Deep Cut

by Nick Sullivan

  “Well, on behalf of the island, thank you.” He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and mopped his forehead under the brim of his hat. “I must say, I don’t see many hikers up this way. If you were looking for The Ladder, it’s actually over there.” He indicated the break in the wall down the road.

  “Oh, no, I was hiking the Middle Island Trail. Wanted to check out Well’s Bay.”

  “Really! I’m actually headed there myself. I’m a bit of a birder, you see.” He tapped the binoculars.

  The man who was not William thought quickly about the sights he’d seen on his trek. “Hey, what’s that white bird with a red beak… long, thin tendril of a tail…?”

  Chris’s face lit up. “The Red-billed Tropicbird! That’s what I’m looking for! They nest in the rocky cliffs and I heard some were around. Where did you see them?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  “No, don’t be silly! You just came from there.”

  “It’s no trouble, I love to hike. It’s why I came here. Besides, this way I’ll be hiking in the other direction. A whole new perspective. I know just where those birds are.”

  “Very well. Thank you, William. Lead on.”

  The man who was not William pulled his shirt back on and led the way.

  “Look there!” Chris hissed excitedly, pointing to a tree limb on the slope above them. “An American Kestrel!”

  “William” looked up and spotted the tiny brown bird. It looked like a miniature hawk.

  Chris’s binoculars were up and locked onto the bird in an instant. “It’s one of the smallest birds-of-prey in the world.” He chuckled. “You know, locally it’s called the “Killy Killy,” because of the sound it makes.

  The blond man made no response, continuing to stare at the deadly little bird. He glanced at the man beside him, noting a band of lighter skin on the ring finger of the left hand that held the binoculars. “You married?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no, not anymore. Wife couldn’t take the isolation here. Divorced. I live alone, but I don’t mind the quiet. You? Big strapping man like you, I imagine you’d have your pick of the girls.”

  “William” felt his jaw involuntarily clench before he forced it to relax once more, his face remaining impassive. “No. Just haven’t found the right woman.” Then he turned and continued down the trail. They were now over a quarter mile from Ladder Road. He angled off the trail on the seaward side, stepping onto an outcrop overlooking a rocky ravine that dropped down toward the sea.

  “Where are you going? Is this where you saw the Tropicbirds? Down in that gut?” Chris pushed through the dense foliage that ringed the little outcrop.

  “Yes. Right down there.” The man pointed before stepping back to allow the birdwatcher to pass him.

  Chris carefully moved nearer the edge, lifting his binoculars with excitement. “Thank you so much… I’ve only seen them a few times.” He searched. “I… I don’t see them….”

  “Why did you have to know the owner?”

  The birder lowered his binoculars and turned back to the blond man. “I’m sorry… what?”

  “Killy killy.”

  Chris Brady’s eyes registered a flash of realization as the man’s powerful arms shot forward with blinding speed, grabbing the birder’s head in a vice-grip and twisting savagely. A grisly crunch sounded, punctuated by a muted pop. The man who was not William then grabbed his prey by the belt buckle and shirt collar, lifting him completely over his head and hurling him down into the dense underbrush a hundred feet below the outcrop. Leaves rustled and branches snapped for several seconds as the lifeless body crashed down through the foliage, quickly becoming lost from sight.

  What an inconvenience. He stepped forward and looked down, searching for any sign of the fallen birder. Assessing the kill, he felt quite proud of how he’d handled it. A tragic fall, that was all, such a shame. And it would likely be some time before the body was discovered. The act itself had aroused nothing inside him, but this was not a surprise to the blond man. He didn’t swing that way. And even then, he preferred to use his instrument. No, this had required a simpler method. It had been an obstacle placed in his path and he had overcome it, nothing more.

  Glancing down, the man picked up the fallen walking stick. It was constructed of polished wood with a little leather loop to thread onto the wrist, and atop its head was a tiny compass. He dug that out and pocketed the trophy, before tossing the stick down to join its owner.

  As he turned to go back to the trail, a flash of white caught his eye. A beautiful seabird with a bright red beak and flowing tail glided by the nearby cliffs, heading out to sea.

  “Nice bit of skippering, Emily,” Lucky said as he cut the engines. “Hope you didn’t mind me taking over at the end, there.” They were tied up at Fisherman’s Pier, the smaller of the two arms of concrete that enclosed Fort Bay. “The main pier is going to be packed tomorrow when the Mutty’s Pride comes in for Grocery Day.”

  “Thanks for letting me bring her into the bay,” Emily said.

  “Well, you were having so much fun, I hated to steal the wheel. Helps that it’s so glassy today. When there’s a lot of chop, the coming and going can be a bit dicey for the Shoal ’Nuff, given her size. At some point I’ll have to ditch her… get something that ain’t so small.”

  “What’s wrong with small?” Em said. Stepping up to Lucky, she planted her fists on her hips, feigning outrage. Just shy of five feet, her defiant, upthrust face was only at the level of his chest. “You wanna go, Tex?”

  Lucky laughed, raising his hands. “Easy there, I give, I give!”

  “Smart man,” Boone said, dropping down to the deck behind Emily, having helped the last of the divers to the pier. “Piss her off, she’ll bite your kneecaps—oof!”

  Em cut him off with a swift elbow to the bread basket. “No size jokes from you, beanpole.”

  “Hey, Chad!” Lucky called out.

  Up on the pier, where he was flirting with one of the Wisconsin divers, the tanned Californian turned back to the boat. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Go tell Anika we’re done for today. And ask her to call Lucius, let him know we’re back.” Lucky turned back to Boone and Emily. “You two can take off. My guy will be here shortly. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

  “Here, gimme that whiteboard,” Boone said. “I’ll jot down a few things he should check.”

  While Boone scribbled some notes, Emily grabbed her gear and hopped up to the pier to head to the shop. As she did so, her eyes drifted to the right. Past a little snack shop called Pop’s Place and a shower/bathroom facility was a long, blue mural. Emily strolled over to it, her sandals slapping on the pavement. The mural was beautiful, depicting underwater scenes teeming with fish and corals. The phrase Welcome to Saba, Captain Leo Chance Pier was written across the top, but another set of words caught her eye: SYMBIOSIS and Nothing in this universe exists alone. From these words, a watery wave flowed, with additional phrases woven into the fabric of the painted current: Every drop of water, every human being, all creatures in the web of life, and all ideas in the web of knowledge are part of an immense, evolving, dynamic whole as old, and as young, as the universe itself. Em reached out and placed her palm on the painted surface, warmed by the tropical sun. Nothing in this universe exists alone.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Em turned and saw Sophie approaching, Boone at her side. She couldn’t help but notice Sophie’s hand resting on Boone’s forearm as he gripped his gear bag. “Um… yes, beautiful,” Emily said. “Both the painting and the poetry.”

  “Hang on,” Boone said, breaking loose from Sophie and moving to a green portion of the mural, the depiction of a Saban hillside punctuated with a cottage and three portraits of prominent Sabans. One of them was a woman, her name displayed beneath her face. “Rebecca Levenstone. Is this…?”

  “Tha
t’s my great-grandmother. I told you she was a legend.”

  “What are you doing down here?” Emily asked. “Don’t you have fire brigade work at the airport?”

  Sophie smiled and waved an elegant hand in casual dismissal. “Lunch break. Next plane isn’t for a few hours and I figured I’d catch you two when you came up for air. I asked Anika to give me a call when your second dive was finishing up. Sid’s taking a break too and he’s firing up the grill. Can I tempt you with lunch? We’ve got shrimp skewers and some fresh yellowtail snapper.”

  “Sounds great,” Boone said. “Em?”

  “Sure,” Em said, smiling broadly beneath her sunglasses. “Shrimp and snapper sounds scrummy.”

  After a delicious meal, the four sat in plastic patio furniture in the tiny backyard of Sophie’s cottage.

  “Tasty grub, Sid,” Emily said. “What’s for afters?”

  “Afters?” Sid asked.

  “She means dessert,” Boone said.

  “Got a sweet tooth, do you?” Sophie teased. “Sid, why don’t you run Emily down to the Bottom Bean to grab some dessert for us… and get me some of those cookies I like.”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. I was just teasing,” Emily protested.

  “Nonsense! It’s right down the street. Sid can show you some of the shops on the way and Boone can stay here and keep me company. Maybe tell me a little about capoeira. I confess, I’ve always been curious about that martial art. It seems so… flamboyant. Not brutally practical like Krav Maga.”

  “Oh… okay,” Emily said. “Boone, you want anything special?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “You sure? They might have something with key lime in it, I know how you love it.”

  Boone smiled and set aside his bottle of water, starting to get up. “I’ll come along if you want.”

  “No, don’t be silly, you two can talk karate chops and Sid here can tell me what it’s like being an island cop!” Emily grabbed Sid’s arm and dragged him around the corner of the cottage toward the road.

  “Easy,” Sid said, wincing. “Ribs are still healing.”

  After they left, Sophie sipped at an orange soda, smiling at Boone until he broke the silence. “You really want to talk martial arts?”

  “We could. But in show-and-tell, the best part is always… ‘show’. So… show me.”

  Boone shrugged, unfolded his long limbs from the lawn chair, and rose to his feet. Setting the patio furniture off to the side, he cleared a section of tropical grass and kicked off his sandals. Sophie drained her soda and moved her chair, shedding her shoes as well.

  Boone noted her bare feet. “You looking to spar?”

  “Maybe in a moment. I want to watch you first.”

  “Fair enough. Before I start, show me your stance.”

  “For Krav?” Sophie shrugged and barely moved, continuing to stand in nearly the same manner, though Boone spied a slight widening of her feet and a barely noticeable dropping of her center of gravity.

  “Subtle,” Boone noted. “But at its core, your stance is similar to most of the hard-form martial arts, starting from a strong, stable platform. Capoeira is about fluidity of motion and unpredictability.” He began a ginga step, shifting his weight as he stepped back and to the side, swinging alternate arms up in a horizontal block, then repeating the process in the other direction in a continuous flow of motion. “Capoeira was developed by slaves in Brazil, back when it was controlled by Portugal. The slaves adapted an ancient fighting style from Angola in Africa, incorporating dance and acrobatics to hide its true intent from slaveowners. At least, that’s the narrative… But it was pretty clear to the authorities it was an effective fighting style. The Portuguese used to arrest its practitioners.”

  “So… your stance isn’t stationary?” Sophie asked, intrigued. She circled around him, watching intently.

  Boone effortlessly shifted his orientation, tracking her. “This is called the ginga. This is the base movement and lets a capoeirista hide his or her intentions, rapidly flowing from attack to defense. And where you might block an attack, the capoeirista will generally try to evade and counterattack.”

  “It doesn’t seem rooted…” Sophie said, before suddenly taking an aggressive step toward Boone.

  Boone quickly executed a cartwheel, an aú, tumbling rapidly around her flank and dropping into a negativa crouch. The instant he planted he snapped a quick martelo de negativa kick, stopping his instep just shy of Sophie’s knee.

  Sophie let out an appreciative hiss of breath. “That would have been it for my knee. And you did that from the ground—most styles, you want to stay off your back.”

  “When I incorporate Brazilian Jiu-jitsu into the mix, I’m quite comfortable fighting down here.”

  Sophie smiled and offered a hand to Boone. He gave her a sidelong look but allowed her to help him up. The instant he was standing she executed a quick wrist-locking maneuver that had him slapping her thigh, tapping out in surrender. She let him go, her eyes sparkling over a broad smile.

  Boone shook his head. “I knew you were going to do that, and you still… you are fast, Sophie!”

  “In Krav Maga, the quicker the fight’s over, the better. But I didn’t mean to steal your thunder. Show me something special.”

  “Okay,” said Boone, grinning as he looked around the yard. He grabbed his half-full water bottle and strolled to a bamboo tiki torch, lifting the metal cap to peer inside. The wick was dry, the reservoir empty.

  “You’ve probably noticed, we don’t have many mosquitos on Saba,” Sophie remarked. “We haven’t filled that in ages.”

  “Perfect.” Boone set the bottle into the reservoir and backed away.

  “Don’t break my torch,” Sophie admonished.

  Boone smiled and started a ginga, incorporating a few tumbles and cartwheels, maintaining his orientation on the tiki torch.

  “That’s all very pretty,” Sophie said. “But—”

  Boone spun his entire body into a compass half-moon kick, one of the fastest and most impressive moves in his arsenal. His heel struck the bottle with tremendous force, sending it flying against the roof of the cottage, where it ricocheted back in an arc. Boone caught the dented bottle in mid-air, uncapping it and chugging the remaining water.

  Sophie stood, mouth agape. “No fucking way.”

  Boone grinned ear to ear. “Actually, I meant to send it over the roof. Happy accident, though. I was still thirsty.”

  “What… what was that?”

  Boone popped the lid back onto the tiki torch. “It’s called meia lua de compasso, the “King of Kicks” in capoeira. It shows up as a finisher move in mixed martial arts matches from time to time.”

  “I admit, with all that bouncing around, I didn’t think you’d be that accurate.”

  Boone shrugged. “Stationary target. In a real fight there’s a good chance it will miss, but it almost always forces the opponent back, creating some distance. And if my opponent retreats, I can continue the rotation and throw another.” He tossed the bottle into an orange recycling bin at the rear of the cottage. “Okay Sophie, now it’s your turn to show. Whattaya got for me?”

  Over the next few minutes, the two demonstrated some of their favorite techniques, slowly transitioning into some light sparring. Finally, Sophie stepped back.

  “How would you take me down?”

  Boone looked at the grassy ground. “Here? With no mat?”

  “It’s fairly soft. I train out here all the time. Come on. Take me down. If you can.”

  Boone had been watching Sophie closely. Clearly formidable, she was capable of dishing out some serious hurt, and she also exhibited discipline, not given to wild, uncontrolled moves. It wasn’t often he got to spar with someone his match, so he began a ginga step. This time it was a little less showy and deceptively casual. Sophie squared o
ff in a solid stance, arms held up defensively, her eyes locked on Boone’s. He let his ginga drift closer to her and thought about an attack. The thought reached his eyes and Sophie saw it, striking out toward his glottal notch, the hollow at the base of his throat.

  But Boone’s thought was only that, a surface aggression and not his true intention. When she lashed out, he fell back and to the side, planting his hands and kicking his long legs into a tesoura, scissoring one leg against her hips at the front while the other leg swept her legs from behind, sending her to the ground on her back. Transitioning to jiu-jitsu, he scrambled to immobilize her in a controlled joint lock, but she had the same idea and he felt pressure on his wrist and elbow. In an instant, they were twined together in a tangle of arms and legs, both tapping out their surrender in fits of laughter.

  “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” Sophie breathed in his ear.

  “Seems like your chat is going well,” came a familiar voice.

  Boone looked up to find Emily at the edge of the cottage, a little paper bag of pastries dangling from her fingers. He quickly untangled himself and stood. “Just a little sparring,” he said, a bit out of breath.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Where’s Sid?” Sophie asked, still on the grass.

  “We stopped by the police station on the way back. His dad had to talk to him, so I came back by my lonesome.” She smacked the paper bag against her bare leg a few times, her huge sunglasses hiding her eyes. “So… which one of you was winning? It was hard to tell.”

  “Em…”

  She swung her wrist up, tossing him the bag. “Guess what, you’re in luck. They actually had key lime cookies. I already ate mine.” She abruptly pivoted and headed around the side of the cottage.

  Boone pocketed the little bag and slipped on his sandals. “Sophie, thanks for the lunch. I better…”

  “Yes, you better…” she said, looking a bit embarrassed. “I was going to drop you two off in Windwardside on the way back to the airport, but…”

  “Yeah… not a good idea. We’ll walk a bit. Grab a cab.” He trotted toward the street. Emily was half a block away, walking briskly toward town. Boone quickened his pace a little, catching up with her after a couple of minutes. He fell into stride with her, walking in silence for a while.