Read Online Land of Love and Drowning: A Novel by Tiphanie Yanique - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tiphanie Yanique
Ads: Link
us with mangrove legs and backwards feet. I could not dream why my mother had left this place. Though even as I began to dream, I knew the reason. She left for Papa.
The sea fans were bright purple. I stooped for one, and shaking it of its sand, I held it by its bulbous root and fanned myself. Far off into the water the waves stood tall and frothed white before crashing and then subduing. “The reef,” Louis said, pointing. “The Spanish named this island Anegada, the drowned land, because it has a history of drowning ships. Thousands of ships, and they remain here, under the ocean.” He pointed out to where the waves crashed far beyond the shore. “Unless you know where the reef begins, you will crash into it and sink your ship. When we own the land, people will only come if we show them how.”
As we set our blanket down for the picnic, Moreau told me of his plans to build a golf course and resort on Anegada. He spoke of the entire land as if it were his already. I could not help but wonder what would become of the woman who had gifted me the lobster. “But Flash of Beauty,” he said, as if in conciliation, “we shall keep it as a refuge for women and fish.”
I looked at him then. His hair was straight and his legs were long. His mustache curled towards his ears. His nose arched towards his mouth. I decided that I was going to marry him. He would be interesting to look atfor a long time. With him I would have Villa by the Sea and perhaps have all of Anegada. I would be a generous madame and convince my husband to release another beach for men and arachnids. We would allow native people to trespass without permission. Yes, Moreau would do. Then I would do as I pleased.
I did not see the point in waiting.
With both my hands, I loosened my hair out of the bun that held it. My hair waved out around my face and crashed down over my shoulders. I drew close to Moreau until our faces were close and my hair touched his face.
Perhaps he now leaned over me. Perhaps I leaned over him. It does not matter. Our mouths touched and his filled with the ends of my hair. My hair hid us like a wave. He reached into his damp breast pocket and pulled out a silk kerchief. Inside was my diamond-and-pearl engagement ring. “There has not been a marriage on Anegada for ten years,” he whispered.
15.
Jacob Esau McKenzie had been so young, not much more than three, that for his whole life he was convinced that the visit from the ship captain had not been for real. The memory came to him at odd times. When someone told him he was handsome, when dancing, when gazing on a picture of Anette Bradshaw.
That night his mother was fixing up the house nice. Lemongrass bush arranged in vases as if it were flowers—the place smelling minty. She bathed Jacob special, soaked him like she was thawing him out. Dunking his head under again and again; singing what she did. A melody for the dipping. A hum for the scrubbing. His other brothers had been sent off on long errands with too much money so they would waste more time.
“Jacob, the most loved,” Rebekah said, and finished drying the little boy down with a rough towel, clumps of vanilla bark in the cloth like burrs. “Your eldest sister studying in Tortola. The redhead sister stop suckling but still keeping she mother busy. So now your father coming back to we.” But Jacob didn’t have any sisters that he knew of, and so he didn’t pay his mother much mind. She was always whispering and humming things that had nothing at all to do with him.
The father who came wasn’t the one from the Navy photo on the living room wall; “McKenzie” in black on a white rectangle over his chest. The father who came was tall with sea-gray eyes. He smelled of the ocean.
This was Owen Arthur’s first time seeing the baby boy who was not a baby anymore but a boy.
“Esau,” Rebekah said, as she presented him to Owen. “Because he is your beloved son.” His primary name was Jacob, but that was so he
The sea fans were bright purple. I stooped for one, and shaking it of its sand, I held it by its bulbous root and fanned myself. Far off into the water the waves stood tall and frothed white before crashing and then subduing. “The reef,” Louis said, pointing. “The Spanish named this island Anegada, the drowned land, because it has a history of drowning ships. Thousands of ships, and they remain here, under the ocean.” He pointed out to where the waves crashed far beyond the shore. “Unless you know where the reef begins, you will crash into it and sink your ship. When we own the land, people will only come if we show them how.”
As we set our blanket down for the picnic, Moreau told me of his plans to build a golf course and resort on Anegada. He spoke of the entire land as if it were his already. I could not help but wonder what would become of the woman who had gifted me the lobster. “But Flash of Beauty,” he said, as if in conciliation, “we shall keep it as a refuge for women and fish.”
I looked at him then. His hair was straight and his legs were long. His mustache curled towards his ears. His nose arched towards his mouth. I decided that I was going to marry him. He would be interesting to look atfor a long time. With him I would have Villa by the Sea and perhaps have all of Anegada. I would be a generous madame and convince my husband to release another beach for men and arachnids. We would allow native people to trespass without permission. Yes, Moreau would do. Then I would do as I pleased.
I did not see the point in waiting.
With both my hands, I loosened my hair out of the bun that held it. My hair waved out around my face and crashed down over my shoulders. I drew close to Moreau until our faces were close and my hair touched his face.
Perhaps he now leaned over me. Perhaps I leaned over him. It does not matter. Our mouths touched and his filled with the ends of my hair. My hair hid us like a wave. He reached into his damp breast pocket and pulled out a silk kerchief. Inside was my diamond-and-pearl engagement ring. “There has not been a marriage on Anegada for ten years,” he whispered.
15.
Jacob Esau McKenzie had been so young, not much more than three, that for his whole life he was convinced that the visit from the ship captain had not been for real. The memory came to him at odd times. When someone told him he was handsome, when dancing, when gazing on a picture of Anette Bradshaw.
That night his mother was fixing up the house nice. Lemongrass bush arranged in vases as if it were flowers—the place smelling minty. She bathed Jacob special, soaked him like she was thawing him out. Dunking his head under again and again; singing what she did. A melody for the dipping. A hum for the scrubbing. His other brothers had been sent off on long errands with too much money so they would waste more time.
“Jacob, the most loved,” Rebekah said, and finished drying the little boy down with a rough towel, clumps of vanilla bark in the cloth like burrs. “Your eldest sister studying in Tortola. The redhead sister stop suckling but still keeping she mother busy. So now your father coming back to we.” But Jacob didn’t have any sisters that he knew of, and so he didn’t pay his mother much mind. She was always whispering and humming things that had nothing at all to do with him.
The father who came wasn’t the one from the Navy photo on the living room wall; “McKenzie” in black on a white rectangle over his chest. The father who came was tall with sea-gray eyes. He smelled of the ocean.
This was Owen Arthur’s first time seeing the baby boy who was not a baby anymore but a boy.
“Esau,” Rebekah said, as she presented him to Owen. “Because he is your beloved son.” His primary name was Jacob, but that was so he
Similar Books
