The Takamaka Tree (2 page)

“But where am I?” she asked. “What is this place?”

“You’re on an island, a coral island, in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Very appropriate for a mermaid. It’s part of the Seychelles Bank. There are more than eighty islands in the group, scattered over the bank. This is one of the smallest habitable ones. It’s called La Petite.”

“La Petite,” she repeated. “In the Seychelles? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of them. I don’t know where they are. Shall I have to stay here forever?”

“Not forever, but for quite a long time. The boat won’t be coming to pick me up for two months yet. So you’re going to have to stay here with me, Bella and Leon. By then I’m sure your memory will have returned and I will be able to see you safely back to your family.”

His fingers took hold of her wrist, finding her pulse beat.

“Now I think that’s enough talking for today,” he said. “I’ll take these fish to Bella and then see you back to bed. A few more minutes in the sun and then sweet dreams.”

He returned with two pills for her to take, and a drink of a thin milky liquid.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Coconut milk. We live on the stuff here. We’re virtually self-sufficient on the island. I brought a few supplies with me, but there is a lot for you to see and do when you have recovered.”

“And what are these?”

“You do ask a lot of questions.”

“You forget that I don’t know anything, so I have to ask you,” she retorted with a small show of spirit.

“Pain killers. Fortunately I have a well-equipped medicine chest with me. Only don’t get anything complicated.”

She fell asleep on the top of the bed, remembering one thing. She had forgotten to ask him his name. The small expedition had exhausted her, and she slept for the first time without dreaming. She did not know that the man sat outside on the veranda, staring out to sea, disturbed by the young woman’s complete dependence on him. He had come to La Petite to escape the world, but somehow a little of it had followed him and found his hiding place. It was disconcerting.

When she awoke the next morning, she was anxious to see if she had imagined the beautiful island. This time her legs were stronger and took her more confidently to the window. It was a sparkling morning, already flooded with sunshine, the air so sweet and pure that, elated, she filled her lungs with it.

“Breakfast on the beach?” suggested her rescuer, who was already up and about.

“I’d like some clothes,” she said.

“Of course. I’d forgotten.” He came up the veranda steps, into the room and across to the chest of drawers. He gave her a small handful of scarlet material.

She held it up and began to laugh. “But this is just a bikini,” she said. “I can’t wear this.”

“It is yours,” he said. “You were wearing it when I found you.”

She handled the little outfit curiously. This was hers. She thought she had nothing, but she had this. How strange to think that when she had put it on before, she had known who she was, what she was doing. If only it could tell her something.

She looked at the label inside.
St. Michael. Bust size 34 inches.
That was all she knew about herself.

“Would they know me?” she asked. “At this St. Michael?”

“I doubt it,” he said gravely. He rummaged in the drawer and produced a red and white check shirt. “You’d better have this too. The sun can be very strong. And you are hardly tanned at all.”

He had only just noticed this. So she could only recently have arrived in this part of the world.

He left her to dress. She put the bikini on awkwardly, for her ribs were still sore. One of the straps was broken, but the bra held up well without it. There were some small tears too that needed mending. Perhaps the black woman would have a needle and thread. The shirt was miles too big for her but it covered the bandage.

He helped her down the steps onto the soft white sand. It was like powder between her toes. And warm. It was a delicious feeling. The sand curved away till it disappeared into the sea among an outcrop of huge granite boulders.

The wind-swept coconut palm trees swayed and dark glossy leaves whispered.

“The takamaka trees are talking,” he said, leading her across the sand.

Breakfast was slices of melon, bananas and some flat coarse bread. She found she was hungry and ate alternate mouthfuls of bread and fruit as he did.

“Here comes Bella bringing us some tea.”

The black woman was padding across the sand, her big feet kicking up a small spray of powder with each scuffling step. She was beaming, showing rows of gleaming teeth. The tray was hastily laid with mugs and a big tin teapot, and rough pale brown sugar crystals in a large scrubbed shell.

“Here you are, Mr. Kane, just how you like it. Real hot and sweet. I brought two spoons seeing how we don’t know if the young lady likes sugar in her tea.” Bella grinned.

“I don’t know.”

“Try it and see.”

“I still don’t really know.”

“You’re better off without sugar. This stuffs raw but Western sugar is chemically lethal.”

She felt a little impatient with herself. Not even being able to remember if she took sugar in her tea or not. But to be honest, the taste of tea was also strange. So many things were waiting to be discovered.

“Only some areas of the brain are affected,” he said, reading her thoughts. “That’s why you can still walk and talk and remember things you have learned as a child, like feeding and dressing.”

“How dreadful,” she said. “Suppose one forgot those things?”

Then she remembered something she wanted to ask him. She had heard Bella say part of his name.

“Who are you?”

“Daniel Kane. I’m an ornithologist, in a part-time sort of way, studying the birds here, particularly changes in migration. I took three months’ leave so that I could volunteer for this research.”

“You must be good, if they arranged for you to work here. I guess you’ve got to know what you’re doing.”

“I’m what might be called a gifted amateur.” He had a pleasant voice, deep and clipped.

“Now it’s your turn,” he decided. “We must give you a name. Unless you want me to call you a mermaid until you remember who you are.”

“I want to forget about the sea,” she said, shivering despite the warm sun. “It frightens me.”

“You’ll have to get over that,” said Daniel. “Swimming is one of the joys. There are so many perfect little beaches on this island. Now, how about your name?”

She looked bewildered. How could she choose herself a name? It was impossible. Suddenly she felt terribly tired and lonely. She did not want to cry, but she knew that any moment she might.

“I know,” he said, leaning forward to touch her hair. “Sandy. For the colour of your hair.”

Her gaze was drawn to the lock of hair now falling on her shoulder. She had not looked at her hair before, and there were no mirrors in the bungalow. She was almost a blonde, but not quite. There were pale brown streaks among the tawny gold, a myriad of spun colours shifting in the sunlight as her fingers combed through the fine strands.

She did not care really what he called her. It was simply a sound to be identified by.

“Will you tell me,” she began hesitantly. “Will you tell me what I look like? I mean, I don’t know, do I?”

A glimmer of amusement came into the man’s eyes. He poured out some more tea. Bella made it all in the pot, tea and milk together.

“You are getting better,” he commented. “Once a woman starts taking an interest in her appearance, then she’s on the mend. It’s the same with birds. They begin to preen themselves.”

“I’m not preening. I just want to know.”

He looked at her analytically. She felt defenceless, almost naked, as his gaze raked across her features and her body. She drew her knees up, pulling down the check shirt at the same time.

“You are quite tall for a girl,” he said. “I noticed that for the first time this morning. I’m six foot so I would say you are about five foot seven. Slim. Nice legs.”

“I meant my face. I can see my legs for myself.”

“Look at me. I can’t see your eyes. Brown, with amber flecks. Two of them,” he added, with a lazy grin. “One nose, fairly ordinary. Mouth, average. Normal number of teeth as far as I can see.”

“Thank you,” she said, a trifle mockingly. “That’s given me a very clear picture of myself.”

He did not tell her what else he did know about her: that in his opinion she was half-starved. There was a hollow frightened look about her eyes that did not seem entirely due to her amnesia. There was also something wrong about the unkempt appearance of her hair. The ends were not the same length. It looked as if it had been roughly cut with a pair of scissors.

And yet her silvery-pink nail varnish was still intact. The same pale pink decorating her toe nails. They just did not go with the amateur haircut.

“So I have a red bikini and a name now,” she said more cheerfully.

“And some more. Surprise, surprise,” said Daniel, going into the bungalow. “Time for some more goodies.”

He returned with an oilskin life jacket under his arm. He sat on the sand beside her and spread it out.

“I found you on this,” he said. “It certainly saved your life, even though it wasn’t properly tied on. Someone has inked on a word. Does it mean anything to you?”

Sandy followed his gaze. A word had been scrawled in Biro on a flap. MINERAF. She shook her head.

“MINERAF. What does it mean?”

“I was hoping you would tell me.”

“I don’t know. Is it another language?”

“How about this, then?”

He took her hand and into the palm he dropped a handful of silver chain. She held it up and it became a delicate silver filigree bracelet of linked flowers, the sun gleaming through the petal-shaped holes.

“A daisy-chain,” she said, charmed by it. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“Don’t you recognise it?” asked Daniel.

Her face fell. “Should I?”

“It’s yours. You were wearing it on your right wrist.”

A wave of desolation swept over her. Suddenly she ached everywhere—her ribs, her head—and a cold shiver ran up her spine. What was she going to do? Who would take care of her? She could not stay with this man, Daniel Kane, forever. What would happen to her—?

Daniel fastened the bracelet around her wrist. “Now you have four things,” he said. “A name, a bikini, a bracelet.”

“Four…?” She hesitated.

“And me. I shall look after you until you are better. Now, Sandy, I’ve work to do. When you are stronger you will be able to come with me around the island. But today I suggest you sit on the veranda and enjoy the sunshine. Bella will be near if you want anything.”

He scrambled to his feet and shook the sand off. He gave her the ghost of a wink and strolled off. She watched his tall, retreating figure. She thought he must be the kindest man ever.

She sat for a long time thinking, wondering what had happened to her in the sea and where she had come from. The Indian Ocean looked so tranquil, so clear and sparkling, the line of white foam indicating where the reef curved across the bay. It seemed wrong that something so beautiful could be a killer.

When Bella came to fetch the tray, Sandy went back with her to the bungalow. She discovered that it had another room, a sitting room next to the bedroom she had been using. It was just as simply furnished, with a table and chairs made from takamaka wood, Bella told her. There were two more wicker chairs with flowered cushions and a very old-fashioned desk. She wondered how they had ever got such a heavy object onto the island.

It was piled with notebooks and pages of closely written notes. She turned over some graph paper and decided there was much more to this migration business than just watching a few birds.

La Petite was swarming with birds. Their busy activity all day kept her fascinated as she sat on the veranda. They were fearless too. A dozen or more little red cardinals kept her constant company, perched on the rails, fluttering on the window-sill and searching for crumbs near her bare feet.

Although she had only sat and dozed, she was glad to retire early. Daniel found her some shrunken jeans and a couple more shirts. Tomorrow she would do her best to make them fit. She fell asleep, fingering the silver daisy-chain around her wrist.

Later, Daniel looked in at his patient. She was sleeping peacefully, her breathing quiet and rhythmic. Sandy. Her hair fell across the pillow like a pale golden stream in the moonlight. He had not told her that her cheek bones were high and delicate, her eyes large and dark, the amber flecks like gold dust. He had not told her that her skin was like porcelain, with the faintest dewy sheen. He could not tell her these things. Nor did he want her to know. It seemed better to Daniel that she retained her unique innocence.

Daniel went for a late walk along the beach. The air still held the heat of the day, though all colour had fled and the palm trees were dark silhouettes in the silvery moonlight. The white frangipani blossom had turned to wax, but their heady perfume still wafted on the gentle night breeze.