An Ordinary Drowning, Book One of The Mermaid's Pendant (16 page)

“Holy
crap, girl! That was mighty impressive. If fishing doesn’t pan out for you, you
might want to challenge some frat boys to belching contests.”

“It
doesn’t do that to you?” Her heartbeat tapped against her ribcage.

“Well,
sure, if I tip it back like you just did. But I’ve had a little more experience
with carbonation, I guess. Just sip it slowly.”

He
handed her the bottle again and this time she only took a mouthful. It fizzed
inside her mouth as bubbles popped against her palate, but after she swallowed
the pressure remained normal. On impulse, she tipped the bottle up again. The
pressure rose a bit in her chest. Grinning, she parted her lips and urged the
trapped air up with her diaphragm. A smaller belch sounded.

John
grinned but reached out for the Coke bottle. “All right, enough of that. C’mon,
walk me to the marina.”

The walk
from the liquor store tried her stamina, but the water she’d drunk kept the
pains and parched sensation from returning. Once they arrived at the dock, she
was close enough to draw on the power of the water to sustain her. John dropped
his backpack and sat down on the dock’s edge. Tamarind sat next to him. Her
lower half, dangling above the water in the harbor, sucked energy into itself.

“You
look a lot better than you did a little while ago. I guess Coke revived you.”

Tamarind
pulled the sunglasses out of her bag and put them on. “It’s like looking through
Coke.”

“That’s
one way to put it, I guess.” He said nothing for a moment. “I’m looking forward
to coming back here in a couple of weeks and counting turtle eggs with you. I
don’t know what I’m going to tell my thesis advisor, but I’m not ready to go
back to Pittsburgh yet.”

“Is that
why she’s not your girlfriend anymore?” She didn’t look at him. Instead, she
bit her lip and swung her lower half back and forth.

“Partly.”
He rushed on, his voice hurrying away from the subject. “Hey, listen, I’ve got
something for you.” He bent toward his backpack and rummaged inside it.
“Remember I took the ferry to Fajardo last week? Well, I drove to San Juan and
while I was there I got these books for you.”

He held
them out to her. She took them and looked at the drawings on the covers. They
clearly depicted creatures of some sort, but while they had recognizable faces,
arms, and legs, they looked like nothing that she’d seen, either underwater or
on Culebra. The creatures reminded her a little of the outline of the woman with
the fish’s tail on the sign over the shop.

“They’re
all written by Dr. Seuss.
Green Eggs and Ham
,
The Cat in the Hat
,
Horton Hears a Who
,
Red Fish Blue Fish
. All the classics.”

She
squirmed and frowned at him. “I told you I don’t know how to read.”

“I know.
I’m going to teach you.”

Tamarind
looked at the books with their brightly colored covers again. Her eyes stung
behind the sunglasses.

“Did I
say something wrong?” John sounded worried.

“No.”
She tossed her head and squeezed her eyelids until the stinging stopped. “No. I
can’t wait for you to teach me.”

There
was a shout from fifty feet out in the harbor and John stood up. Suddenly, it
was time for him to go. Tamarind shoved the books into her bag, ready to cloak
herself as soon as John boarded and no longer noticed her. After the crew of
the ship tied off and lowered the gangplank, John turned and ruffled her hair.

“Don’t
stalk any other tourists while I’m gone.” He ascended the narrow bridge from
the dock to the ship.

She
didn’t change her aspect even though he never turned around to look at her
again. Instead, she caressed his calves with her gaze and hugged the bag of
books to her chest.

“I
won’t,” she said to his retreating form.

***

Ana
squatted on the shore at La Playa Tamarindo, peering at the stones, seaweed,
and shells arranged there. Overhead, a darkening cloudbank obscured the morning
sun and the ever-present chatter of birds had hushed to stillness; in moments,
the season’s first rain pelted her and disturbed the outlines of her question before
Mother Sea. This by itself was an omen, one that foretold that Father Sky would
mediate the outcome. Even before she’d come to the beach this morning, Ana’s
intuition had spoken to her about the violence of the upcoming season and the
oracle had just confirmed her suspicions. The hurricanes that blew through the
Caribbean every summer and fall would be especially numerous, and one would
batter her little island late in the season after pummeling the islands further
south.

While
this prediction disturbed her, Ana wanted to know something entirely unrelated
to the future weather. She wanted to know whether the mermaid would return and
accept her conditions for help, and if so, how she would fare during the
transformation. This latter was a question that she wouldn’t have dared to ask
in her youth, but she was growing more tired—and lonelier than she would have
thought possible—and she was willing to risk Mother Sea’s ire by asking it.
When she’d first returned to Culebra and taken up her role as healer and
diviner, she’d been reluctant to aid the occasional mermaid who called upon
her; as the years passed, she began to realize that a time would come when
she’d no longer be able to carry out her duties. Now, she feared that each
opportunity to help a mermaid become human might also be her last to find a
protégée.

Ana
rearranged the artifacts on the shore before her, adding a few shells here,
removing a few stones there. She asked Mother Sea what the mermaid’s immediate
fate would be and waited, scarcely breathing. After several moments, seawater
fingered her code.

Rubbing
between her brows, she sighed and sat back on her haunches. The unequivocal
oracle had shown that the mermaid would return and accept the conditions of her
metamorphosis; and, blessed be the Creator, she would not only survive but
would indeed have put off her tail. This was as much as she could hope to learn
today and she would not be allowed to ask any more questions regarding the
mermaid for at least one cycle of the moon. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy
her, to assure her that all would turn out as she wished. It occurred to her
that she could get at some of what she wanted to know by asking a question
about the man who had captured the mermaid’s heart. 

She
leaned forward onto her knees, eagerly rearranging her artifacts while the rain
fell.

Mother,
will this human take the mermaid away with him after the rains end?

The
waves, which lapped at her arrangement even as she placed the items, surged and
obliterated all but a few of them. Satisfied, Ana picked up the remaining
shells and stones and placed them within a small canvas sack. The oracle had
suggested that John would leave the island alone, but she had seen her own hand
in it and knew that this wasn’t a certainty, only a probability. She must take
every opportunity to ensure that what the oracle said came to pass.

Tamarind watched
from the security of mangrove roots along the
northern edge of the Luís Peña Canal as the old woman stooped over a section of
beach, frowning at some detritus there. This was not the first time that the
old woman had spent long moments contemplating seaweed and shells, yet Tamarind
still had no insight into what she was doing. After a few moments, the old
woman leaned forward and rearranged some of the items around her and then
Mother Sea flowed forward, the foamy edge of Her waves caressing them. All at
once, Tamarind understood that the old woman was communicating with Mother Sea.
Mer
people, living in symbiosis with Mother Sea, did not speak with Her.
She embraced them, gave them refuge, provided power for them to draw upon to
protect themselves, both underwater and on shore. She never spoke to them.

The old
woman leaned forward a second time, moving bits of shell, seaweed, and stone.
This time, Mother Sea rushed forward before she’d finished, sucking most of her
items into the canal. Instead of appearing angry or upset, she appeared
relieved. She gathered the remaining stones and shells and tucked them into a
small bag, then rose and turned away from the shore.

Tamarind
waited a moment. She had only to walk on borrowed power to the old woman’s
house.
What if reality is less wonderful than my vague fantasies? Will I
wish I hadn’t risked so much for so little?

Closing
her eyes and lifting her chin, she sent her thoughts out to the water around
her to transform her tail into a pair of human legs; she would store some
energy within her mind, doling it out along the short walk to the old woman’s
house. She swam until her new feet reached the bottom of the canal, then stood
up and walked from the clinging grip of Mother Sea. As she walked, the rain
tapered off and stopped altogether; by the time she reached the edge of La
Playa Tamarindo, the sun shone overhead.

When
Tamarind arrived at the old woman’s squat cinderblock house, she was sitting in
the doorway smoking a clove cigarette. Her good eye sparkled, alive in her
shriveled features. She didn’t smile. Tamarind’s stomach churned and her
glamour wavered. She came closer to the old woman, transfixed. Even though the
sun was bright, she felt cold. For the first time that she could remember, the
hum that always waited inside her core had fled, leaving her empty.

“I’ve
been waiting for you, young one. You agree to my condition?”

“Ye—”
Her dry throat trapped her voice. She cleared her throat forcefully. “Yes.”

The old
woman’s eye flashed; she bent and smashed the stub of her clove cigarette into
the ground. Smoke continued to drift up around her head, twining like ghostly
seaweed. She unfurled herself and disappeared into her dark house. Tamarind
hesitated, unsure whether she should follow, but the old woman reappeared
holding a clear container filled with a dark brown liquid, its surface faintly
hissing.

“Here,
drink this.”

Tamarind
took the container from the old woman’s outstretched hand. As she did, she
caught sight of a silvery sheen between the fingers and nearly dropped the
smooth container. She steadied her hand and raised it to her lips. Its contents
hissed, reminding her of John’s Coke. She sucked in some of the liquid, tiny
bubbles rising from its surface and popping on her cheeks. The liquid’s heat
slid furiously down her throat and consumed her. Her heart responded as wildly
as a netted fish, flopping against her ribs. Just as she started to back away
from the old woman, the heat subsided, leaving a strangely sweet taste.

“Drink
all of it.”

The old
woman watched as Tamarind lifted the container again, choking on the first
drops of liquid. She wanted to spit it out, to throw the container down and run
away, but its heat rooted her and the old woman’s eye compelled her to finish
it. This time, the liquid lost some of its heat. Tamarind flushed, just as she
did after an afternoon lying on a sheltered beach. Her thoughts loosened and
swam away from her.

The old
woman took the container before it could slip from her grasp. She was about to
take a step on her borrowed legs when, to her surprise and horror, she found
that her glamour had vanished and she lay on her side. She called for her
father, but her mind’s voice refused to escape her head.

“Don’t
bother. He can’t hear you this far inland and the beer has dulled your mental
energies.” The old woman paused. “I didn’t poison you. The beer will fortify
you for your coming ordeal—it’s all I have to help you, but it’ll wear off soon
enough.”

Tamarind
tried to latch onto the old woman’s words, but they darted about like tiny fish
among coral.

“Gather
yourself and follow me.” The old woman turned away from Tamarind and walked
toward some low bushes.

Tamarind
blinked. She hadn’t moved when the old woman stopped by some guinea grass,
coarse and thick, and turned her glittering eye onto her. Tamarind leaned over
and put her forearms onto the ground and felt the familiar surge of energy into
her upper body. Mustering her focus, she pulled her limp tail into the air
where it hung suspended over her head and lurched across the ground on her
hands. Panting, she dropped down near the guinea grass. The old woman stooped
and parted two clumps with her hands until Tamarind saw a long cleft in the
ground. Smaller ridges and fissures surrounded this narrow opening, which was
almost entirely obscured once the grasses sprang back to their normal places.
Tamarind scooted closer on her belly.

“You
must enter this cave, young one. Not head first but with your tail.”

Tamarind
wasn’t sure how she could fit inside the cleft, but she nodded and pushed
herself sideways until her tail neared it. It was just wide enough to accommodate
the muscles of her tail once she’d tilted her flippers and eased them into the
opening. She grunted as she backed herself into the earth, which widened out
after the lower half of her tail had disappeared inside it. The soil was warm,
clinging to her skin, yielding and conforming to her. And then her flippers
pushed against unyielding earth and her torso hung over the lip of the fissure,
half in and half out.