Read Online Land of Love and Drowning: A Novel by Tiphanie Yanique - Free Book Online
Authors: Tiphanie Yanique
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itself.
Tortola, where I had been staying, is mountainous, like St. Thomas. The hills are as steep as walls. The island of Anegada, however, is not an island at all. It is a ring of coral skimming just above the water. It is scarce in trees and plentiful in sand. A submerged reef surrounds it eight miles out. This is why it is so dangerous.
Our vessel had to dock far off at the edge of the reef. A rowboat came to meet us and take us closer to land. Still, even the rowboats were unable to negotiate the shallow coral. Dark men took me and the other women up in their arms and lifted us out to carry us to shore, so our dresses would not be wet. When my carrier held me, he trembled with care. You would have thought I was a case of china dishes.
On the sand, I could see that the sky over Anegada was a huge dome. Everywhere I turned the firmament was there, landing at my feet.
“Monsieur Moreau,” the people called, nodding their heads but looking only at me. Then I saw the brashness of this adventure. Though Papa, Mama, and I had sailed a number of times aboard
The Homecoming
, we had never sailed to Mama’s homeland. I had not fully considered that perhaps Mama would have close family still on the island and that I might berecognized. “Good afternoon,” one woman said to me as Louis and I walked. Her eyes were shining from beneath a head of hair as red as the setting sun. She seemed startled to see me. I lifted my head to show my breeding and stave off any questioning. Doing this, however, made a smile come to her face, as if she now knew exactly who I was.
“Miss,” she said to me, “you from Anegada.”
How could she have detected anything? I was wearing the European single petticoat, which shielded my shape. I was leading a Frenchman. She wore pants like a man and led a donkey. “You are mistaken,” I said, turning to Moreau. He raised his eyebrows and I raised mine in return.
“I’m not mistaken,” the woman went on. Her eyes pooled in her face. “I know a Stemme when I see one.”
I wanted to correct her; I was a Bradshaw. I was my father’s child. My mother had been the Stemme.
“You just like those Duene stories they tell the children,” the woman said. “Take this here,” and she passed me something the size of a baby wrapped in a clean rag. “Is like you arrive for mating season. Some Stemmes does leave for love, others does come.” I could not respond to such audacity, but this grown woman just patted the bundle she’d given me. “Don’t wait,” she said, before walking on.
Moreau guided me towards the beach without making comment, though from his face I could see his bemusement. I opened the woman’s offering after a respectable distance. It was red and clawed, though its belly was bursting with meat. I came close to dropping it on the ground out of fright. “Lobster!” I exclaimed. I had not before had the opportunity to eat or touch one.
“The people here are so pleasant,” Moreau said. “This was probably that poor woman’s lunch.”
I nodded, not wanting to add anything more to that conversation in the event he began to envision me in men’s pants, leading a burro.
We continued walking over ground that was not ground at all, butcoral. It was as if we were walking on the bottom of the ocean. Mama had never spoken much about Anegada. “I cleaved to my spouse,” she had said, as though Papa were her new fatherland. If Papa had not whisked her away, perhaps I would have been like a Duene daughter, as it went in my mother’s stories. I would walk right into the ocean. I would walk on the coral bottom as if walking on land.
Now Louis stretched out his long arm and gesticulated across the beach that was named Flash of Beauty. “Like you,” he said.
The waves on the beach seemed thick, as though we were in the middle of the ocean, not simply sitting on the sand. I would not have been entirely surprised to see a lovely woman raise her head from those waves and come towards
Tortola, where I had been staying, is mountainous, like St. Thomas. The hills are as steep as walls. The island of Anegada, however, is not an island at all. It is a ring of coral skimming just above the water. It is scarce in trees and plentiful in sand. A submerged reef surrounds it eight miles out. This is why it is so dangerous.
Our vessel had to dock far off at the edge of the reef. A rowboat came to meet us and take us closer to land. Still, even the rowboats were unable to negotiate the shallow coral. Dark men took me and the other women up in their arms and lifted us out to carry us to shore, so our dresses would not be wet. When my carrier held me, he trembled with care. You would have thought I was a case of china dishes.
On the sand, I could see that the sky over Anegada was a huge dome. Everywhere I turned the firmament was there, landing at my feet.
“Monsieur Moreau,” the people called, nodding their heads but looking only at me. Then I saw the brashness of this adventure. Though Papa, Mama, and I had sailed a number of times aboard
The Homecoming
, we had never sailed to Mama’s homeland. I had not fully considered that perhaps Mama would have close family still on the island and that I might berecognized. “Good afternoon,” one woman said to me as Louis and I walked. Her eyes were shining from beneath a head of hair as red as the setting sun. She seemed startled to see me. I lifted my head to show my breeding and stave off any questioning. Doing this, however, made a smile come to her face, as if she now knew exactly who I was.
“Miss,” she said to me, “you from Anegada.”
How could she have detected anything? I was wearing the European single petticoat, which shielded my shape. I was leading a Frenchman. She wore pants like a man and led a donkey. “You are mistaken,” I said, turning to Moreau. He raised his eyebrows and I raised mine in return.
“I’m not mistaken,” the woman went on. Her eyes pooled in her face. “I know a Stemme when I see one.”
I wanted to correct her; I was a Bradshaw. I was my father’s child. My mother had been the Stemme.
“You just like those Duene stories they tell the children,” the woman said. “Take this here,” and she passed me something the size of a baby wrapped in a clean rag. “Is like you arrive for mating season. Some Stemmes does leave for love, others does come.” I could not respond to such audacity, but this grown woman just patted the bundle she’d given me. “Don’t wait,” she said, before walking on.
Moreau guided me towards the beach without making comment, though from his face I could see his bemusement. I opened the woman’s offering after a respectable distance. It was red and clawed, though its belly was bursting with meat. I came close to dropping it on the ground out of fright. “Lobster!” I exclaimed. I had not before had the opportunity to eat or touch one.
“The people here are so pleasant,” Moreau said. “This was probably that poor woman’s lunch.”
I nodded, not wanting to add anything more to that conversation in the event he began to envision me in men’s pants, leading a burro.
We continued walking over ground that was not ground at all, butcoral. It was as if we were walking on the bottom of the ocean. Mama had never spoken much about Anegada. “I cleaved to my spouse,” she had said, as though Papa were her new fatherland. If Papa had not whisked her away, perhaps I would have been like a Duene daughter, as it went in my mother’s stories. I would walk right into the ocean. I would walk on the coral bottom as if walking on land.
Now Louis stretched out his long arm and gesticulated across the beach that was named Flash of Beauty. “Like you,” he said.
The waves on the beach seemed thick, as though we were in the middle of the ocean, not simply sitting on the sand. I would not have been entirely surprised to see a lovely woman raise her head from those waves and come towards
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