The Different Girl

by Gordon Dahlquist

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “We have to decide.”

  “We have another week, don’t we? I thought we agreed . . .”

  Their footsteps went farther from the stairs. We could only hear murmurs and the purr of burning gas.

  Irene hadn’t run out of mustard yet, but I wondered if another week meant the next supply boat. I didn’t know what else could happen in a single week, unless another storm had been predicted.

  From the darkened yard behind us came the faintest squeak, a metallic sliver of sound we all recognized as the screen door of the classroom. The murmurs kept going upstairs. They hadn’t heard.

  All four of us crept to our screen and looked out. The girl was outside. She slipped down the classroom steps into the yard, and then she stopped, hunkering down. She looked at our door, maybe even at our shapes, shadows with the light behind us. In a burst, like a rat from under a palm frond, she darted toward us, right under the kitchen porch and out of view. Robbert and Irene were still talking. The water had begun to boil.

  “Watch the pan,” I said. I opened the door.

  “What if they come down?” whispered Eleanor.

  But I didn’t answer. I’d already seen the girl and she’d seen me—so what could be the harm? The others caught the screen so it closed without a sound. I went down the stairs, holding the rail like always. At the bottom I looked under the building. She was on her knees in the weeds, peeking past the middle stilt. We watched each other.

  “Hello,” I finally whispered. “Are you feeling better?”

  The girl didn’t answer.

  “I found you on the beach,” I said.

  She kept crouching there.

  “I’m Veronika.”

  “What are you?” Her voice was as different as the rest of her, close to a croak.

  “I’m Veronika. This is our island. What’s your name?”

  It took her a little while to decide, but she finally did. “May.”

  “That’s short,” I said. “Our names are longer. Are you sure that’s all of it?”

  “What are you?” she asked again. I had no idea what to say.

  “I’m Veronika. The other girls are Isobel and Eleanor and Caroline.”

  “Girls?”

  “Why don’t you come into the kitchen?”

  “He told me not to.”

  “But you already did, didn’t you?” She nodded. I nodded back to be friendly. “Don’t worry. Now you’re safe.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Irene and Robbert. They take care of us. Why don’t you come out?”

  I’d been too long. When I looked up, Irene and Robbert stood in the doorway. I went back to my crouch and called to her.

  “Everyone wants to meet you, May. And it’s dinnertime. Aren’t you hungry?”

  • • •

  Irene and Robbert left it to me. Eventually May came out and up the stairs. I waited and held out my hand for her to take, which she did, hesitating and looking at Irene and Robbert to see if it was okay. I knew not to squeeze (or pinch) and just let her fingers do the feeling. She looked different than she had in the beach grass or on the bed, much closer to how she looked in the photograph, even if she didn’t smile. Most of the zebra bandages were gone from her arms, but her feet still had a few, so she wore the flip-flops from her bag. Her shirt had been in the bag, too, short-sleeved with colored flowers, so someone must have washed it. We climbed into the light and I saw her more clearly than ever. May’s hair was as black as Eleanor’s but thick and curled where Eleanor’s just hung. Her skin was almost the color of Irene’s peanut butter, but darker. Her face had a long patchy scab, like a paintbrush had been dragged down her cheekbone to her chin.

  Irene opened the door. May let go of my hand, and at a nudge from Robbert I went to Isobel, Caroline, and Eleanor, all of us staring at May as nicely as possible.

  “May has met Veronika already,” said Robbert. “This is Isobel, Eleanor, and Caroline.”

  May just looked at us.

  “Isobel has blond hair,” said Robbert. “Caroline has brown hair like Irene, and Eleanor has black hair, just like you.”

  May didn’t say anything about hair. Robbert touched her shoulder, gently.

  “Everything is fine, May.”

  “What can you girls say to make May feel welcome?” asked Irene.

  “Do you eat soup, May?” asked Isobel. “We made soup for dinner.”

  “Do you eat soup?” May’s voice was still raspy.

  “We make soup,” replied Caroline. “And all kinds of things. Tonight there’s noodles.”

  “Why don’t we set another place?” said Irene. “Come to the table, May, take a seat.”

  Irene pulled a stool from the counter and set it between her chair and Robbert’s. May sat down, hugging her arms even though it wasn’t cold. We all fetched another table setting—spoon, chopsticks, plate, bowl, cup—and set them down in the proper order. Robbert poured water from the filter jug into her cup, and then shook a yellow pill from a plastic bottle.

  “May needs to take this after she eats,” he told us. “It will help her sleep, so she can heal more quickly.”

  Along with the soup we had opened a package of noodles with sauce and a package of vegetable protein that Isobel had cut into cubes and put into the noodles so Caroline could mix them up. Caroline brought the bowl to Irene and Eleanor used the tongs to put noodles onto Irene’s plate, then Isobel used a spoon to pour more of the protein cubes and sauce on top. They did the same for Robbert and then brought the bowl to May.

  “Would you like noodles, May?” asked Eleanor.

  May nodded, watching Eleanor dig with the tongs and extract just the right amount of noodles, then push aside the noodles to make room for the spoon to get the sauce. When they were done, Caroline carried the bowl back to the countertop, and I held the pot for Isobel to ladle soup into their bowls.

  “Would you like soup, May?” asked Isobel.

  May nodded again. Her hands were in her lap, even though Robbert and Irene had gone ahead and started to eat. When we were done I carried the pot back to the stove, which was where it lived if someone still might decide on seconds. May stared at everything we did, and then at the kitchen around her.

  But May wasn’t eating.

  “Where am I?” she whispered. “What is this place?”

  Robbert put down his spoon and sniffed. He scraped his chair backward, just enough to cross his legs, and studied May, like she hadn’t figured something out in class.

  “No.”

  May looked up at him—not knowing how Robbert thought—since “no” wasn’t strictly an answer to either of her questions. The four of us did know, of course, and though we wanted to help her, we’d learned it was best to stay quiet.

  “Answer your own question, May,” Robbert said. “Where are you? You’re a stranger sharing our meal. I’m glad you’re feeling better—good enough to go exploring despite being asked to do no such thing. I’m also glad because this means you feel good enough to answer some questions yourself.”

  May held still, like a lizard trying to hide. Irene nodded to Robbert, and her eyes were different than the softness in her words, as if they had silently decided something between them.

  “Now, Robbert—” she began, but Robbert shook his head.

  “I’m speaking to May, Irene. I think she owes us an explanation . . . all of us.”

  May swallowed and the swallowing bobbed her head, even though her eyes kept staring at her soup. I saw the stripe of freckles below her eyes and wondered if they’d always been a part of her face, or if they were like the scab—something no one had expected but that, from then on, she had to remember.

  I walked to the counter, to where we cleared the table for dinner. By the time I crossed back to May everyone was looking at me. I set the zipped rubber pouch next to her plate.

  “I found it with you, May. We looked at your pictures and asked ourselves a lot of questi
ons. But now that you’re awake, we can all look together.”

  May pulled the bag onto her lap, one thumb rubbing back and forth along the zipper. She looked up at me. Her words got tangled.

  “W-which—I’m sorry—I forgot your name.”

  “I’m Veronika. My hair is red. I found you.”

  “Veronika saved your life,” said Robbert.

  May looked down and squeezed the rubber bag. “Thank you.”

  “Can we look at your pictures?” I asked.

  “May should eat something first,” said Irene. “At least her soup.”

  Now May was sniffing. She wiped her nose on her fingers and then her fingers on her shorts. She leaned forward to eat. I stayed where I was, next to her, since I’d been the one to make her talk.

  • • •

  In the end May ate her noodles, too, and the table was cleared and wiped so nothing spilled could touch the pictures. We expected May to describe each one in turn, because that was what we did, but instead she unzipped the bag and looked through them all without talking. Eleanor was about to speak, just ahead of me wanting to speak, but Robbert put his hand on her shoulder. We were to wait, because this was something new. Usually this meant an unfamiliar bird or cloud—different, but belonging to a group we already knew. May was another different altogether. Her group was the group of girls, which had been our group, but her being in it changed everything. From now on we were us compared to her.

  This was even more true when May began to talk.

  “The Mary is our boat. I lived there since I can remember, with Will, my uncle Will, and then later with Cat, too—Cat is my other uncle, though he’s not my real uncle, but the Mary needs two people who can sail. In another year I could make three. I can do almost everything. That’s Cat.”

  She pointed to the smiling man who held the fish in the fifth picture. Irene pointed to the first picture, of the two men on the dock.

  “Is one of these men your uncle Will?”

  May shook her head. “Those are friends of Cat.”

  “Where do they live? Where is that?”

  May sniffed. “Port Orange.”

  “That’s quite a distance,” said Robbert. “Do you live there, keep a berth? Is that where you have family?”

  May only shook her head.

  “Not everyone feels welcome in Port Orange any more, do they, Irene?”

  “They’d feel welcome if they had family,” Irene said. “If they had a school, or a church.”

  May shrugged and stared down at the pictures.

  “Where else did you sail in the Mary?” Robbert asked. “What was the biggest place?”

  “Will doesn’t like us to talk. About any of that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We like to be left alone.”

  “So do we,” said Robbert. May nodded, as if his words meant something more. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, turning her face since the sleeve was short.

  “We’re traveling people. We take cargo and messages, and we catch fish.”

  “What about Tarawa?” Irene asked. “Were you ever there?”

  May shook her head.

  “Not ever?”

  “Not for a long time.”

  “Since things changed?”

  May shrugged, like she wasn’t sure.

  “Didn’t the people in Port Orange make you to go to their school?” asked Robbert.

  May shook her head. “Will and Cat said no.”

  “I didn’t think they let anyone say no.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I stayed out of sight below.”

  “When you took things for people, carried cargo, did you know what it was?” Irene pointed to the crates on the dock in the first picture. “Was it always things like this—this big? Or smaller?”

  May thought about all the different crates. “Usually smaller.”

  “Did you know what was in them?”

  “Will never let me.”

  “But you looked,” said Irene. “Didn’t you, May?”

  May turned. She didn’t answer at once. She was staring at Caroline’s hair. “Sometimes books. Sometimes chips and wires. Or parts to make machines. Mostly we set up meets with other boats offshore—then go into port afterward, all empty, so a search didn’t matter.”

  Irene and Robbert looked at each other. “Your uncle Will sounds very careful,” said Robbert. “Everyone has to be careful these days, don’t they, May?”

  Isobel tugged at Robbert’s sleeve. “Do you know May’s uncle or his friend Cat?”

  “Maybe the men on our supply boat know them,” said Eleanor. “Maybe we can ask.”

  “Can you read, May?” asked Irene, not paying attention to Eleanor.

  May shrugged.

  “We read very well,” said Eleanor.

  “Is that your parrot?” asked Isobel, pointing.

  “No.”

  “What happened to your finger?”

  “I caught it on a fishhook.”

  “Why is your boat named Mary?”

  “Mary was Will’s mother. She died.”

  “Did she have an accident?”

  “What happened in the storm?” asked Caroline.

  Irene put a hand on Caroline’s shoulder, because at that question May went still again.

  “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I fell out of my bunk. It was dark, it was too noisy to hear. I fell into water—water in the cabin. I shouted for Will and Cat. I went on deck. I should have stayed below. I couldn’t hear anyone. I didn’t know. The swells were too big. I couldn’t hang on.”

  “What are swells?” asked Eleanor, blinking. “What is deck”?

  May sniffed.

  “Swell is another word for wave,” said Irene quietly. “Deck is the floor on a boat.”

  We all nodded, filling things in.

  “Why did you have your bag?” I asked May.

  “We might be sinking.”

  “Were you sinking?”

  May shook her head. Her voice was soft. “I never saw. I wish I could have done something.”

  “Water is extremely dangerous for anyone,” whispered Isobel.

  • • •

  Irene carried May back to the classroom. Even though everyone still had questions, May stopped being able to sit without yawning, like Robbert did at breakfast. Robbert stayed while we got ready for bed. We lay on our cots, a little worried that it wasn’t Irene saying good night like usual, but for once Robbert wasn’t in a hurry. He sat next to our folded smocks, with the light turned off, in a quiet that at first made us think he still had questions but then was only quiet by itself.

  Very softly, I began to sing. The others sang with me, soft and clear, filling the room like moonlight.

  A honeybee is born to roam

  To search for flowers sweet,

  Across the waves of whitest foam

  For just one blossom treat.

  No matter where it finds itself,

  A bee can find its home.

  A honeybee is very brave.

  It works so very hard,

  From birth until its honeyed grave

  The hive and Queen to guard.

  No matter where it finds itself,

  A bee can find its home.

  Our voices faded, leaving only the breeze outside. Irene stood in the doorway.

  “I heard you singing. I thought you’d be asleep.”

  “We were waiting for you,” said Robbert, and suddenly it seemed like we had been, all of us waiting to be together after such a busy day. Irene sat next to Robbert, listening with us to the night.

  “What will happen now?” whispered Caroline. She was across the room in the dark. I thought about what Caroline knew, and what I didn’t.

  “We’ll go to sleep,” said Irene. She went to Caroline first, whispering in her ear. I wanted to hear what she said. I wanted to know if something had changed and, because inside I knew it had, whether we could change it back.

  She came to me last, lik
e always.

  5.

  The next morning Caroline woke having had a dream. While Eleanor tied my smock I watched Caroline sit with her head cocked to one side, staring at nothing. Irene knelt next to her, whispering quietly. Caroline stood, still caught in her thoughts, while Irene unfolded her smock. As she dressed her, Irene spoke to the rest of us, waiting patiently for Caroline to find her own way to being awake.

  “I asked everyone to think about what we can do with the sailcloth in the yard. It will be dry by now, and I was hoping we could try some of your ideas.”

  She had Caroline’s ties done and took her hand. Irene pointed with her chin at the kitchen and the three of us got going on breakfast, putting water in the kettle and measuring tea for the pot. Irene and Caroline stayed in the bedroom for another few minutes. When they finally came in Caroline was focused as ever, going straight to the cupboard for the oatmeal, which was what Irene had decided to cook.

  “Will May have breakfast with us?” asked Eleanor, setting the table.

  “Not this morning,” said Irene. “She’s still asleep.”

  Isobel asked how much May slept normally versus how much she slept now and whether that was a question of living on a boat or nearly drowning or the yellow pills. While Irene answered, I noticed Caroline looking at me. Eleanor asked Irene about May’s bandages, how many there had been before versus how many she had now and which ones would be the last to come off, or would there be some that never did, and also about the scab on the side of May’s face.

  “What did you dream?” I asked, deciding to whisper. Caroline shook her head.

  “Veronika?”

  I turned to Irene, because I’d also been listening to them. “My idea was to make an awning for shade on the kitchen porch.”