shallow that a silt bloom grew from beneath it as the animal's tail slapped up mud. He gave the engine gas, then switched off the key, coasting to get closer, knowing the propeller would spook the animal.

The woman said, "It's sick or something. Or maybe it's like when whales beach themselves."

Ford thought, Ear parasites, but said nothing as the boat drifted toward it. He moved up to the bow to get a better look. "I don't see any obvious injuries . . . but its color is strange. Kind of spotted? You see what I'm saying?"

"Yes. Like the chicken pox or something, you mean?"

Ford said, "The anchor's in the dunnage box. I'm going to see how close it'll let me get."

He swung his legs over the gunwale and was already knee-deep in water before he remembered he had his good running shoes on, almost new Nikes. Saturated with muck, they'd stink for a month. He balanced himself on the boat, pulled the shoes off, and tossed them onto the deck, noting that the woman was getting the anchor set, no problem.

The rain had settled into a steady downpour, the wind gone, probably busting out over the Gulf now, racing ahead of the storm front. But there was still lightning, great clicking bursts that touched the distant mangroves. When the lightning struck close, Ford could feel the dissipating voltage move up through his legs toward his heart, and he thought, I haven't done anything this stupid for a while. . . .

The bay water felt warmer than his own body temperature, or maybe it was just that the rain was so cold. Mud that sucked at his feet was hot, a mushy compact of accumulated heat. The dolphin was ten yards or so away now.

"E-e-easy . . . e-e-easy. Not going to hurt you. . . ." Talking in soothing tones as he got closer. The animal knew he was there; had probably known long before, tracking the boat, then Ford's own body with a steady series of clicks and pings. Into Ford's mind popped a memory of sitting in the Triton Hotel, downtown Havana, watching a rerun of the old television series "Flipper" dubbed in Spanish but with Russian subtitles. That's what the noise the dolphin was making sounded like: Flipper trying to warn Bud and Sandy about something. But along with the squeals and squeaks, there was a sound Ford had never heard a dolphin make before, a moist
whoop-whoop-whoop.
It sounded like pain, that noise.

"E-e-easy . . . just want to find out what's wrong. . . ."

Even through the splattered glasses and with his bad eyes, Ford was close enough to see the animal fairly clearly now. Big blunt-nosed animal that looked as if it were made from wet clay. White splotches all over its body—he'd never seen anything like that before. But the splotches didn't appear to be ulcerated, didn't have the look of disease.

He took a few steps closer, wanting to get a better look . . . but the dolphin spun toward him, rolling its dark eyes, then sprinted away with a thrust of its tail. Didn't keep going, though .. . rolled to its side after only twenty yards and opened its mouth in wild chattering.

"She's pregnant!" The woman was yelling to him through the rain. "There's a tail sticking out of her back end. Did you see it? A little tail?" Now Sally was out of the boat, wading toward the dolphin. Pushing through the water at a pretty good clip. "It must be some kind of breech birth. Does that happen?"

Ford couldn't see what she was talking about. "I don't know. I don't know much about dolphins."

"I bet that's it. I bet her baby's stuck. She can't get it out; that's why she's rubbing herself in this shallow water."

Ford had read somewhere that when a dolphin gave birth, there was always at least one other female dolphin in attendance. The attendant dolphin was called something . . . auntie dolphin? . . . midwife dolphin? Something anthropomorphic, which had irritated Ford. And probably why he hadn't anchored it in his memory. But this animal was alone.

"You sure you saw a tail?"

"I don't see how you could have missed it. It was sticking right out. See . . . there, when she rolls, I just saw it again!"

"She's not going to let us get close. I think we ought to leave her alone. I know some dolphin people. We could give them a call, maybe—" "She might sense that I'm a woman. That I'm trying to help_"

"What?"

"Maybe she wouldn't let you get close because you're a man. Male. Maybe she senses that."

Ford thought,
Right. . . .

"See? She's looking at me...."

Ford watched Sally Carmel drop to her knees in the shallow water, then to her stomach, pulling herself over the bottom, closer and closer to the dolphin. Ford kept waiting for the animal to bolt. It didn't. He stood motionless as the woman reached out and touched the animal . . . touched it again after it shied. Then she was stroking the dolphin's back, making a cooing noise Ford could barely hear above the squeaks and clicks the animal made. He saw Sally stroking her way toward the dolphin's big tail.

"You've got a little baby in there. . . . Come on out, little baby. . . ." Talking steadily in low tones, the emotion registering in an alto huskiness as Sally lifted her head high to reach beneath the animal's belly.

"My God!"

The dolphin was gone in an instant: a blur of moving water and great fanning fluke tail.

"I've got it. I've got it. I've got your baby!" Sally Carmel was sitting in the water, a small dark form cradled in her lap, yelling, "Don't go away!" as Ford ran to her, calling, "Keep its head out of the water. Keep it on the surface...." Both of them were watching as the mother dolphin turned and cruised back into the shallows, pinging and clicking.

Sally looked at Ford, her expression a combination of shock and wonder. "It's alive!"

Ford was close enough to see now. A small gray calf, maybe three feet long, pale birth bands on its sides and white splotches already showing on its skin.

Ford said, "It's not a bottle-nosed dolphin; it's a different species. That's what confused me. The spots are natural."

Sally said, "It's so warm! Look how its little porthole opens and closes! All I did was grab his tail."

Ford said, "The female must have come in from offshore. That's what happened. Having trouble."

"I almost fainted when she took off so fast, and there it was, right in my hands. I just held on....Oh-h-h, you're hungry." She was talking to the calf now. "Look at you move your little tail."

Ford said, "To break the umbilical cord, that's why she took off so fast. Spotted dolphin? I think there's a species called that. I'll look it up."

The woman got to her feet, holding the calf on the water, then gave it a gentle push. "There's your mother. Go on now . . . swim!"

The calf kicked toward the mother, its head slapping on the surface crazily. When the woman took a step to go after it, Ford touched her elbow. "It's okay. They're supposed to act like that. Getting used to breathing on the surface, I think."

The mother dolphin circled the calf, then nudged it several times, steering it toward the mouth of the bay and deeper water. Ford was watching but turned when he heard a high mewing noise: the woman standing there beside him, face in her hands, red hair hanging sodden in the rain, clothes plastered to her body, crying. "Hey," he said, "hey . . . the calf's fine. They're both okay." When he put his hand on her arm, Sally leaned against him, then buried her face against his chest. He said, "You did a great job. I'm amazed she let you get that close."

Sally was sobbing now, her whole body shaking. "I told you she knew. She did; she did ... on the way out, my period started. She knew!"

Ford cleared his throat. Jesus, why did she have to tell him that? Still holding her, he said, "Let's get out of the rain."

Awkward
now, standing in his own house with Sally Carmel, making it a point not to look at the way her wet T-shirt showed her body, trying not to sound strained and formal, which caused him to sound very strained, very formal. Saying, "Here's a towel. If you need to use the head ... ah, the toilet... ah, the facilities. To dry off, I mean. Not to—" Ford wiped water off his face. It was just getting worse and worse. "Make yourself at home. I'll put some tea on."

It was nearly dark. The lamp beside the reading chair was on. Through the window that faced the bay, the night sky was descending upon a band of fading pearl. Lighting the propane stove, Ford could see the woman wiping her arms and neck with the towel. Watched her swing her head down so that her hair draped her face. She took handfuls of hair and scrubbed at it in sections. Pretty hair. Darker because it was wet, a deep amber color. Curlier, too. Bright ringlets above her ears.

Ford said, "It's outside—the facility. It's like an outhouse, just to your left as you go out the screen door, but there's a chemical toilet inside. Like for a boat."

Sally threw her hair back and began to dry her face. "We used to have an outhouse when I was a little girl. In Mango? Do you remember that?"

"Electricity but no plumbing. Sure. A lot of people had outhouses. I didn't mind it."

"I remember something about you getting in trouble because you threw firecrackers into one. I remember being afraid to use ours at night, afraid you'd be out there with a firecracker."

Ford thought, That goddamn uncle of mine, but said, "Nope, I never did that."

"Sometimes," Sally said, "I think about that, being a little girl. It seems like another lifetime, I've changed so much."

One minute she was sobbing, the next she was being nostalgic, talking to him like nothing had happened. How could women be that way?

Ford put water in the kettle and set it over the fire.

She said, "I remember feeling so jealous of the girls in town, they had such nice bathrooms. Of course, they weren't—not compared to now. And televisions, garbage disposals. Things like that. I remember feeling ashamed when they'd come over. I tried to work it so we'd be so busy, they didn't have time to drink."

Ford said, "Huh?"

"So they wouldn't have to pee."

"Oh!" Ford was searching the condiment shelf to the right of the stove. "What kind of tea do you want? Tomlinson brings them over. All kinds here—"

Sally Carmel said, "I
like
him. He has such wonderful eyes. Like ... poet's eyes. I've seen them in some of the very old image work by Matthew Brady, eyes like his."

Ford was saying, "Green tea, orange pekoe, Morning Thunder, Red Zinger . . ."

"I met him in Mango, up at your uncle's? I think he'd be a good friend to have." "He keeps things interesting." Ford held one of the tea boxes up. "What kind?"

"Whatever kind you like. I only talked to him for a moment. Your uncle introduced us, and he was so... different-looking, that I thought at first . . . well, he just struck me as being very kind. Real nice."

Ford didn't like any tea except the kind that came with ice and lemon, but he said, "Orange pekoe?"

"That has caffeine in it, and it's getting late."

"Oh."

"Tell you the truth, it's so sticky after it rains, I'd love a cold beer."

Ford turned off the fire. "There's an idea." Hearing that was like a little bit of Christmas. Maybe tonight he'd drink four beers. To hell with his rules.

She was folding the towel. "I keep thinking about the baby dolphin. That was one of the most . . . touching experiences of my life. . . ."

Ford saw her looking around for a place to put the towel; watched her eyes stop on the red telescope standing by the window. Before her expression changed, Ford said, "I want to say something about that."

Her voice softer, she said, "You don't need to say a word. It's okay."

"No, I want you to know this—"

"Let's don't talk about it, please. I saw you with that dolphin, talking to it, out there in the water, with lightning everywhere—"

"I'm going to finish, whether you want me to or not. About me spying on you through my telescope—"

"That's ancient history, Marion. Hey ... do you want me to call you Marion or Doc?" Smiling wryly at him, trying to change the subject.

Ford pressed on, anyway. "I watched you only once. While you were swimming. Getting ready to swim. You know . . . late afternoon—"

Sally was looking at the window. The lights of the marina were white streaks emanating from the boat docks. "I like the way the water feels on me. It's no big deal."

Ford said, "But that's the only time I looked."

"At that time of day," she amended.

"Yeah, of course. That time of day. I use the telescope a lot, but not then I didn't. Because you were there, and I didn't want to . . . look then."