Sisters On the Case

by Sara Paretsky

  She stumbled once on the way, but her step was firm as she walked into the water. Soon it would be over. She and Tani would both die. Rogar would be rid of them and the problems they had brought him. Elosa would have won, true, but Amaya would have obeyed the law. She and Tani would reach the peaceful island. The gods would bless her action.

  She pictured the peaceful island as the waves reached her waist. She clutched the sleeping baby against her breast. Soon the cold water would waken Tani, and she would cry. Amaya knew she must be ready to hold her tightly then, even to hold her under water, to make sure that the baby died first, that she wasn’t left alone in the water, frightened.

  Amaya paused, embracing the child more firmly.

  Suddenly, she was grasped roughly from behind.

  ‘‘What are you doing?’’ Rogar’s voice was harsh. ‘‘You do not have to take the child into the water! I will do it!’’

  ‘‘No! No! I will take her! She must not be frightened!’’

  ‘‘I will not frighten her! And it must be done as the sun comes up!’’ Rogar tried to take Tani out of Amaya’s arms.

  Amaya clutched the child. ‘‘No! Let me take her! We will die and leave you in peace!’’

  ‘‘You die? You must not die!’’

  ‘‘It’s best, Rogar! Elosa will never allow me to be part of your clan! She will not forgive you for marrying me! There will be more trouble! It’s best if I die with Tani!’’

  Rogar held her and Tani tightly. His grip woke the baby, and the little one began to fuss and cry sleepily. When Rogar spoke his voice was low and desperate. ‘‘No!’’ he said. ‘‘No! Amaya, you must live. We must live together.’’

  The waves broke around them and the sand shifted under Amaya’s feet. She felt as if she were falling, but Rogar held her up.

  ‘‘We must live on together,’’ he said again. ‘‘I love you, Amaya.’’

  Amaya felt the coconut husk break. She was in Rogar’s arms, with nothing to protect her, with no shell to hide behind. Tani was crying, and Amaya was sobbing mighty sobs. And Rogar’s arms, Rogar’s love surrounded her. He led her slowly back to the beach, and there Amaya collapsed in the sand, still sobbing.

  It was many minutes before she was able to speak. ‘‘Is there no way to save Tani?’’

  ‘‘We have to obey the law,’’ Rogar said. ‘‘Amaya! Can you trust me?’’

  ‘‘Trust you?’’

  Rogar laid his cheek against her hair. ‘‘Yes, Amaya. Trust me.’’

  ‘‘I can do nothing by myself,’’ Amaya said dully. ‘‘This is your island, your people. I know you do not want Tani to die. But if she must—I trust you not to let her be afraid.’’

  Rogar helped Amaya up and led her back to the house. Amaya did not put Tani down, but held her the rest of the night, just as Rogar held her. Finally she fell asleep.

  The stirring of birds woke her, and she realized she was alone.

  Rogar and Tani were gone.

  ‘‘No!’’ Amaya jumped to her feet. ‘‘No! No!’’

  It was still dark in the hut, but outside the light was coming. Rogar had already taken Tani away, to put her in the water.

  Amaya ran along the path to the beach. She could hear the waves pounding loudly. The tide was coming in. Ahead she saw a figure silhouetted against the morning sky.

  ‘‘Rogar!’’

  Rogar paused, but he did not stop. Amaya ran on, until she was beside him. ‘‘Please, Rogar! There must be another way.’’

  He walked on. ‘‘Go back, Amaya,’’ he said. ‘‘You said you would trust me.’’

  ‘‘Please! Please!’’

  Rogar did not answer. Instead Amaya heard the cackle of Elosa’s voice. ‘‘The strange child cannot take food from the children of the people! Rogar knows the law, strange woman! He obeys the law of his people.’’

  The voice brought Amaya to her knees. ‘‘Please,’’ she said again. But this time she whispered.

  ‘‘You have brought disgrace to Rogar and our people!’’ Elosa’s voice gloated. ‘‘The way of the people must be followed!’’

  Amaya formed her body into its coconut shell. Rogar’s mother and sister knelt beside her.

  ‘‘Be quiet, Elosa!’’ Rogar’s mother said. ‘‘Amaya is obeying the law. But a woman who likes seeing a baby put to death is no real woman!’’

  Surprised by her mother-in-law’s sharp words to Elosa, Amaya looked up at the shaman. Elosa did not reply to the criticism, but she pointed to the surf with her heavy staff. ‘‘Rogar obeys the law!’’

  Amaya’s eyes followed the staff, and she saw that Rogar was walking into the water. Tani was not frightened. She was laughing and clapping her hands. To her it was just another of the games Rogar had taught her to love.

  Rogar did not go out very far. The waves were rolling. It would not take a lot of water to drown a tiny girl.

  He seemed to be playing with Tani, and Amaya remembered he had promised to keep her from being afraid. He held her close to his body, and he ducked under the water.

  But when he arose, the baby was gone.

  Rogar stood motionless, the waves beating over him. Then he walked back to the beach. When he reached the edge of the water, he turned and looked back. His father joined him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Together they looked down the beach, and Rogar’s father pointed.

  Were they thinking where her tiny body would wash ashore? Amaya hoped so. To think of Tani not only dead, but lost in the sea—it was more than she could bear.

  Then Rogar’s father called out. ‘‘There! There!’’ He and Rogar ran down the beach.

  And Rogar knelt down and scooped up a tiny bundle. He held it above his head. Amaya saw dark hair, and legs. And the legs kicked!

  ‘‘She is not dead, Elosa! The sea has refused her!’’

  Amaya jumped to her feet and watched in amazement as Rogar walked toward them. Tani was squirming and angry. But she was alive.

  Elosa shook her staff furiously. ‘‘Put her in the water again! It is the law!’’

  Rogar stood silently for a moment before he turned once more toward the water. Amaya again sank into despair. She watched Rogar walk through the surf, the waves breaking over him and Tani. Again he sank beneath the waves with the child in his arms. Again he rose without her and slowly walked back to the beach.

  And again he and his father watched down the beach until a tiny bundle washed ashore. Once more they ran down to pick up Tani’s body.

  And once more Rogar brought the child to Elosa alive.

  Elosa pounded her staff on the beach and screamed. ‘‘She’s a demon! She must die! It is the law!’’

  Tani was very angry now, but Elosa’s fury frightened her. She clutched Rogar around the neck and shrieked. Rogar patted and soothed her until she became quieter. And when the baby became quiet, Amaya heard other sounds. Looking behind her, she saw many people. They were buzzing with talk. And they were all looking at Rogar and Elosa, who stood facing each other. Neither of them looked around at the others.

  Elosa spoke, and her voice was not loud, but it crackled angrily. ‘‘Put her back in the water, Rogar, and take her farther out.’’

  ‘‘Are you sure, Elosa? Are you sure this is what the law commands?’’

  ‘‘Do you think that I—your shaman—can mistake the meaning of the law, the law that has governed our people for generations?’’

  ‘‘Twice the sea has refused to take Tani. A third time—’’

  Now Elosa’s eyes flickered right, left. Amaya knew she was considering the people gathered behind her. She took a deep breath and raised her staff. ‘‘Take her out, Rogar. Leave her for the water to take.’’

  She swung the staff around, but Rogar did not flinch away from the stick.

  ‘‘Take her out!’’ Elosa’s final words were a shriek. ‘‘It is the law!’’

  Rogar turned and walked back to the water. Amaya still knelt on the sand, with Rogar’s mother and sister be
side her. Tears were running down her cheeks. Tani saw her there and waved, a baby wave. Then she turned to look at the approaching water—still unafraid and still trusting Rogar.

  ‘‘Trust me,’’ Rogar had said. ‘‘Trust me.’’

  If Tani can trust him, Amaya thought, I must trust him, too. And she stood up proudly, staring after her husband.

  Now the sun had moved over the horizon, and it was hard to see what was happening with her eyes dazzled by tears and by the sun.

  Again Rogar walked through the surf. Again he ducked into the water, playing a game with Tani. Amaya even thought she heard the child’s laughter over the sound of the waves. Then Rogar ducked beneath the water, and when he arose, Tani was gone.

  Amaya did not allow herself to hope that the child would survive. No, the small one could not be lucky enough to be washed ashore three times. This time, she knew, Tani was dead. And that was good. If the child had to go into the water one more time, Amaya’s heart could not continue to beat.

  Rogar came through the surf, and Amaya went to meet him. She put her arms around him and laid her head against his chest.

  ‘‘You tried, Rogar. You faced Elosa, argued with her. You tried your best.’’ She looked into his eyes. ‘‘I love you.’’

  Rogar smiled. ‘‘And I love you, Amaya. Now we had better go to Tani.’’

  He gestured behind her, and Amaya turned to see the same brown bundle tumble from the waves.

  Tani!

  She and Rogar ran down the beach, and she scooped the little girl up.

  Tani coughed. She sneezed. Then she screamed.

  Suddenly Amaya and Rogar and Tani were surrounded by excited people.

  Rogar’s mother was embracing Amaya and Tani. ‘‘The witch is beaten!’’ she said. ‘‘This little one and my son have taken her power away!’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Amaya was amazed.

  ‘‘Three times! Three times!’’ Rogar’s sister yelled it out.

  Rogar was smiling, and Amaya turned to him. ‘‘What do they mean, Rogar?’’

  ‘‘If the sea rejects the child three times, then the interpretation of the law is wrong,’’ he said. ‘‘Elosa condemned the child wrongly. So Tani will live, and another will be selected as shaman.’’

  An hour later Tani had been fed and was asleep. Other women had come to marvel at the strong little girl who had survived the sea three times. They brought gifts to the child the sea loved. Now Amaya stared in awe at the little girl.

  The others were taking Tani’s survival as a miracle. Were the gods of the sea showing that they loved her niece? Oh, it was easy to say that Elosa had condemned her wrongly and that the sea had rejected her. But it was hard for Amaya to believe Elosa had not condemned others wrongly, and her other victims had died. Amaya did not understand.

  Outside, she heard a deep voice greeting Rogar, and she heard Rogar’s respectful reply. The headman had come. Would even the headman want to behold the miracle child?

  But the headman was talking to Rogar.

  ‘‘The elders are going to ask you to join their council,’’ he said.

  Join their council? Amaya took a quick breath. But Rogar was young! Too young to be an elder!

  Rogar sounded wary when he answered the headman. ‘‘That is too high an honor for me. The elders must command canoes. I do not have the years—’’

  The headman chuckled. ‘‘But you have the head, Rogar. And you have the knowledge.’’

  Rogar did not answer.

  ‘‘And you used that knowledge to benefit your people. We are rid of Elosa.’’

  ‘‘If she had admitted she was wrong after the second time the sea refused the child—’’

  ‘‘But she did not.’’ The headman’s voice was brisk. ‘‘You gave her the chance to back down, to save face. She did not take it. You handled her wisely. The little one will be lucky to have you as a father.’’

  ‘‘The little one is already lucky.’’

  ‘‘Yes. She was lucky to have a man taking care of her who taught her not to fear the water. That is one reason we wish you to join the elders.’’

  ‘‘But—’’

  ‘‘Do not say no, Rogar! The other reason is more practical.’’

  He dropped his voice to a whisper, and Amaya barely heard his final words.

  ‘‘We need all the men who understand the currents and tides as you do to command canoes.’’

  For the Common Good

  by Patricia Sprinkle

  I first met Dr. Randall McQuirter in 1965 over a kosher TV dinner.

  Fresh out of college, I had been hired by a private Miami hospital to welcome patients and handle complaints and requests. My boss was Angie Winters, and in those days before Medicare, when some patients stayed in hospitals for months, Angie and I were the lubricant that flowed in graceful measure between them and any irritants that might mar their visit.

  Angie was a platinum blonde seven inches taller, fifteen years older, and a hundred times more glamorous than I. She had selected the navy uniforms and three-inch heels we wore, and my first day at work, she called her own hairdresser. ‘‘I’m sending you a college student. Send me back a woman.’’ When I returned, I almost didn’t recognize my reflection in the plate glass doors.

  Angie gave me an approving nod and sent me to the administrator, who fixed me with a steel gray gaze. ‘‘The motto of this institution is ‘For the common good.’ What is best for our patients is best for all of us. Therefore, the only question you ever need ask a patient is, ‘How may I serve you?’ Do you understand?’’

  Angie worked eight to five. She comforted grieving families, helped choose nursing homes, and handled our Miami Beach celebrities. I worked from eleven until whenever, greeting new patients and visiting each one every second day to see if they needed any special attention. In my first week I fetched a mink jacket and false teeth from a beach hotel after an emergency admission, wrote a letter to children in New Jersey (tactfully revising ‘‘What the hell’s so important they can’t come see their dying mother?’’), and one evening solved the problem of an elderly man who hadn’t eaten for two days. He swore he had no appetite, but when I saw the Jewish Floridian on his bedside table and asked, ‘‘Did you know we offer kosher meals?’’ he clutched my hand so hard he nearly took off a finger.

  ‘‘You got kosher? Bring me some of everything. I’m famished!’’

  I went down to the kitchen, asked the night staff to heat a kosher TV dinner, and offered to carry it to him myself. I was halfway to the elevator when a man strolled toward me. He had the dark eyes and hair of a Mediterranean movie star and the god-walk that proclaimed him a doctor.

  ‘‘Why, hello!’’ He stepped deftly into my path. ‘‘We haven’t met but I’d sure like to.’’

  Next thing I knew I was backed up against the wall with nothing but a kosher dinner between me and . . .

  I’ll never know. I heard my name and Angie—who should have gone home hours before—came swinging down the hall. ‘‘I wondered where you’d gotten to. Hello, Doctor. I need Celia up on three.’’ She put an arm around me and walked me toward the elevator. When the door slid shut, she murmured, ‘‘That was Randall McQuirter, head of our ob-gyn department. Don’t ever cross him. He’s got a real temper. But don’t get stuck alone with the man, either.’’ She spoke so casually, she could have been offering a remedy for freckles.

  ‘‘I can take care of myself.’’ I resented her treating me like a kid sister. The doctor was closer to her age than mine. I wondered if she wanted him for herself.

  Several weeks later I arrived early one morning and dashed into the tiny coffee shop off the lobby for a breakfast milkshake. Angie was having coffee with Dr. Magda Gerstein, our resident psychiatrist. Next to Angie, Dr. Gerstein looked like a toad—plump and plain, her dark hair streaked with gray, her face sallow and scarred. Her only attractive feature was a pair of intelligent dark eyes that terrified me. I kept wondering what neuroses those e
yes found as they probed my soul.

  When Angie saw me, she called, ‘‘Full moon last night, so emergency was crazy. Five came in after a brawl in a Coconut Grove bar. I’ve been running my legs off this morning. Rosa, are you guys still stitching up the Grove crew?’’

  Coconut Grove bars were the hangouts of Beautiful People, so Angie, of course, would handle those patients.

  Rosa Marquez, our head surgical nurse, collapsed into a chair at their table, still wearing green scrubs. A cloud of dark hair fell to her shoulders as she pulled off her surgical cap. ‘‘We just rebuilt the jawbone of a young man who is lucky to be alive. Café con leche,’’ she called to the waitress approaching the table. ‘‘I can’t stay but a minute, but I have to have a breather.’’

  Not sure of my welcome in such august company, I headed to a stool at the counter. ‘‘¡Buenos días!’’ I greeted Carlos, who was wiping up a coffee spill.

  The first Cuban immigrants were reaching Miami in those days, all claiming to have been wealthy professionals, executives, and the cream of Havana society. Some actually were.

  According to Angie, who loved to pass on informationabout our co-workers, Carlos used to own one of the finest restaurants in Havana; Luis—the meds nurse up on five—had been Cuba’s premier cardiologist; and Rosa came from one of Havana’s richest families but had run away at eighteen to join Castro’s army. After Rosa got raped by her commanding officer, so Angie claimed, she gave up the revolution and came to join her family in Miami.

  I was learning to take Angie’s stories with a tablespoon of salt. No way plain little Dr. Gerstein had been the plaything of German SS officers in a Jewish concentration camp, and when I asked our administrator about serving on Jack Kennedy’s boat during World War II, he laughed. ‘‘Who told you that? I get seasick looking at a boat and got turned down by the army because of flat feet.’’

  ‘‘But Angie said—’’

  His face softened into an indulgent smile. ‘‘Oh, Angie. She’s smart like a fox, but like a child in some ways. She loves drama and wants everybody—herself included—to be larger than life. Ignore her stories and learn from her heart. Angie’s got a gigantic heart.’’