The Jumbee (27 page)

Within moments they were free of the suffocating trees. As a breeze swept across her cheeks, Esti looked around in awe. After the deep darkness of the forest, the stars had never seemed so brilliant. She recognized the bright swath of the Milky Way on the horizon ahead, broken by the familiar outline of Manchineel Cay. To her relief, the sea was calm, captured in a brief lull between late-season storms.

Behind her, the lights of Cariba blended into the starry sky. If Aurora wasn’t out in the car somewhere, Esti guessed she would be sitting on the balcony, stewing over Esti’s note as she looked out at the dark water. She couldn’t possibly see the little rowboat from up there, but it wouldn’t matter if she could. Everyone knew the jandam would never go to the haunted cay to rescue fruitcake Esti Legard.

Esti, the jumbee girl.
Bazadee child.

“Are you afraid?” Alan’s voice startled her before she could start feeling guilty about Aurora. He rowed the small boat silently, save for the rhythmic splash and creak of the oars.

“Should I be?”

“Of course not. I’ve looked forward to spending an entire day with you.” He sounded so shy that Esti couldn’t help smiling. “I think you’ll like my place.”

“Typical bachelor’s pad?” Esti teased.

“Yes.” He laughed softly. “But I did sweep the floor and gather enough food together so you won’t starve to death while you’re here.”

“Potato chips and cheap beer? My dad’s friends had a lot of bachelor stories.”

“I’m sure your father never drank cheap beer.”

“He liked potato chips.”

“The food of life.” Alan laughed again. “So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet-season’d showers are to the ground.”

With a happy sigh, Esti leaned back against her seat.

“And for the peace of you,” he continued, “I hold such strife as ’twixt a miser and his wealth is found.”

This was
right,
she thought in contentment. It had taken an entire semester, but she was finally in paradise.

As they approached the cay, however, she began to hear a whispery moan and a drumming deep in her bones. The black silhouette of the island’s cliff blotted out the Milky Way like a jagged hole in the sky. She watched silently as Alan brought them close to the looming cliff.

Waves crashed into the island with unexpected violence, and she grabbed the side of the boat. Her stomach lurched as they rose to meet the rocks. Just in time to avoid a crash, Alan yanked on the oars. The boat spun around the side of the cliff, and the sky disappeared.

Manchineel Cay had swallowed them.

Act Two. Scene Eleven.

Esti clutched the edge of the boat, straining to see something. Heavy booming filled the blackness, vibrating her body with the island’s erratic heartbeat. The water lifted and lowered them to the pulse of the sea, beating into the niches of the cave with deceiving power. A salty breeze breathed past, whispering uneasy secrets. As the boat scraped against rock, she felt Alan place the oars beside her feet. A shiny-smooth wall of rock slipped past her fingers, and after a moment, Alan got out of the boat, dragging it onto something solid.

“We’re here,” he said, his deep voice multiplied by the hard surfaces around them. “I hope you’re not afraid.”

“Of course not.” As he helped her out of the boat, she tried not to grab his hands too desperately. “Safety tip number twenty-three.”

“Come, then.” Although he didn’t laugh, she heard his amusement as he drew her after him. “The path through the cave is steep.”

The breath of the sea came from behind them now, smelling of salt and fish. Strands of her hair tickled across Esti’s face.

“The cay has opened her heart to you—a rare occurrence indeed.” Alan’s voice echoed in the blackness around them. Although Esti was already breathing hard, he didn’t seem to notice the climb as he led her up the rough slope.

“Your island is alive?” She tried to sound amused.

“Very much so.” He seemed utterly serious. “Our lives are closely intertwined, my lady cay and I. I’m taking you through her body now, to my home. I live in a fold of her skin, guarded against curious eyes and prying fools. Her breath cools me and empowers me; her sweat feeds my thirst and my hunger. She protects me, and I, in turn, treat her with the utmost respect.”

Esti opened her mouth, then closed it again, suppressing an odd stab of jealousy at the near worship in his voice. She had learned to expect his weirdly formal speech whenever his emotions grew strong, but she never knew what might set it off. She certainly hadn’t thought he would take her question about the cay seriously.

Above them, the wailing breath grew more plaintive as the pounding heartbeat faded below. The breeze on the back of her neck made her shiver, the steep path rough beneath her feet. As she clutched Alan’s hand in the darkness, he drew her forward, almost lifting her in places as he helped her along. She tried to ignore the jeans clinging to her clammy ankles and the absurd squelching of her wet shoes.

The moaning ahead became even louder. Although the breeze still felt mild, the sound soon rose to a shriek. If an island could truly be alive, this one cried out fiercely against its new intruder. After a moment, Alan pulled Esti behind him to the right. To her relief, the path leveled out, and they drew away from the unearthly screaming. She soon heard nothing more than a distant groan.

“What happened?” she gasped. “What was that?”

“My lady protests at the power I take from her,” Alan said with a smile in his voice. “She is generous in meeting my needs, although the payment can be harsh.”

Esti began to shiver again. What kind of power would someone get from an island—and at what cost?

As they emerged from the deep cave, she could see the beginnings of light in the sky to the east. Alan pulled her along behind him even more rapidly. He didn’t speak as they plunged onto a dim trail through the trees. When they finally came to a stop beside a steep rock wall, he let go of her hand so abruptly she almost fell against the wall.

He stood silently for a moment, breathing hard. The climb through the cave had seemed much more difficult to Esti than the level forest trail, so she was surprised by the effort he took now to control his breath. She didn’t see the door in the wall beside them, until he slowly pushed it open, heavy and so perfectly camouflaged that it might have belonged in a fairy tale.

Open sesame,
she thought absurdly.

“Welcome to my home,” he said. “Take off your shoes, if you like. I imagine they’re wet.”

As his eyes slid away from hers, she suddenly giggled. “You’re as nervous as I am.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “I haven’t had many guests.”

“Am I the first?” She held her breath.

“Actually, no. You’re the second.”

The answer startled her almost as much as it filled her with relief. “Who was the first one? Some chick you met in a bar?”

Even though he didn’t answer her question, at least he laughed. Leaning against the wall, Esti peeled off her soggy shoes and socks, then rolled up the wet cuffs of her jeans. She fully intended to get some real answers from him before the day was over.

“Come out to the porch,” he said when she straightened. “The sunrise is beautiful from there.”

Esti glanced around the dim room, relieved to see that it wasn’t a cave at all. Although it was difficult to make out any details other than large openings and the bulky shadows of furniture, it was deeply reassuring to see evidence of a real human who lived in a real house.

“Now will you tell me who you are?”

“Soon.” He sighed. “But first, would you like some tea?”

Esti studied him uncertainly. She was tempted to joke that tea must be what he offered all the girls he brought home, but something in his eyes held her back. Briefly imagining Rafe in the same situation, she bit down on another giggle. Rafe would be offering something vastly different right about now.

“I’d love tea,” she said firmly.

She sat on a hand-carved wooden chair to wait, happily listening to roosters in the distance as the sun appeared over the horizon. Beneath the vine-wreathed porch she saw several chickens scratching around what might be an odd-shaped vegetable garden making its way down the hillside. When Alan returned with two steaming mugs, one for her and one for himself, she almost laughed.

Ha! she thought. Jumbees don’t drink tea, or raise chickens and vegetables.

She smiled as he sat down, touching her wooden mug to his. Black tea, she thought, with milk. Taking a contented sip, she looked back out at the pretty view. The stone-paved porch overlooked a valley of verdant trees, punctuated by bursts of flamboyant red blossoms and bright yellow cedar. The scent of frangipani hung heavily in the air.

From the corner of her eye she saw Alan watching her, occasionally turning away so that she couldn’t see him drink his tea.

“Tell me how you built your house,” she said, “if no one knows you live here.”

His eyes smiled at her. “The house has been here for a very long time.”

As the rich morning sun lit up his eyes, Esti slowly forgot everything else. She had never seen eyes so like the Caribbean sea, brilliantly blue with green sparkling in their depths. She wanted to dive into them and never come back up for air.

When she lifted her hand to touch his mask, his reaction was explosive. He lunged back from her, leaping to his feet so abruptly that his chair fell over and his mug crashed to the floor, tea splashing everywhere.

“I’m sorry!” she said, her heart thudding in fear. “Alan, I didn’t mean—”

“You did nothing wrong,” he muttered. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and straightened his chair.

“Alan, I’m sorry. Does it hurt when I touch you?”

“No.” He barely seemed in control as he glanced at her. “I’m a bit jumpy, that’s all.”

Esti took a deep breath. “That’s an understatement.”

“I am going inside to make breakfast,” he said stiffly. “When you’re done with your tea, feel free to look around the house. At that point, I imagine you will be ready to discuss a few things.” Picking up his empty mug from the floor, he fled inside.

Breakfast? Esti had heard jokes about the morning after, but everything with Alan seemed to happen in reverse. His voice and his personality, his appearance—his very existence—were all a mass of contradictions. Maybe he would finally kiss her after tea and toast.

Holding her mug in both hands, she stood and walked to the edge of the porch, still wound up from his intense reaction. She wondered what he planned to discuss after she looked around. It sounded more like a homework assignment than a guy inviting a girl to check out his place.

As she studied his valley, she realized that he had concealed his home thoroughly, even from overhead eyes. The house was completely hidden, built into a fold of the hill and sheltered by a rocky overhang. An irregular, vine-wrapped trellis covered the stone porch. The vegetable garden sprawled among bushes on the hillside, difficult to make out from any distance. She saw no flat spots anywhere, no place for even a helicopter to land.

When he agreed to bring her here, he’d said the only danger would be to himself. Would he somehow be required to pay retribution to his jealous lady cay in return for Esti’s visit? She couldn’t help thinking about the awful shrieks surrounding her when they got here. The breeze alone couldn’t make that much noise, and the possibilities that came to mind were unsettling. An angry cay, furious at being violated by a stranger. Souls of the people taken by the island.

What price would a vengeful island demand, she wondered, if Shakespeare had written this play? As visions of
The Tempest
flitted through her head, she quickly stood up. Even if it was merely unease that made her feel like the island watched her, she no longer wanted to stay outside.

When she reached the doorway, she was startled by the beauty of the room in full daylight. The house nestled directly into the side of the cliff. Large boulders and living ferns made up the interior vertical wall, interspersed with framed posters of Shakespeare festivals and plays. Vents between the boulders blew air into the room, a whispery moan behind the cool breath.

Rough steps made their way up the rock wall to a small kitchen loft, an open window dominating one end of the airy space. She heard Alan moving around the loft above her as she walked in, clattering dishes in an absurdly domestic way as he fixed breakfast. Beneath the kitchen steps, a second stairway led down into a cave-like darkness she assumed was the bedroom.

A row of tall wooden doors to the porch stood open along the entire exterior wall, and bookcases stood at either end, crowded with books, and—she smiled in satisfaction—a very normal laptop computer. Her smile slowly faded, however, as she began studying the Shakespeare images resting on the boulders. In disbelief, she forced her eyes to make their way across the wall of rocks.

Every single frame held a print of her father.

In the center of the rock wall sat the largest poster, Legard playing Caliban in London ten years ago.
Alan,
the signature read,
you are impressive, and I’m glad I met you. Best wishes, Alan Legard.
Esti felt a chill at seeing her dad’s unmistakable handwriting.

Next to the poster, she saw a smaller print of her dad as Macbeth in New York several years later.
Alan
, he had written,
it was great to see you once again! Thanks for the help with Banquo.
The rocks were covered with pictures of her dad over the past ten years, each one lovingly signed to Alan. In a daze, Esti made her way across the room, reading each inscription.

She stopped at the famous photo of herself beside her dad when she was fifteen; her only television performance with The Great Legard immortalized in a nation-wide advertisement. He had praised her performance as he signed that one, and she read it three times, incredulous, before she could move on.
Esti will outshine me someday,
he said,
if she lets herself believe it. Thank you, Alan, for helping me through the most challenging performance of my life. You have a remarkable ability to give me strength when I need it.