CHAPTER THREE

 

 

A Sinking Feeling

 

We sat soaking and shivering in a puddle of frigid water. I kept my eyes closed, coughing and spitting.

“Bleh,” I said. I pressed closed one nostril and blew smelly water out the other.

Arvin winced, retching and gagging beside me. “It’s salty.”

I stood up, my clothes dripping salt water. I wiped the frigid water off my face and helped Arvin to his unsteady feet. “Are you okay, Arvin?”

Arvin spat more salt water out of his mouth. “Perry, what did you do?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything. It was the balloon.” I started looking around for it.

“That stupid gewgaw?” he asked, using our old childish word.

“It’s not a gewgaw. It’s a balloon or at least I thought it was.”

I looked around for the crowd to be giggling and pointing at two soaking boys, but everybody was gone. My street was gone: the old pool, its rusty fence, the oak trees, the scorching sidewalk, all the blue and white houses, and even the grass under our feet. I looked at white sand crusted all over my soggy sandals and in-between my toes. The deflated yellow balloon laid still, its small opening poking out from under my right sandal. It looked as ordinary as any other balloon. I lifted my foot off the sand and tilted it forward to nudge the balloon with the tip of my sandal. The balloon didn’t stick, nor grow, nor fill with water or do anything unusual. I reached down with my right hand and poked the balloon. Nothing happened. I picked it off the wet sand and stuffed it deep into my shorts pocket.

I turned and looked behind me. To my left, a white sand beach stretched in a small half arch and ended at the bottom of a grassy hill. To my right, it did the same. I stared, transfixed, at a vast ocean beyond my toes. Its aqua and blue waves swirled and churned, crashing into each other and onto the narrow beach. With a roar, the waves rolled over the sand, reaching like massive hands straight towards me. I jumped back, slamming into Arvin, knocking him over. I helped him to his feet as the frigid seawater splashed over our bony legs, knocking us onto the beach again.

Large white birds with yellow-tipped feathers glided under the dim morning sky. They flew up and down, back and forth, squawking and bobbing until finding a safe landing spot on the water. Inland from the beach, lush green palm trees swayed high on grassy hills as the sun dawned over the horizon. My eyes, clear of the frigid saltwater, focused on a dark figure watching us from the palms.

“Hello?” I asked, shouting toward the palms. “Who’s there? Where are we?”

I tilted my head back and looked towards the mysterious figure concealed by the sun rising behind. Arvin turned around, covering his eyes, trying to shade them from the dawn’s light.

A woman’s soft voice questioned back. “How can you not know where you are?”

The woman stepped out from under the palms. Her long, flowing hair blew in the breeze. It was as black as anything I had ever seen. I realized the dark figure was indeed dark - skin, hair and all. The graceful woman made her way down the hill, holding up a corner of her floral dress, taking care not to tear the flowing cloth nor cut her feet. After a few moments of careful maneuvering, she made her way to greet us on the narrow beach. She smiled, putting me at ease with the caring look in her soft brown eyes. She may not have been Emilia Wren, but she was pretty enough to get my and Arvin’s attention.

“What are you two doing?” she asked, looking us up and down. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” I looked around and behind. “What is?”

“You mean the ocean?” asked Arvin, seeing her glistening eyes had moved their focus past us to the crashing waves.

“The water. The waves. That snake on the sand,” she said pointing to a long red-bellied brown snake slithering and hissing two feet away. She reached out her hand, gesturing for me to take it. “Come up onto the hill before you’re both swallowed by the waves or bitten by the snake.”

“My name’s Perry,” I said, taking her soft hand into mine as she led us off the beach.

“I’m Arvin,” he said, reaching for her other hand. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Cara,” she said with a slight grin. “The water is coming. Climb the hill with me.”

“Where are we?” I asked again. “Where’s Emilia, and the pool, and the oak trees, and the houses, and--”

“And where’s my noodle?” Arvin interrupted, his raspy voice scratching my eardrums.

“Emilia? Noodle?” Cara scrunched her eyes and tilted her head to one side. “I don’t understand, but Grandmother may know what to do.” She sounded hopeful a solution could be found for Arvin’s missing noodle.

After a few awkward steps, we made our way to the large palm at the top of the hill. Cara plucked off a large leaf from a banana tree. Curling it into a cone, she tilted her head and dripped the morning dew into her mouth. She gave one to each of us.

“Can we rest for a moment?” I asked, trying to catch my breath, plopping down under the shade of a particularly large palm. The sound of the tide became louder as it roared and crashed onto the beach.

“For a moment, Perry,” Cara said, standing at the edge of the hill, looking down to the crushing waves. “It’s too dangerous to stay anywhere this close to the ocean. We don’t want to join the others below.”

Arvin, curious to see where Cara was looking, stumbled onto his weakened legs to join her standing at the edge of the hill.

“Isn’t it awful,” Cara said, looking to the beach. “It’s already gone.”

Arvin shouted, “It’s gone! Perry, it’s gone!” He waved back for me to join the pair at the edge, his eyes transfixed on the beach.

“Can’t it wait, Arvin?” I couldn’t move my couch-potato body. “I’m catching my breath.”

Arvin ran to me, his wind-dried curls bouncing again. With a firm tug on my arm, he helped me to my feet and pulled me into the light beyond the shade. I stood next to him looking in the same direction. I gasped out loud. The rolling waves splashed against the bottom of the grassy hill, sweeping the grass out to sea and spraying a fine salty mist high into the air. The sloping hill where Cara had descended to greet us five minutes before, had become a small cliff overlooking the pounding tide.

“What happened to the beach?” I asked, expecting her to say something about seasons and tides.

“The ocean is rising,” she said, “and our little island is drowning.” Cara looked to Arvin, his green eyes locked in a staring match with the aqua blue ocean. “I’m sorry you lost your noodle, Arvin. We must go to the village.”

Cara turned from the waves, walking away from the vanishing shoreline. We walked behind as she led the way. Her long midnight hair swirled and swayed in the breeze. The sun rose higher into the sky, replacing the orange dawn light with hues of silver and blue. In the distance, a series of steep hills were covered with lush palms that swayed over the grassy plain below. As we walked over grassy knolls and through fields of palms and bananas, Cara tried to explain what was happening.

“Three seasons ago, a terrifying rumble in the night woke us from our sleep. The ground shook and swayed. Trees snapped like delicate twigs, and the ocean crashed hard upon the island, sweeping over the quiet village. We ran from the ocean’s wrath until the shaking stopped.”

“If you already knew the island was sinking, why did you stay?” I asked.

“We accepted what had happened and mourned for the dead. For a long time, we believed we were safe,” Cara said, “but we were wrong. The waves came again, raging and swelling around the island, sweeping away our boats and their builders. There’s no way to get us all to safety now.”

Cara said her people had been on the island for hundreds of years and were proud of all they’d achieved, but their losses were too great, and their fear had grown. Arvin reached out to take her hand, tickling her palm until she agreed to take it into hers. She and Arvin walked hand-in-hand until we reached a broad flat plain beyond the high hills. A single hill stood in the middle of the prairie. Its high mesa supported Cara’s tiny village. From our position on the ground, we could see only the yellow thatched roofs of the huts. All around the hill below, dirt and rock stairs crisscrossed each other wrapping around in every direction, some disappearing into small caves. Several sets of stairs led to the top of the mesa.

“This way,” Cara said, quickening her pace towards the steepest set of stairs. “Grandmother will know what to do about your noodle, Arvin.”

Arvin said, “Don’t worry about it. We have bigger problems.”

“Come,” Cara said. “Grandmother is waiting.”

After several long minutes of painful step-climbing and many deep breaths, we reached the outskirts of Cara’s village high on the mesa. My legs burned, and sweat soaked through my clothes in the sweltering heat. I looked to the beach, back to the hills and palms we passed on the way. They were gone. The savage ocean had advanced, ripping everything away. Beyond the grass field and a few hills, the ground plunged into the churning ocean below. I felt terrified and turned to follow Cara and Arvin into the village.

I had imagined a community of proud people with grass skirts and flower leis, children playing, and people swarming about doing the day’s chores. But this place was different. It sat eerily still and quiet. The only sound louder than the beating of my heart was the wind as it rustled the leaves of a small palm. Six huts were placed like spokes on a wheel. A few sat on the sides or beyond the central circle. A small, smoldering pile of burnt-out wood logs sat in the middle of this desolate place. A soft voice broke the mournful silence.

“Cara,” a voice called from inside the large hut ahead of us. “I see you brought strangers. I hope you bring good news as well.”

A little old woman as dark as midnight stepped out from the shadow of her earthen hut. Her hair was as gray as the clouds up above, and her eyes were like Cara’s - peaceful and bright. In her left hand, she supported her frail body on a thin, wooden stick. She wore a floral muumuu which dragged on the ground as she walked. Her light footsteps made no sound. Cara sat on her knees in front of the old woman. As we approached, villagers - their skin and hair as black as night - spilled out from their huts, bringing their children in tow. Arvin and I stood still and listened.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother. I do not bring good news,” Cara said, bowing until her head touched the woman’s feet. “The blue lake is gone, our sacred trees are gone, our friends are gone, our fields are gone, and the ocean continues to rise. Only the grass plain and our tiny village remain.”

“Our time is coming to an end,” Grandmother said, placing a withered hand on Cara’s head. She looked up to address the village. “Do not be sad, my friends. We must accept our fate as we have lived - together and with pride. Stay with your families and say prayers for us all.”

The villagers all lowered their heads, some sniffing though most had cried too much already. They disappeared into the darkness of their huts, leaving Cara and her grandmother to listen to our story.

Grandmother looked at me and back to Cara. “Tell me, strangers. How did you come to our island?”

I told her our story. Looking at their faces with raised eyebrows and tilted heads, I wasn’t sure if they believed me at all.

“We’re lost,” Arvin said, breaking the silence. “Can you help us get home?”

“May I see this magical totem of yours?” Grandmother asked.

“I have it,” I said, reaching down into my pocket, pulling out the yellow balloon.

Arvin jumped back. “Why did you keep it, Perry? You know what happened last time.”

“I’m not sure,” I said, looking down at the balloon unfolding in my hand. “It doesn’t seem dangerous. Maybe it could be useful.”

“Useful? How?” Arvin demanded, keeping his distance. “Who are you going to throw it at this time?” Arvin said.

“I wouldn’t. I don’t even know if it works anymore,” I said, holding it up for the trio to see. I twisted its sides, stretched the rubber, pulled it between my hands, and released it with a SNAP back into shape.

“See. It’s a regular balloon again,” I said.

“It’s not a regular balloon,” Arvin growled, his face glowing as red as his hair. “Whatever it is, it’s not normal. It’s magic. And don’t pretend you became a magician since I saw you last.”

“I wish I could help, “Grandmother said, stepping between us, “but I don’t understand this totem’s power. Ours are different, and none have slowed the tide. The day’s sad news has taken a toll on us all. We can give you both dry, clean clothes to wear. You can rest before the evening meal.” Grandmother turned to Cara. “Take the strangers to see the mender. He’ll have something suitable.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Cara said, motioning for us to follow her. I placed the yellow balloon back into my pocket and followed Cara to the mender’s hut at the far end of the village.

Nico called himself “the mender.” He was a sandal maker, a tailor, an ambassador, a scientist, and the other elder in the village. If something was broken, Nico would be ready to mend it back together. “I’m also a philosopher of sorts,” Nico proclaimed, stitching and talking, his belly jiggling as he worked to cover us in floral muumuus. Nico was Grandmother’s younger brother and, according to himself, a “highly respected man needed 24/7.”

He was a little taller than me and a fair amount chubbier. His puffy feet barely fit into his leafy, green sandals. He had a round face filled with lines and wrinkles which stretched and relaxed as he talked about all his professions. The only thing larger than his muumuu-draped belly was his exuberant personality. He was cheery and kind, humming songs and telling stories as he sewed us into our muumuus. “I made it myself” or “It’s my own design,” he said at least four times, telling us about his many talents and theories.

He chose to be the “indispensable man,” doing a plethora of jobs for which Cara said, “he did none of them well.” Yet, when villagers came to his workshop, he’d recognize each face saying, “It’ll be ready tomorrow” or “Drink this elixir every night before bed” or “It’ll fall off if you keep picking at it.” When the ocean began to rise, Nico begged his sister to let them all leave. Grandmother was the eldest, so she made the final decision to stay. Although he was indeed respected for many things, he could not protest in public against his sister. By the time he had created plans to rebuild their lost boats, the strongest trees had all drowned under the waves.

“My sister used to be a wise woman, but her choice will end up killing us all,” Nico said.

Arvin spoke to Nico while glaring at me. “I know how you feel.”

When Nico finished sewing our muumuus and sandals, he took a step back to admire his work. “Beautifully finished,” he said, looking at his latest creations.

“What are they made out of?” I asked, lifting up my feet to see large green leaves laced with thin red vines.

“Banana leaves,” Nico said, pulling back his long, gray hair. “They’re great. You can wrap your feet to walk or fish to cook. Did I mention I’m a chef?” Nico asked, boasting again.

I looked over to Arvin, who seemed to like his muumuu more than I did. The intense colors of the cloth and the vibrant green of the sandals contrasted against our pale white skin. But I had to admit, Arvin looked better; his fiery curls and emerald green eyes mirrored the colorful floral pattern on his muumuu. “Arvin, you look great.”

“I’ll hang your clothes outside to dry,” Nico said, “but your sandals will take several more days. I’m not sure you’ll get a chance to wear them again.” He picked up our soggy pool clothes which were soaking into the floor and hung them on a rope outside his workshop door.

“What’s this?” Nico asked, reaching down to pick something off the ground.

“It’s a water balloon,” I said, seeing it in Nico’s hand. The balloon must have fallen out of my upturned shorts.

“You can throw it at someone who used to be your friend,” Arvin said, staring me down.

“Why would I do such a horrible thing?” Nico asked, examining the balloon in his hand, stretching and smelling, and even licking the rubber.

“You wouldn’t and neither would I. Never again,” I said and mouthed “I’m sorry” to Arvin.

Nico was more curious than Grandmother. “You say it’s magic?” Nico asked, focusing all his attention on the balloon.

“Bad magic,” said Arvin.

“Can you fill it with only water?” Nico asked, peering inside the balloon’s little opening.

“Well, water was already in the balloon. It began filling itself after I picked it up,” I said. “That’s the magic part.”

“Bad magic,” Arvin repeated. “Perry, I’m hungry. Let’s go eat with Cara. She said she would wait for us by the fire.”

“Can I examine your totem for a little while? I’ll return it to you after the evening meal,” Nico said, his expert fingers exploring every millimeter of the magical balloon.

“Okay,” I said.

“You can keep it as far as I’m concerned,” Arvin said, pulling me out of Nico’s hut into the chilly night air.

“Why did you say that, Arvin?” I asked.

“Because I’m hungry, and I don’t want to be crushed this time.”

After a brief bathroom break behind a palm tree, we arrived at the village center. The villagers were out of their homes, surrounding a roaring fire, and eating the evening meal of bananas and fish. As black as tar, they were invisible except for the faint glint of flickering firelight reflecting off the whites of their eyes. They crossed their legs and hunched their bony backs.

“Why don’t they say anything?” Arvin whispered, tilting and nodding his head in the direction of the crowd.

“Maybe there’s nothing left to say,” I said, walking to Cara.

Grandmother walked from person to person, placing bananas and freshly cooked fish on the ground at their feet. I watched her smile as she fed the whole village, and I wondered how any leader could be so foolish. Did she think she had done what was right at the time? The villagers bowed their heads and, with shaking hands, unwrapped fish from the banana leaf and ate. They neither spoke nor showed any satisfaction as they were eating. They were broken.

“Come. Sit with me,” Cara said, scooting over to make room beside the glowing fire.

I sat down next to Cara. Arvin sat a little further away from the fire. As we ate, Cara leaned over to talk to us. “Grandmother says you may stay if you wish, though there isn’t much time for anything else,” said Cara. “She expects the tide to rise in the morning, pulling us all into the depths of the sea. I’m sorry for you both. You’re not one of us, but you’ll drown the same.”

I turned toward Arvin, expecting to see his eyes burning a hole through me, blaming me for everything. He had turned away and was gazing into the fire. He looked as sullen as the villagers.

“Perry,” Arvin said, transfixed by the roaring fire, “maybe we should try the balloon again.”

I nodded.