He went up to her. “Kali.”
She raised her head. When she saw him her eyes widened, but she did not move. “What do you want?”
“My passport.”
She rose to her feet in a quick, lithe gesture. “Catch me and I’ll give it to you,” she cried, and gave her high-pitched laugh which rose shrilly almost into hysteria. She dived cleanly into the water, flashed to the end of the pool, climbed up the ladder, ran along the path, down the ramp, and across the beach, Adam following, losing ground, hampered by his riding breeches, his boots.
Kali ran splashing into the water, looking back over her shoulder, laughing. She dove through a wave and started to swim.
Adam pulled off his boots, his trousers, ripped off his shirt and, in underclothes and Poly’s canvas belt, he ran into the sea, flinging himself against the waves, thrusting through the breakers, until he could throw himself down and swim. He looked up, panting, to see Kali’s arms flashing through the water ahead of him. Each time he looked she was less far ahead.
Then he heard her scream.
His first thought was that it was Macrina.
But the second scream that rang across the water was one of mortal terror.
He saw the shark, the sleek malevolent body, its murky darkness unable to leap to a flash of silver, its only light the sickly white of its belly.
The shark would do for him more than he had dared hope to do.
“Adam!” The scream throbbed against his ears.
He snatched the knife from the sheath, gave a mighty kick that shot him through the water toward the screaming girl, and plunged the knife into the shark.
There was blood in the water, Kali’s blood, but the shark was still. Adam took Kali in a one-arm hold and started to swim in to shore. She was limp in his grasp although an occasional scream bubbled from her lips. When he could stand he picked her up. Her arm was ripped and bleeding copiously. He put her down at the water’s edge where loose sand would not get into the wounds, and picked up his shirt from the beach, ripping the white material so that he could wrap it around her arm to stanch the blood.
He carried her to the hotel. She was sobbing and beginning to writhe in his arms. He felt neither hate nor love toward her, only an infinite weariness, as though she were a tremendous burden he despaired of ever being able to put down. He tried not to think of the horribly ripped arm.
He endured grimly the clamor of excitement and curiosity that greeted their entrance, pushing blindly through the avid guests toward the elevator, calling, “The doctor, quickly.”
The hotel manager rushed after him, wringing pudgy hands. “But what is it? What has happened?”
“A shark,” Adam said, grittily. “Get her father. Get a doctor.”
In a luxurious room he put her down on the bed. She was white from shock. Her head moved feebly on the pillow.
“Adam. Adam. Help.”
Typhon Cutter and the doctor arrived together. “What have you done to her?” Typhon Cutter asked, face contorted with accusation.
Adam did not answer.
“He said it was a shark,” the manager babbled, “but it couldn’t have been a shark, it’s not possible that it was a shark.”
The doctor undid the bandages Adam had made, looked at Kali’s arm. “A shark,” he stated categorically. “Get me blankets. Get me hot water bottles.” He opened his bag and began to work over the girl.
Typhon Cutter watched sickly. The room was silent except for the movements of the doctor and the sound of the surf outside. The flesh of Typhon Cutter’s face had gone greenish and seemed to sag. “In the ocean?”
“Yes,” Adam said.
“Why? She knows I have forbidden—”
“I asked her for my passport and she said ‘Catch me.’ You know how quick she is.”
“Yes.” The older man’s eyes were focused on the girl on the bed, on the doctor’s actions. “Then?”
“I hadn’t quite caught up with her when I heard her scream.”
“The shark had attacked her?”
“Yes.”
“How did she get away?”
Adam took off the canvas belt and sheath. “I had a switchblade with MS-222.”
“What?”
“It knocks a shark out faster than anything else.”
“You used it to save her?” There was scorn and disbelief in the voice.
“Yes.”
“Where is the knife?”
“In the shark.” Adam, feeling sick, through with questioning, through with the Cutters forever, started for the door. Typhon Cutter’s steel talons shot out and clamped over his arm.
“Wait.” A lock of fair hair fell, unheeded, over the older man’s forehead. Still holding Adam he asked the doctor, “The arm?”
The doctor shook his head. “Bad. If it were not for the young man and his quick action you would have no daughter at all.”
“But what about the arm?”
The doctor shrugged. “There is much damage. A shark’s teeth are deadly.”
“You’re sure it was a shark?”
The doctor shrugged again. “I have seen shark bites before. There is no question.”
Typhon Cutter, pulling Adam with him, leaned over the bed. “What are you going to do?”
“There is little I can do except stop the bleeding and shock. You will have to get her to Lisbon. But even there—” Again the expressive lifting of the shoulders.
Typhon Cutter jerked his head at the manager. “Come.” Not relaxing his painful clamp on Adam’s arm he went into the corridor. A police officer was waiting outside the door with the hotel detective. Cutter ignored them, although they bowed respectfully, and the detective started to murmur expressions of alarm and concern.
“Get O’Keefe,” Typhon Cutter said to Adam. As Adam did not reply the talons increased their pressure. “I said get O’Keefe.”
“Why?” Adam asked, beyond caring what he said or did.
“Fool, do you think I don’t know that he has worked on human beings in the native village? Go to the telephone. Get him to come. He will do it for you. I will send the helicopter.” There was anger in the voice, command in the words, naked pleading in the eyes. Another strand of pale gold hair fell forward, unheeded.
“I’ll call,” Adam said, “but he may not be there.”
“The private line in your office,” Cutter snapped at the manager.
They went down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby: the oily little manager; the uniformed police officer; the detective (still ignored); Cutter, his ponderous body quivering; Adam.
In the lobby the guests were milling around.
“But her arm was ripped off, I saw it—”
“She will bleed to death before anything can be done—”
“Nonsense, it was only a scratch, they said so—”
“It wasn’t her arm, it was her leg—”
The police officer shouted for quiet. “Please do not concern yourself. The girl is all right. She disobeyed rules in swimming in the ocean when the lifeguard was not there; she would never have been allowed to go out so far. If you will be sensible there is no danger whatsoever.”
The manager echoed him, wringing his hands anxiously. “Everything is all right. There is no cause for alarm. She went out too far.” He scurried around to Adam, grasping his hand in an effusion of gratitude. “My dear young man—”
“Fool. Come,” Cutter said.
The manager put the call through. Charles answered the phone, called his mother. “It’s Adam.”
“Yes?” Mrs. O’Keefe said. “What is it, Adam?”
“Is the doctor there?”
“No. He’s in the village with Poly and Father Tallis. What is it? What happened? Can I help?”
“Kali has been hurt by a shark. Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Some time this evening. I don’t know just when. Adam, are you all right?”
The warmth and concern in her voice shook Adam so t
hat he had to lean on the desk for support. But he said, “I’m fine, and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Cutter, who was breathing heavily behind him, said as he hung up, “In the village?”
“Yes.”
Cutter snapped at the manager. “Get the helicopter ready.” To Adam. “Go to the village and get him.”
The police officer held up his hand, speaking to Adam. “There will have to be a statement from you.”
The detective finally got in a word. “To absolve the hotel of any blame.”
Typhon Cutter’s thin voice rose in an angry squeak. “I am the hotel. There is no question of blame. She broke hotel rules. My rules.” Controlling the soaring pitch of his voice he asked Adam, “Why did you have this stuff—whatever it is—on you?”
“You know there have been sharks here. I had the knife with me when Kali and I saw the shark before.”
The phone on the manager’s desk rang and Cutter pushed the little man aside to reach for it. “Yes? … Yes.” He put the receiver down. “The helicopter is ready. Bring O’Keefe to her.”
Adam said humbly, “I’ll try.”
“You will do more than try. I will go with you.”
“No.” Adam’s voice was firm. “I’ll go alone. Stay with Kali. She may need you.”
For a moment Typhon Cutter chewed his lip. “Very well. The pilot is one of my men. If O’Keefe doesn’t come he will have my instructions to—”
Adam cut through the threat by walking deliberately past Typhon Cutter and out of the manager’s office. Again the procession moved through the lounge, Adam silent, closed in, indifferent to the curiosity, the manager and the detective responding excitedly to the heightening tension of the guests, assuring them that all was well, everything was perfect, the young man was a hero.
The helicopter waited on the roof.
The manager pumped Adam’s hand. “Thank you. Muito obrigado. Thank you.”
As the boy started to climb into the helicopter he paused. “My passport.”
Typhon Cutter said, “When you send O’Keefe back.”
“No more of that. Now.” Adam stood his ground, staring at Cutter’s ravaged face. “Do you want Dr. O’Keefe?” The manager, the detective, the police officer murmured. Typhon Cutter reached into his breast pocket and handed over the passport.
Adam climbed into the helicopter. He did not look back. Not in time, not in space. His mind was exhausted to the point where it was bliss to allow it to drift with the noise of the rotors, to relax in the silence of the pilot.
When the helicopter hovered over the village Adam looked down and saw a scurrying of dark shapes. The village emptied, men and women disappearing into the jungle, into the huts. The pilot set the machine down on the greensward in front of the central hut. As Adam climbed out he saw the pilot reaching for his gun, but he felt no fear.
Virbius emerged from his hut, raising his hand in greeting.
Adam, too, raised his hand. “Is Dr. O’Keefe here?”
The old man spoke slowly, tremulously, with great effort. “You—wish—speak?”
“Please.”
The old man beckoned and Dr. O’Keefe and Canon Tallis came out of the hut, Dr. O’Keefe bending his tall frame to pass through the doorway. As Adam started to speak Dr. O’Keefe called, “Poly—” and she came out with Temis.
Adam told what had happened, while Poly translated for Virbius and Temis. When the boy had finished Dr. O’Keefe questioned him, then stood, as though still listening. Then he looked at Canon Tallis, and their eyes met for a long moment. Dr. O’Keefe nodded.
“Daddy!” Poly cried. “You’re not going!”
“Yes. I will have to see the arm for myself. Then, if it is as bad as it seems, I will have to tell Typhon Cutter of the dangers, and then, if he still wishes me to, I will try.”
Poly ran to her father and caught his hands in hers. “But you wouldn’t try if you didn’t think you could do it, would you?”
“No.”
“But why are you going, daddy? Why?”
Canon Tallis drew Poly away from her father. “Ask Adam why, Poly.”
But she was silent. They stood, looking, while Dr. O’Keefe climbed into the helicopter, still stood looking, half-deafened by the noise of the rotors, until it had droned away, until the night sounds of the village could be heard again. Without a word Virbius sat on the greensward, crosslegged, looking out to the harbor. Canon Tallis sat by him, gesturing to Adam. The two girls stood together, facing the men. Temis raised her hand, looked at the spread-out fingers, dropped it to her side.
Virbius spoke.
Poly said, “He wants to know if you think daddy did right to go.”
“Adam?” Canon Tallis asked.
Adam was silent, looking at the village, at the men returning from the jungle, at the women and children emerging from their huts. Evening was coming quickly. The sun had already dropped with the sudden fierceness of the jungle, and the sky over the island was suffused with great streaks of color: rose, raspberry, deepening to mauve, to indigo. Above a date palm a star began to pulse, at first faintly, then growing in brilliance. In the darkness of the surrounding brush fireflies flickered.
“Adam?” Canon Tallis asked again.
“I think he had to go,” Adam said unwillingly. He began to shiver and realized that, like it or not, he would again be able to feel heat and cold, sunlight and moonlight.
At a word from the old man, Temis slipped into the hut.
“But why!” Poly demanded passionately. “Why did he have to go?”
Adam was silent while Temis came out and draped a softly woven robe about him. Then he said, heavily, “Because of Joshua.”
“But she killed Joshua!” Poly cried. “Why should daddy help her now? I don’t want to help her! Adam should have let the shark kill her!”
Adam was silent.
“Father!” Poly cried.
Canon Tallis said quietly, “Suppose it had been Adam the shark attacked?”
Tears began to roll down Poly’s cheeks. “But Adam’s good, and she’s—”
Adam stood up, holding Temis’ robe about his shoulders. He could not say what he had to say sitting down. “I killed Joshua, too.”
“But—”
“Be quiet, Poly,” Canon Tallis commanded.
Adam let the robe drop as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “If I hadn’t used the knife, or if we didn’t try to help Kali now, it would be justice, wouldn’t it?”
Verbius nodded, saying the English word, “Justice,” nodding again.
“But Joshua—” Adam said. “Joshua—” he broke off.
“It’s Joshua I’m thinking about!” Poly cried.
“It was what he always said,” Adam choked out, “about the sparrow. Even Kali would be a sparrow to Joshua. If you’re going to care about the fall of the sparrow you can’t pick and choose who’s going to be the sparrow. It’s everybody, and you’re stuck with it.” He sat down and put his arms about his knees and his head on his arms.
Virbius spoke. When he had finished there was silence until he spoke again, rather crossly, to Poly. She translated.
“He says it is not enough if you pray neither for nor against. He says he will go to his gods and pray. For.”
Virbius stood up, tremulously, and went into his hut.
Adam did not know how long he sat there with his head down. When he looked up Temis had gone and Poly had turned away.
Canon Tallis looked at Adam, smiled briefly, but did not speak. Night was coming, but to Adam, as he returned the canon’s smile, everywhere there seemed to be light.
At last Poly reached over and took his hand in hers. “I see that daddy had to go,” she said. And then, “I love you, Adam.”
He held her hand tightly. “I love you, too, Poly.”
THE WORKS OF MADELEINE L’ENGLE
The Time Quintet
A Wrinkle in Time • A Wind in the Door • A Swiftly Tilting Planet •
Many Waters • An Acceptable Time
Other Murry books
The Arm of the Starfish • Dragons in the Waters • A House Like a Lotus
The Austin Family Chronicles
Meet the Austins • The Moon by Night • The Young Unicorns •
A Ring of Endless Light • Troubling a Star
Other Austin books
The Twenty-Four Days Before Christmas • The Anti-Muffins • A Full House
Katherine Forrester books
The Small Rain • A Severed Wasp
Camilla Dickenson books
Camilla • A Live Coal in the Sea
Other Fiction
Ilsa • And Both Were Young • A Winter’s Love • The Love Letters • The Other Side of the Sun • Certain Women • The Other Dog • The Joys of Love
The Crosswicks Journals
A Circle of Quiet • The Summer of the Great-Grandmother •
The Irrational Season • Two-Part Invention
Poetry
Lines Scribbled on an Envelope • The Risk of Birth • The Weather of the
Heart • A Cry Like a Bell • WinterSong • The Ordering of Love
Prayers
Everyday Prayers • Prayers for Sunday • Anytime Prayers • Mothers and Daughters • Mothers and Sons • A Prayerbook for Spiritual Friends
The Genesis Trilogy
And It Was Good • A Stone for a Pillow • Sold into Egypt
Religions, Plays, and Autobiography
18 Washington Square South • The Journey with Jonah • Dance in the Desert • Ladder of Angels • Walking on Water • The Sphinx at Dawn • Trailing Clouds of Glory • The Glorious Impossible • The Rock That Is Higher • Glimpses of Grace • Penguins and Golden Calves • Bright Evening Star • Friends for the Journey • Miracle on 10th Street • Madeleine L’Engle Herself
The Arm of the Starfish Page 24
