Crossing the River (17 page)

The water was delicious, warm on the surface and cool underneath. I swam in a calm lagoon created by a long reef and looked at the ripples of sun on my arms through the film of water.

Talk about multi-use. There were people in the water, not swimming so much, mostly sitting submerged up to their shoulders, in straw hats and baseball caps. Then there were the fishermen, like the white-mustachioed man standing on the beach watching his lines, which extended way out into the lagoon from rods planted in pipes sunk into the sand. Then there was the guy snorkeling with the harpoon gun, and finally there was the flying Zodiac that was taking off
and landing every twelve minutes. As a mere swimmer, you could start to feel a little vulnerable.

Now, a flying Zodiac—that was something Skyler would really like. “It's everybody's dream to fly, Mom,” he'd said a few days earlier. He'd recently become obsessed with YouTube videos of flying people in wing suits. “Do you think people will be able to fly in my lifetime?”

I swam back to my more deserted section of the beach, wary of hooks and harpoons. As I waded into shore, the tune from a CD-sales cart jumped out, Cyndi Lauper's “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” I felt the water getting warmer as I reached the shallows and thought,
What I really want is to watch my
kids
have fun.

I walked over to buy a chilled coconut from a girl lounging in a beach chair. She picked one up, held it in one hand, and nonchalantly hacked off the top with a large machete. Puncturing the woody skin of the now-flat top, she inserted a straw. I retreated to my umbrella to savor its cold, sweet water. A bit later, I spied a teenage boy swinging a round charcoal brazier by its long looping handle. Raising a finger, I got an answering chin lift, and he ambled over and pulled what looked like a white popsicle out of his cooler. This porous white cheese was slightly sour, rubbery, and oily—perfect for grilling. After buying the cheese and a bag of roasted cashews and a plastic cup of mussel soup from other roving vendors, I was quite content.

Just as I put my book away and was sitting back to enjoy my last minutes on the beach, the coconut girl shuffled her way toward me through the powdery white sand, another coconut in hand. She jerked her head toward another set of chairs. Oh!

A mystery man was treating me to a coconut? Was this like buying a girl a drink? I had to laugh. I was so long out of this game, I had no idea what to do. I glanced furtively in the direction she'd come from, but not long enough to really see anyone. What if my look were taken as an invitation? I put the coconut on my beach table, not sure whether to drink. Was taking a sip like saying yes to something?

I suddenly felt exposed in my skimpy swimsuit. I hadn't worn anything so revealing since the red gingham two-piece I'd used when I was eight. I'd become a competitive swimmer and had been a steadfast one-piece wearer ever since. The suit I had on now was one piece, but
barely. It was more like a bikini on end, running vertically rather than horizontally.

I sat a while longer, gingerly sipping my secret-admirer coconut and tapping my foot to the Brazilian pop song being played at the cart that had just pulled up in front of me. The song had the word
Americana
in it. Had he sent that over, too?

I decided to try to catch the van leaving the roundabout at 3:20. I picked up my things and left, carefully keeping my eyes on the sand, wondering if I were being watched. Squeezing into the small restaurant bathroom, I changed clothes, retrieved my purse, and began the hot trek back out to the highway.

I was glad I'd left early. The van arrived thirty minutes ahead of time. I flagged it down and climbed in, happy to head home, rearmed with gratitude for my intrepid family.

Pousada Colonial

Skyler “playing” Capoeira

Bentinho “playing” Capoeira

Giovanni

Karol

Aniete

Zeca

Lu, Peter, and Junior

The Coelho—Skyler, Molly and Valdir

At the beach in Peba