14

Casting a Strong Net

October 15 (Em’s diary)

I saw Mr. Ovey last night. Maybe it was a dream, but it didn’t feel like a dream … though I don’t remember going out to sit on the veranda, which is where I was when I saw him. My feet were hanging over the edge, just above the water. I was watching a huge squashed-egg of a moon sinking in the west. Fish were jumping. I could hear the splash of them over the sound of the sea, and here and there I caught sight of their glint. And then there he was, breaking the surface just like a fish, right by the house. He put his elbows on the veranda and rested his chin on his hands and looked up at me. I was afraid he might choke or gasp, what with being up in the air and all, but he didn’t seem to mind a bit.

“Hello, seaheart,” he said. Not sweetheart. Seaheart.

I felt so many questions bubbling up in me, things I wanted to ask about the Seafather and the merfolk and life under the waves, and about hurricanes and families, and about your heart aching for people, and that last one made me realize that I might ought to go fetch Small Bill, because here was his father, but just then Mr. Ovey said,

“You cast a strong net for family, just the way a seachild should. Good girl. Sea families have all kinds of members, don’t they. Seawater’s blood, blood’s seawater. You grip that net tight. You’ll bring’m all into the boat safe.” Then he slipped his arms back into the water, and he was going to go back under, and I don’t know if I said it or thought it: “But Small Bill!”

I meant, don’t go yet! I meant, Small Bill and Mrs. Ovey and Lindie and Jenya’ll want to see you too.

Why’d you come to me when your own family’s missing you so?

“Nice job he’s done with the kitchen roofing for your place, and your uncle’s,” Mr. Ovey said. Called out, more like. He was already small, far away in the water, but I could hear pride in his voice. “Deena’s gonna have a heart attack if she catches him jumping from up there, though, even if it is high tide. Tell’m that, and keep’m in your net!”

Then it was just waves and stars out there, and the fish weren’t jumping anymore.

I don’t remember how I got back to my bed, but that’s where I woke up this morning. I know it sounds like it must of been a dream, but I don’t think so. It was extra real. It felt more real than lots of regular days have felt.

On the way to school, I asked Small Bill if he’d seen his dad ever, since his dad was called under.

“Once, I think,” he said, squinting into the sun. “He was way out … way out there. But he waved at me, and even though I couldn’t see his face, I could tell he was smiling.”

I nodded hard, remembering how it was last night, when Mr. Ovey was swimming away. “Yeah! like you could feel or hear it.” Small Bill looked at me with raised eyebrows—double question marks. I told him about seeing his dad and gave him the message about not jumping off the kitchen roof.

“You saw me do that?” A smile flashed across his face, but what stuck there was a kind of glare, angry-embarrassed.

“I didn’t see! Bet it was sweet, though.” I wanted to get him to smile again. Plus, I bet his jump was sweet. I kind of want to try, myself.

Small Bill’s smile didn’t exactly reappear, but the glare faded into something near.

“It was … You didn’t see it at all? So it really … really was my dad. My dad saw me.”

Our eyes met. His were wide and brimming, but he didn’t look away.

“He doesn’t want you to give your ma a heart attack,” I said, and that made him laugh—which made me feel like I’d scooped sunshine off the waves.

Small Bill’s part of the family I’ve caught in my net. Don’t you worry, Mr. Ovey. I ain’t tossing him back.

October 17 (Em’s diary)

I can hardly believe this. It’s like I’ve wandered into a dream and forgotten to wake up—which is good. I need to stay in this dream a while longer!

It started in second period, when I got called to the principal’s office. At that point it was setting up to be a bad dream: as I walked down the hall, I was going over everything I’d done all week long, trying to think what it was that I was in trouble for, but I couldn’t come up with a single thing.

It didn’t seem much better when I was face to face with Mr. Barnes. Both ends of his mouth were sloping down and it was choppy seas up there on his forehead. He had some papers in one hand and a stiff, shiny cardboard envelope in the other. The envelope had a red swooshing line across the front, with words that weren’t English, and there was some kind of official-looking label on the front, and something stamped over the corner of that.

“It’s from the government of W—,” Mr. Barnes said. He held out one of the papers, and I could see the letterhead underneath a circular seal with an image of a bird whose tail swept over its head, its tips in flames. Government of W—, Ministry of Law and Justice it said, and then under that, another seal, a round shield with little flowers curling around it. State Security Service, it said. Panic juice spread out from my heart to the ends of my fingers and toes. I licked my lips.

“It’s for you,” Mr. Barnes said, pushing the letter closer. I took it. “They didn’t know how to reach you, so they sent it care of the school.”

I took my eyes off the words State Security Service and made them read the letter. Touched by your concern … desire to foster warm relations … untangle domestic problems here … extend an invitation

Extend an invitation?

In light of circumstances … expedited travel arrangements … and then a lot of details.

“They’re inviting me to visit Kaya,” I said, looking up at Mr. Barnes, who pursed his lips and said,

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything to speak of about current events or political figures in W—, but yes, that seems to be the case.”

“Because of our thank you,” I said, even though I don’t suppose Mr. Barnes paid much attention to Mermaid’s Hands’ thank you.

The sound of arguing floated in from the main office, where Mrs. Evans sits. She answers the phone, marks down kids who arrive late, and ushers us in to Mr. Barnes’s lair when we get in trouble. This time, though, she seemed to be trying to keep someone—lots of someones—out, but it didn’t work: the door behind me opened, and a bunch of people with cameras piled in, with Mrs. Evans following and scolding. There was all kind of flashing and popping, way more than for our Mermaid’s Hands thank you, and questions coming at me and Mr. Barnes too quick for us to catch them all. I recognized the copper wire hair of Mr. Landau, the newspaper reporter I’d talked to back on Monday. He winked at me when our eyes met and called out,

“You like this turn of events, Em?”

“It’s beyond my wildest dreams,” I said, and then there were more camera flashes, so many that I was seeing black and red dots in front of my eyes.

I never thought I’d get a chance to say “beyond my wildest dreams” in real life, especially seeing as I have pretty wild dreams.

The questions were things like how long had I known Kaya and would my parents let me go, and would they travel with me, and mixed in with those, a few I didn’t like the sound of—one asking did Kaya ever say anything in her letters to try to justify the loss of life and damage to property the insurgency had caused, and someone asking Mr. Barnes what he thought of his students being made into pawns in political games—but by this time Mr. Barnes’s and Mrs. Evans’s raised hands and raised voices were starting to have an effect, and everyone was quieting down. Mr. Barnes said he was sorry, but this was really too much of a disruption for a school that had already had plenty of disruption this year, and perhaps they could come back for twenty minutes or so when the school day was over. Then Mrs. Evans shooed them back out to the foyer and the front door. I could see the heads of teachers and kids peering out from nearby classrooms.

“… trouble with the law, like her brother,” someone said, and “you see any police cars out front?” Hearing that kind of thing is like being force-fed rusty nails, but right then it couldn’t hurt me. The letter in my hand, inviting me to W—, was like a double hull of stainless steel.

Mrs. Evans shut the door to the main office. She and Mr. Barnes exchanged a look.

“Well, that’s not something that happens every day,” Mrs. Evans said.

“I’d like more of the everyday days and fewer of the extraordinary ones,” Mr. Barnes muttered. He handed me the rest of the letter from W—, along with the envelope, and just stared at me a moment or two, not saying anything.

“Come back after the buses have all left,” he said. “You can talk to them then. Though maybe we better see about getting your father in. I know I wouldn’t want a child of mine talking to reporters unsupervised.”

“He won’t be able to come in. Him and Mr. Tiptoe and my uncle are out at sea today.” That wasn’t exactly true. They were hugging the coast, going salvaging for windmill bits. But it was true that he wouldn’t be able to make it in to dry land by the end of school.

“Brett Tiptoe is the one with the phone,” Mrs. Evans reminded him, “so that means there’s no way to reach any other adult out there.” A disapproving sigh slipped out with the “out there.” Mr. Barnes shrugged. “We’ll just keep it short,” he said. “You run along now,” he added, and Mrs. Evans let me out.

Mr. Dubois was waiting for me in Mr. Barnes’s office at the end of the day. “I don’t want you answering these questions alone,” he said, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I guess I’m glad he came, because every time the reporter with the harsh questions about Kaya spoke up, Mr. Dubois said something smooth and bland about how my correspondence with Kaya was nonpolitical and how I was a true blue American through and through, laying it on so thick that if the window wasn’t open we might of suffocated from all the patriotism building up in there. Eventually the reporter stopped asking those sorts of questions.

But Mr. Dubois also interrupted me if I tried to say anything about Kaya not getting to honor the Lady, or about her friend’s execution, or even when I tried to talk about her saving Mermaid’s Hands. He ran over my words with stuff about how great it was to have friends around the world and how wonderful it is to share traditions and how Kaya went to college in America and how he hoped I’d go to college, too, when I got old enough. I don’t know how much the reporters wrote down, but I’d say half of what got said came from Mr. Dubois, not me.

About the time I was beginning to wonder how many more questions I could answer, Dad and Mr. Tiptoe showed up. I don’t recall Dad ever coming to the school before. It was strange to see him and Mr. Tiptoe in Mr. Barnes’s office. They seemed too big for that room, even though some of the reporters were taller and Mr. Barnes is fatter. Maybe it’s that everything about them seemed realer to me: the salt stains on their arms and the warm, safe smell of sunshine, mud, and fish on their clothes.

“I’m taking my daughter home now,” Dad said, eyes moving between Mr. Barnes and Mr. Dubois, like he wasn’t sure who he should be talking to, which maybe he wasn’t.

“Hey, Lightfoot, isn’t it? Twinkletoes? Tiptoe! Still fishing in restricted areas?” one of the reporters called.

“That’s pelicans you’re thinking of, not us,” Mr. Tiptoe shot back, flashing a barracuda smile. “Seen how many fish them and the herons been swiping from the restricted areas? You maybe better get the Fisheries Service on it.”

Mr. Tiptoe drove me and Dad down to the shore, then went back inland to pick up some things at the hardware store that you can’t come by in salvage. The tide was pretty far in, and our dinghy was bobbing and rocking where Dad had tied it.

“What is all this?” Dad asked, nodding at the letter as he pulled on the oars. “Saying thank you wasn’t enough? Now you want to fly to the other side of the world for a visit?”

“It wasn’t my idea! They invited me!” I protested, but my cheeks got hot as I was speaking, because it might not of been my idea, but it was definitely what I wanted.

“You’ll have to tell them you’re sorry, but no,” Dad said. “We got a life to rebuild here, there’s things that need doing. I can’t go gallivanting across the Pacific, and I ain’t sending you off halfway round the world on your own.”

“But …” I never thought that Dad might say no. My dad, sitting across from me, muscles flexing as he rowed, was more powerful that W—’s Ministry of Law and Justice and its State Security Service. They could ask me to come and pull strings to make it possible, but Dad’s no stopped everything.

“Maybe Ma’ll come with me, then,” I said. Dad didn’t rise to the bait.

“I’m gonna ask Mr. Tiptoe if I can use his phone, and I’ll call her. Call her new number,” I said, my voice getting a little louder. Dad still didn’t say a thing, just kept rowing.

When I reached Ma, when I finally got her to understand what I was saying, what I was asking, she laughed a little.

Why did she laugh? I don’t like it when people laugh when there ain’t nothing funny to provoke it.

Then she said, “I’m sorry, hon. I can’t do that. I just started at a new job. I can’t take time off now; I might as well quit if I did.”

“But if I don’t go, who’ll save Kaya?” I asked, the words coming out all wobbly. I swallowed a couple times. Mr. Tiptoe was standing right there. I didn’t want to cry.

“Not a sparrow falls to the ground without your father in heaven knowing about it,” Ma said. “You leave saving Kaya to him.”

I swallowed again. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“Don’t you have a brother you’re on fire to save?” Ma asked. Not accusingly. Kind of gently. “Last time I talked to him, he said he’d just gotten a letter from you. He sounded so pleased. Now that I have this new job, I can save up some money for a visit. How about that?”

I nodded—how dumb is that? You can’t see nods over the phone. So then I croaked out, “Yeah, that sounds good,” like the world’s saddest frog.

“She has a point, though, about Jiminy,” Small Bill said, a little later, when I told him. This was on the way to the Ikahos’ to see if Marcela maybe might could come with me. I figured, she’s part of Minorities Mobilize, and she said Minorities Mobilize wanted to help Kaya, so maybe? Small Bill was keeping me company, just the two of us in the dinghy.

“I mean,” he went on, “about him being your own flesh and blood. Maybe Kaya’s got ten brothers and sisters who’re planning a rescue for her right now. They’re nearer.”

He can only talk that way about a rescue because he don’t see the Ruby Lake in his mind’s eye the way I do. He’s never looked at pictures on the library computer. Me, I think about it, and I start to sweat, and I can practically taste the sulfur on my tongue.

“She never mentioned even one brother or sister,” I said. “Or a father. I think it’s just her and her mother.”

We were right by the Ikahos’, so I pulled in the oars.

“Look, Seafather’s signal!” said Small Bill, pointing to the bright green flash where the sun had just sunk below the waves. We both waved back. Black specks, maybe gulls, were silhouetted against the flash, and suddenly Mr. Ovey was in my mind, maybe because of what Small Bill said that other day, about seeing him way out there, waving. Then it washed over me:

“Your dad said that sea families have all kinds of members. He told me I cast a strong net for families and that I can pull everyone into the boat. I fished for Kaya, and the Seafather helped me catch her. And your dad’s telling me I can pull her into my family, like y’all pulled Cody into yours.”

“Yeah but—” he paused to tie the dinghy to the mooring ring at the end of the Ikahos’ veranda “—Jenya’s marrying Cody.”

“But I think you can pull someone in just as a brother or sister, too. Your dad told me to keep you in my net, but it ain’t like you and me are getting married.”

(Squirmy thought. I don’t want to think about marrying nobody for a long time.)

“We can be like brother and sister, though,” I added. “Or maybe crew. You can be my first mate.”

“Huh. I ain’t nobody’s first mate. You be my first mate,” he said, flicking water at me. I jumped onto the Ikahos’ veranda, unbalancing the dinghy, and if it had been anyone other than Small Bill, they would’ve been in the water. As it was, he got good and wet.

“You bringing us the ocean one splash at a time?” It was Tomtale, come out onto the veranda with Windward on his shoulders. Windward’s mom, Tomtale’s sister Sweet-rain, leaned in the doorway.

When Jiminy was in high school, he liked Sweet-rain, but she liked Tidal Fearing better, and now those two are married and have Windward.

“We’ll take it, if you are,” said Granny Ikaho, peering out the kitchen window. “When’s your granny coming over for a sleepover with me, Em?”

I grinned and peeked over Granny Ikaho’s shoulder. “You sure she ain’t already in there?” Those two were best friends when they were kids, like Tammy and Clara, or me and Small Bill. Marcela appeared behind Granny Ikaho.

“Hey Em, I hear it was a big day for you today,” she said, grinning.

“It was but—Marcela, can you come with me? To W—? I can’t go by myself. My dad won’t let me. But he can’t come with me, and my mother can’t either.”

My words were like a magic spell, freezing everybody. Marcela’s mouth was frozen in an O.

“Ma ma ma ma …” Windward said, breaking the spell. He leaned his arms toward Sweet-rain, who took him from Tomtale.

“Em, I can’t. I gotta go back up north. My adviser wants to go over the first two chapters of my dissertation with me, and I have to have the next two done before Thanksgiving.”

“She’s already got her ticket,” Tomtale said.

“But she’ll be back soon, won’t you Marcy.” That was Nimbus Ikaho, Mr. Ikaho to us kids, emerging from the house with some of Windward’s diapers, which he pinned to the clothesline.

“She’ll come when she’s able, Dad,” Tomtale said, with a bit of heat in his voice, and Mr. Ikaho disappeared back inside, saying he didn’t see the point of catch-and-release fishing.

“What about someone else? Is there anyone else who could come with me? From Minorities Mobilize, I mean,” I added, as Tomtale and Granny Ikaho and even Sweet-rain started shaking their heads and talking about getting food for the table and making sure the roofs were snug over our heads for the cool months.

“Because y’all at Minorities Mobilize want to help her, right?” I pressed, keeping my eyes on Marcela.

“Em, about going to W—. I wanted to talk to you.”

An unexpected voice. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and not just me, Small Bill and Tomtale nearly did, too. We had our backs to the water and hadn’t noticed Cody poling up in the Oveys’ dinghy. Sitting in it, with his arms wrapped around his backpack, was Mr. Dubois.

What’s he doing here? Why can’t he just leave me alone? I thought.

Cody threw a rope to Small Bill, who tied it to the mooring ring. Mr. Dubois stumbled a little, stepping onto the Ikahos’ veranda, and Sweet-rain caught him by the elbow and steadied him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry to intrude … Em, I know I upset you last week, with the things I said. I’ve been trying to find a time and a way to apologize.”

I know I should of been a big-hearted person at that point and said I understand and no hard feelings, but it would of been a lie.

He passed his hand across his head. “The thing is,” he said, “I’ve been doing a little research on W—, and on your friend Kaya, and I thought I could share it with you … You know, so you could familiarize yourself—”

I cut him off. “I ain’t going,” I said, feeling angry heat in my stomach.

He stared at me, hand still on his head.

“Not going?” he repeated.

“Nobody can go with me, and I can’t go alone,” I said. And then, maybe because of the heat in me, I added, “Bet you probably think that’s the wisest thing, anyway, huh.”

“Em,” murmured Cody, frowning, and all that heat went right to my cheeks. I felt worse than if Ma had swatted me.

“No … no, that’s not what I think at all,” Mr. Dubois said. He looked out toward the Gulf. “I was wrong the other day … sometimes being too careful just makes things worse. I think you should go—with an adult, of course, but …” He turned back to me. “Em, do you think you could stand it if I went with you?”

Well shatter me and scatter me on the waves. It was almost harder to believe than the invitation from the government of W—.

“Must be the Seafather’s work,” muttered Granny Ikaho.

“But don’t you gotta teach, Mr. Dubois?” asked Small Bill.

“Maybe I’ll just have to take a page out of your book, Billy, and miss a few days. If Em’ll have me.” He was waiting for my answer. Everybody else was, too. I gulped for air.

“Yes, yes please—I mean, Yes, thank you! I-I mean—” I was getting tangled up. Mr. Dubois smiled.

“Shall we go see your dad, then?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I thought you thought it wasn’t good for me to try to help Kaya myself. What made you change your mind?” I asked as I poled us homeward.

“Reading more about her, partly, and her country. And thinking about you … and Jiminy,” he said.

Jiminy. My criminal brother. Anger came up behind me and caught me between its teeth, its hot breath all sour in my nose.

“You said Jiminy’s troubles could rub off on her and hurt her,” I said, anger’s teeth making the words come out sharp.

He looked me straight in the eye. “I’m really sorry about what I said that day,” he said. “I was- It was a mistake … Judging from you, I’d say a bit of trouble in a body’s life makes ‘em braver. People without your troubles should be as brave.” The left side of his mouth crooked up, half a smile. “Maybe that’s part of why I want to come with you. Get some of your braveness to rub off on me.”

My braveness? Rubbing off … on Mr. Dubois?

I don’t know what I think of that, but him saying it shocked the anger into letting go of me, at least. And then we were gliding up to the house, and Dad and Tammy and Gran were on the veranda, waiting for us. Dad still didn’t jump with joy at the idea of me going to W—, but he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Won’t do for me to hold you back. You’ll just slip out like water—like your brother and your mother.”

“It’s not like I’m going for good!” I protested. He answered me with a smile that was as full of sadness as a bucket of tears.

I’ll come back, though. He’ll see.

So it’s set. I’m going to go to W—, and very, very soon. I’ll ask the Seafather to hold my right hand and, maybe, if she can hear me, I’ll ask the Lady of the Ruby Lake to hold my left.