Savage (Daughters of the Jaguar) Read online

  “What kind of instrument do you play?” Wyanet continued.

  “I play the guitar,” I said.

  “Enchanting.”

  Nadie and the grandmother were busy putting things at the table that smelled heavenly. Roasted deer cooked with herbs I had never tasted before, that they said came from their own garden. Vegetables that had simmered in sauce, salads with all kinds of fresh herbs and nuts in them, avocado dip made from avocadoes from their own garden, delicate olive oils that I tossed over the salads. I fully enjoyed both the food and the company. With that many people at the table it never went quiet like I was used to when I ate with my father. That awkward silence from two people who had forgotten how to talk to one another and therefore just eventually stopped doing so. The kind of silence that occurs when hurt and sorrow and ugly things said have come between them. The kind of silence that would make me eat alone in my room instead just to avoid it. Just to avoid facing my own father. Here, there was constantly someone talking and people laughing. Nothing was unsaid. No one was hurting. It was so vibrant, so alive. Not like any place I had ever been before.

  “Play something for us,” Wyanet said after we were done eating.

  “I don’t have my guitar,” I said.

  “We have a couple,” she said and asked Nina to go get the guitars in her room. Nina returned with two magnificent Spanish brown guitars in her hands. She gave one of them to me and the other to her mother.

  “Play one of your own songs, Christian,” Aiyana said.

  I felt a little shy and intimidated by all the eyes that were staring at me. Carefully I began playing a song I had written right after my mother had died—the very first of my songs. I had never played it before to anybody except my father but this moment felt like the right time to do it. Don’t ask me why. I just knew that they would enjoy it and appreciate its depth. They would never react like my father had done when I had sung it for him. “Don’t waste your time with that nonsense," he had said. “It will never pay your bills and besides, holding the guitar makes you look like a girl. We are real men in this family and you will grow up to be one. You will become a doctor like your father and grandfather, and you will support your wife and children while they carry on the family name.” And that had been the end of that discussion. I hadn’t stopped playing, naturally, but I tried to only do it when he wasn’t at home, and I never did it in front of him again.

  Even if my fingers still trembled, I soon became more comfortable exposing myself. The notes floated beautifully in the air and I sang with more strength and beauty than I had ever done before. Wyanet closed her eyes and seemed to be feeling the song as deeply as I did. As the lyrics flew through my lips, I felt a sigh of relief inside of me. These were the words I had written down immediately after losing my mother; they were filled with all my sorrow that I couldn’t express at the time and all my emotions that I had repressed over the years. This was a forum where I could let it all out, these were people who understood. I played with all I had inside of me and realized how much the music was a part of me, was a part of my soul. I had neglected that part of me for so many weeks now and it was about time I got it back. The music was what had kept me sane during all that had been going on earlier in my life. This was my lifeline. There were no doctors or psychiatrists that would be able to make me feel the way I did when I played my guitar, no pills or treatment could heal me like this did. And for once, the voices became so low they were almost quiet and there were no pictures flashing before my eyes.

  I put down the guitar as I finished my last note, completely exhausted and emptied inside. The family clapped. Wyanet nodded her head and told me she thought it was “absolutely captivating.” Then she told me that I should do something about it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You should become a singer. A professional singer and guitar-player,” she said.

  It sounded so strange to me, so far from what I had ever heard or known. So far from what my father had always told me. “It doesn’t pay the bills,” I said.

  Wyanet laughed. “Bills? Who cares about bills? This is your soul we are talking about. Your soul wants this, it craves to become an artist. You can’t deny your soul for very long, my friend. That will only lead to misery and bitterness. Look at the world outside these windows. It is filled with people who never followed their dreams. People who gave up. Mediocre people living small mediocre lives filled with bitterness and resentment because their heart wanted to do something completely different. You, my friend, you could be something truly great. You have an amazing gift. You need to listen to what is inside of you. What is your heart telling you? Only the heart knows your real purpose in this life.”

  Then Wyanet picked up the other guitar and started playing it real fast, like Spanish flamenco-style. She said it was the only good thing that ever came from the Spaniards, and all the girls got on their feet and started dancing with their skirts fluttering, making them look like big beautiful flowers in all colors. They dragged me up to dance with them, and I was terrible at all that stomping. A couple of cats stared at us from the windowsill looking like they didn’t know what I was doing there either, but I didn’t care. I laughed so hard and felt like I was transported to a completely different place and time. I didn’t care about anything. I danced with Aiyana and all of her sisters, even Halona, who seemed to be laughing without a sound leaving her lips. I was so enchanted by the music and laughter in this house, I hardly noticed the chairs and tables moving around in the kitchen, floating in the air along with books and pictures, or even the apparition of an old lady in a white dress that showed up and started dancing with us. I later learned the apparition was Aiyana’s great-grandmother who hadn’t been ready to leave the house and cross over to the land of the spirits yet. It was told that she had something she needed to do first, only no one knew what it was so they let her stay in the house till she had finished whatever it was that was holding her back. “Poor Granny,” Aiyana would always say when she appeared. “I think she just doesn’t know how to find her way out of this world.”

  Unfortunately the fun had to end at some point, and I had to return to my own world. I thanked Aiyana and her family for hosting this nice lunch for me, but now I had to go because my host-mother was in the hospital and I had to visit her, plus I had an article for the newspaper that I had to send.

  “I had a blast,” I told Aiyana as she walked me out the front oak door.

  “I know,” she said with that gentle smile on her lips.

  I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back to reality. I wanted to stay in that bubble of happiness and let myself be wrapped in a blanket of music.

  “We will see each other again soon,” Aiyana said, and I knew she was right.

  Chapter 17

  That afternoon, after I had sent my article to the newspaper, I drove out to the hospital to visit Mrs. Kirk. I was still humming in the car the wonderful tones from the flamenco-guitar and tapping along with my feet. It was like the music inside of me had come alive, like every fiber of my body wanted to tap and sing. I turned on the radio and started singing along, wondering why I had been so busy keeping the music out of my life when it always brought me so much joy. Wyanet had been right. I knew it inside of me. I had to at least try and pursue my dream, otherwise I would end up a bitter old man. My fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as I began making plans for the future. Maybe I could earn a living by writing articles for this newspaper until I could live off my music? If only I knew if I was any good at writing, if they would want me. But then again, it really didn’t matter what I did for a living as long as I had time to play my music.

  I took a turn as I went through the town of St. Augustine. I hadn’t had much time to explore this old and charming city but that had to wait. I drove past a couple of old, small houses that reminded me of home and then one of the town’s main attractions—The Fountain of Youth. A huge archway of stone let the visitors into the site. I stopped at a re
d light while someone was handing out brochures and gave me one through the open roof. I read it while waiting for green:

  The Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park. A 15 acre waterfront, Historical Site where St. Augustine, Florida began in 1565. This is the location where Spanish Explorer Pedro Menendez de Aviles, in 1565, established the first and oldest continuous European Settlement in the United States of America.

  - See the stars in our Planetarium,

  - Visit our Native Timucua Village,

  - Watch a Cannon firing,

  - Marvel at Spanish Exploration on our two-story high Discovery Globe,

  - Learn about the 1565 Birthplace of European America,

  - Stroll through a waterfront park where peacocks strut and shady oaks beckon you to stay,

  - Visit the snack bar, picnic under the oaks,

  - You can even drink from the legendary waters and see if your visit grants you the secret to eternal youth.

  I had to laugh out loud inside of my car as the light turned green. “The secret to eternal youth,” I repeated. “And get it after your visit to the snack bar.” I was intrigued, though, to go and visit the Native Timucua Village and maybe get a peek into Aiyana’s ancestor’s history. But something inside of me said that she would be better at telling me herself. I wanted to know more about her and her roots. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

  I found myself humming again as I came closer to the hospital. I couldn’t wait to see Aiyana again. And not only her. I couldn’t wait to go back to that house and spend time with her whole family again.

  Mrs. Kirk had been in and out of consciousness for several hours that day, and when I arrived she had slipped into a coma-like state as the doctors called it. She wasn’t in a regular coma yet, but her head had suffered severe damage from the blow when she hit the wall and she was struggling, they said, but they still didn’t know if she would win the fight. They had her on a lot of drugs to keep the pain away. All that was left was to wait, Dr. Kirk said as I arrived. His normally strong appearance was gone and left him looking like an old and tired man with a slightly bent posture. It amazed me how fast people in grief could grow old, how fast life can change people when something like this happens. I had seen it before in my father. When my mother became ill his hair turned white over night. The house became quiet like a hospital. All the music and laughter was gone. The long worrisome nights made his skin gray and gave him countless wrinkles. It was like she had already died and was slowly dragging him with her.

  I was shocked to know that it was a lot worse than I had expected. Mrs. Kirk was lying in her bed with tubes in her mouth and nose, her eyes closed like someone sound asleep. Heather was there and was sitting in a chair next to her mother holding her lifeless hand. Dr. Kirk stood by the window looking out at the sunny street where tourists passed in their cars packed with surfboards, beach chairs and happy faces. I felt a huge guilt for not getting to the hospital earlier and for having spent the day dancing carelessly with the neighbors. And I felt even more guilt for not having warned Mrs. Kirk about this. Knowing that this would happen to her I should at least have tried to do something. But I didn’t really know it was going to come true, did I? I didn’t know that I was seeing the future. Not until it really happened.

  I stood beside Heather and put a hand on her shoulder. She got up from her chair and hugged me. She held me tight and then she started crying and sobbing in my arms.

  “Take her outside,” Dr. Kirk said.

  I did as told and helped Heather get out in the hallway. I hugged her for a long time while she cried. I felt a pinch in my stomach. A pinch of guilt.

  “I am so sorry,” I said. “I am so, so sorry.” I handed her a Kleenex from a box I had found on the table. She wiped her eyes and nose.

  “Well, at least you did everything you could,” she said, her voice watery from tears. “My dad told me that you saved her life. I was in my class and didn’t know anything until Maria called the school and someone came to get me in the auditorium."

  “I didn’t exactly do it alone. Maria was there too. She was the one who hit him with that lamp.” I stroked Heather’s hair. It was so fair. So delicate like the rest of her. “I am just sorry that I didn’t do more.”

  “What more could you have done? That bastard took her completely off guard.”

  I shrugged. “Well … I don’t know … It’s just. I think I might have known that this was going to happen,” I said.

  She looked at me, her eyes confused. “What do you mean?” She blew her nose again. The paper tissue made the area around the nose reddish.

  I breathed deeply. “I don’t know. I … It’s just that I saw it. Before it happened. When I was still in the hospital. Like a vision or something. I saw that man attack her. I didn’t think much of it, not until it actually happened to her.”

  Heather shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  I sighed again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it is, but ever since the accident at the swamps something has changed inside of me. I am seeing things and I know things that I have no way of knowing. Like that journalist who came to the house the other day. I knew she was pregnant. Don’t ask me how I knew it, I just did.”

  “Maybe you just saw it on her stomach?”

  “See? That’s the point. You couldn’t tell on her body. She didn’t even know about it herself yet. She figured it out the same day after I told her. I don’t know how I could know that she was pregnant. I just did.”

  Heather shrugged. “It’s a coincidence. You guessed it. Maybe you saw something in her eyes. They say that pregnant women shine and have a special look in their eyes. Maybe you just guessed it.”

  “Maybe. But how do you explain your mother? I saw that man. I saw him holding on to your mother’s throat.”

  Heather exhaled deeply. “I don’t know about that, Christian. I think you’re just imagining things. Maybe it was a dream or some sort of vision. I don’t know.” She got up from the chair. “And frankly, right now I don’t care.” Then she walked past me and went back into the room.

  Heather and Dr. Kirk stayed at the hospital for the night while I drove home. Maria put out dinner for everyone and left it on the table before she went home, all the plates wrapped in plastic-wrap ready to be warmed in the microwave. I put Heather’s and the doctor’s in the refrigerator and then I heated my own. I wasn’t that hungry and didn’t eat much of it.

  While I was pushing peas and potatoes around on the plate, I suddenly heard a noise coming from the yard. Still with the morning’s attack in my mind, I grabbed a knife and started walking towards the French doors leading to the garden. The water outside was calm and long-legged birds were chasing fish while walking in the shallow parts.

  “Who’s there?” I yelled. I opened the door and let the hot air in. "Is there anybody out here?" I asked again.

  On the lawn leading to the Intracoastal waters I was met by the most intoxicating sight. It was Aiyana. She was sitting on the grass staring out over the ocean. Her hair was moving in the sea breeze like it was calling for me, like it was trying to lure me to come closer. She hadn’t seen me but she had to be expecting me. I threw the knife on the floor and hurried towards her. She sat leaning back on her arms with her eyes closed, as if she wanted to take in everything this night had to offer, the last beams of the sun, the air, the smells, everything.

  “I heard you were feeling down,” she said when I came closer still without moving or opening her eyes. I kneeled behind her and reached out a hand to touch her thick wavering hair. I wanted to plunge into it. I wanted to smell it and let it cover my face. I was hungry for her. I wanted her. Her scent was strong, it was sweet, like a natural perfume. Sunrays hit her face and made it almost sparkle. She kept still as I caressed her hair gently. Then I moved my hand to her dark skin. It was so soft and smooth I can still feel it if I close my eyes and remember her in her beauty - a beauty that never faded for the many years I knew her. I
moved her hair and revealed a birthmark on her neck. I leaned over and kissed it gently. I was gazing at her with fascination and with lust. An intensely deep desire rose in me. I wanted to explore her entire body, I wanted to know every little corner of it, and I wanted to make her mine. I wanted to own her completely. I felt fearless as I came closer and sensed that she didn’t pull herself away from me. She must by then have heard my heavy breathing as I touched her hair and arm. She kept her eyes closed and never spoke a word. She was small-boned but yet strong and muscular. She had long slim and strong legs like a runner. Her mouth was sensuous. She still wore her red summer dress in a light fabric. I remember how much I wanted to rip it apart and reach to her soft tanned skin underneath. Very cautiously, I reached out for her and grabbed her tender neck. She gave a little gasp as I pushed her down on the grass. Her lips parted a little like she was waiting for me to kiss her. Her eyes were now opened and staring right at me. I had to have her and she was allowing me. Then I kissed her. I kissed her wonderful soft lips and plunged into her smells of strange and exotic flowers. I was dazzled by her beauty, perplexed by my desire to posses her, to grab her and never let go again, yet overwhelmed by the stronghold of my lust for her flesh. I let go of her lips. I kissed her cheek, her forehead, her nose and nipped her ear. I touched her breasts from outside her dress, her beautiful and perfectly sculptured breasts. With unforeseen violence I pulled down her dress until her breasts were revealed. I kissed them and touched them. So vulnerable, it drove me crazy. I am never going to let you go, I thought as we sank down together in the grass. I smelled her hair again and kissed her neck like I was intending to devour her. I felt her incredible strength beneath me and didn’t have to be careful with her as I had to with most women. Aiyana wasn’t small and breakable. She wasn’t weighed down by my body on her. She was wild, feisty and untamable. I had never wanted a girl this much. I had never craved a woman’s body like this. And even though I had her, even though I conquered her during our lovemaking, I knew she would never be completely mine. And it was about to drive me mad.