Sirens, page 67
momentum, executing breathtaking manoeuvres one after the other, cut
loose and free at last, absorbed in the dance. She knew she loved Bobby,
not as a lover but as a friend. But he was, she realized now, almost as
dangerous as Silka had been; his obsession had turned him away from
being a good cop. Given the opportunity, he might even have shot Nigel.
She did not know how she felt about anything else, except that there was
a great fissure inside her now, black and as fathomless as space itself,
growing wider with each passing moment. She heard a brief clatter from
the other end of the hall. The place was alive with reporters and TV
cameramen. Three uniformed cops were all that stood between her and that
mob. The detective had his hands in his jacket pockets as he talked
earnestly into a bristling bouquet of mikes thrust before his face. But
he and the men under his command would not give way. Outside, the girls
had gone and the liquid line of cars was again on the move, from East
Los Angeles to Encino, earfood blatting at them from their turned-on
radios. Like cream from a jug, she thought. It was as if the girls had
never existed. She heard the sound of running feet and the doors to the
operating theatre banged open. When the sweat-soaked surgeon appeared,
she knew before he opened his mouth. ' didn't make it. I'm sorry, Miss.
Whitney. We did everything we could.' His words passed through her like
the wind. ' were three of us.' Like a matador fresh from the corrida, he
had been too tired to remove his wet red-veined gloves, the regalia of
his work. He began to peel them off. They made a terrible high squeaking
sound. ' it's any consolation, he fought hard. Very hard.' ',' she said,
turning and walking away down the greentiled corridor, past the
white-faced detective. ' doesn't mean a goddamn thing.' 583 Fourteen
When Rubens returned home, he found her waiting for him in the hallway.
The morning was very bright and he had forgotten his sunglasses on the
plane. When he opened the door, the interior of the house seemed very
dark to him and he paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. He
saw only her silhouette at first, tall and slim and quite superb -
almost, he thought, like a perfect piece of sculpture. Then she stirred
and he smelled her soft scent; he felt a peculiar tightness at the back
of his neck and was at a loss to explain it. Then he saw her. She wore a
pale grape-coloured cotton dress, high-necked and low-backed. Over her
right shoulder, the sad, wise El Greco face stared at him. ' heard about
it on the way in from the airport,' he said. ' same time I heard about
Chris. I guess I'm a little late.' He stood stock still, staring at her
from across a small amount of space. His eyes seemed frightened as if
because of his absence she might have been damaged. ' you all right?'
'.' ' face?' ' be fine. In time.' She looked at him quizzically. ''t you
want to touch me?' As if that were a command freeing him from bondage he
dropped his briefcase and overnight bag. Took her into his arms. At his
touch all her cold resolve, all the fright and passion she had been
desperately trying to keep in abeyance, spilled out and she melted into
him. ''s over now,' he whispered, gently stroking her hair. ' over.' But
it was he who was trembling. ''s the matter, Rubens?' She held on to
him, feeling his strength flowing into her. ' was afraid you were dead.'
His voice had taken on an 584 odd echoey quality that made the short
hairs at the nape of her neck stir. ' had changed somehow! ''m the
same,' she said, not believing it at all. ''m the same as I always was.'
He looked down the hallway into the living room. ' doesn't look like
anything happened here at all. Like it was a dream or something! He
looked at her. ''s call it that. A bad dream." And kissed her hard on
the lips as if by this gesture he could banish all the evil that had
been played out here so short a time ago. ''s Maria?' ' the kitchen.' '
stay here@' he said brightly. ''ll go tell her to fix us a huge lunch
and we'll take it out to the boat.' He smiled at her. ' haven't
forgotten my promise! They set sail in clear weather but were soon
wrapped in a low sea fog so that, though they were fairly close to
shore, Daina could make out no land. They moved leisurely southwestward,
heading in the general direction of San Diego.
Rubens had not mentioned a destination and Daina did not think to ask
him about one. There seemed no need. The sea was their only destination;
their only purpose to be together. Maria had outdone herself, fixing a
sweet-and-sour cold chicken that, to Daina at least, always seemed more
Chinese than Mexican, tortillas and enchiladas, a salad of tomato wedges
and silvered onions in oil and basil. She had also included a
fresh-baked loaf of French bread with plenty of sesame seeds, the way
Daina liked it, ' a bottle of robust but dry Italian gattinara.
Afterwards, they held hands on the bridge, taking turns steering the
boat, talking in short bursts about nothing of any consequence. Rubens
went below to take a short nap, leaving the wheel in Daina's capable
hands. When he emerged at twilight, he had on his midnight-blue cotton
sailing trousers, a knitted short-sleeve shirt and his battered
espadrilles. ''ll eat in an hour,' he said. He anchored with the running
lights on and they went below. Over dinner, he said, ''ve a surprise for
you.' She looked at him, studying each feature in turn - his dark, 585
depthless eyes, his strong, hawklike nose, his expressive mouth - and
wondered how she ever could have been afraid of this man.
"What is it?' His eyes were sparkling. ' present,' he said with the
flourish of a prestidigitator. ' you want.' Of course she knew he was
joking. ', anything at all? Let's see. How about the Taj Mahal?' ' me a
week,' he said, perfectly seriously. ' you're really serious about it,
that is.' ' Taj is a little grand,' she said. It occurred to her then
that she was missing something. ''re not joking, are YOU ?) '.' He took
her hand. ' want to give you the one thing you want most in the world.
Something no one else can give you. What'll it be?' What, indeed, she
thought giddily. Furs, clothing, jewels. A trip around the world. She
thought of a Rolls Grand Comiche, a Formula I Lotus, a Lear jet. She
thought of paintings: the old masters and the modems; a Rembrandt might
be nice, or a Picasso. She had always loved Monet. What she wouldn't
give to own a Monet! But she could say nothing. It was too dazzling. My
choice will have to wait, she thought.
At least until tomorrow. He seemed disappointed when she told him that
but he understood. That night, they made long languorous love that
seemed in perfect concert with the gentle rocking of the boat. But as
Daina was drifting off to sleep, as she hung on that thin, ephemeral
ledge between both worlds, she felt her heart touched by the fibrous
tentacles of anxiety. She tried to search inside herself for the source
but by that time sleep had claimed her and she dreamt. She awoke from a
dream into a dream, it seemed to her. She had been walking the streets
of a European city. A city by the sea, though she could not say which
one. The sun was warm on her shoulders, the tiles beneath her feet
echoing the spectacular sienna colour of the hills on her left. She felt
thirsty and had paused under the striped umbrella - slightly frayed and
faded - of an outdoor caf6 for an Americano. It came but when she
brought it up to her lips it was so salty she 586 could not drink it.
She called to the waiter over and over again, trying in vain to get his
attention. Calling, calling ... A calling had awakened her. Or a sound
very much like it. She lay in the double berth while Rubens slept beside
her, waiting for that sound to come again. She knew it would. In the
meantime, she thought about her dream. That city. Surely she had been
there before' it had seemed so familiar. She thought hard. By the sea.
It had to be the Mediterranean. All right, then, which ... Naples!
Of course! It was Naples. But she hadn't been there, in oh, ten years at
least. What was it about Naples ... ? Then for some reason she thought
about Bullfinch's Mythology. There was a summer when she had read it
avidly from cover to cover and when she was through, she had started all
over again. Naples. Then she had it. The legend of the one Siren:
Parthenope, who was so distraught at having failed to lure Ulysses to
his doom, she threw herself into the sea. But instead of drowning, she
had been cast up at Naples. Daina remembered the Americano she had
ordered in the sun-drenched caf6 and how salty it had tasted; sea-salty.
She shuddered. And at that precise moment she heard the sound that had
awakened her, a soft calling that seemed to come from everywhere at
once. It was even a vibration racing through the hull of the boat. She
sat up in the berth, looked around. The sound went on and on for a very
long time. A song plaintive and almost hypnotic. She got out of bed,
pulled on jeans and a turtleneck sweater, went on deck. Day was
breaking. The fog had lifted and the sea lay before her for as far as
she could see in any direction. There was no wind at all and the surface
of the water lay as still and smooth as'glass. Not a wrinkle disturbed
its timeless skin. She went to the taffrail, leaned her elbows on it,
breathing deeply of the richness of the air. It made her think of
breathily chill weather, of slush in the gutters, glutinous and black
with soot, of long dark streets peopled by shining brittle faces, filled
with blaring radios set to WWRL, James Brown blasting the night, weeded
yards, the forecourts of bombed-out buildings, 587 sinking into a swamp
of garbage, the belching steam from underground. It was the underworld
she had conjured up, across the river Styr, hard by the Zanzi Bar. The
black shining faces, yelloweyed and white-teethed, staring at her
foreign self as she was shepherded into the ghetto ... Memories of
another time. Her heart hammered in her chest as she heard the soft
wailing come again across the vast bosom of the Pacific as if it were
the calling of the sea itself. The pale down along her arms lifted. And
abruptly all her thoughts were as insubstantial as the wind. All but one
of them, hanging in her mind like a brilliant golden sword, twisting in
the centre of her mind. I tried once, she thought, her pulse racing, but
I was only a kid then, thinking voodoo might do it for me. Well, I'm a
woman now. And I've got the power. Then Rubens was beside her, mugs of
steaming coffee in his hands. She took one from him, drank greedily, her
fingers and palms pressed hard against the hot ceramic. She knew what
she wanted to say to him but her throat blocked so that she had to wait
a moment, rest before she opened her mouth again and in an odd thick
voice said, ''s a man. A man in New York. I knew him ... a long time
ago. ' killed a ... friend of mine, someone I loved. Slammed into his
apartment and shot him down like he was an animal.' She was dizzy now,
her stomach in a knot. No one ever knew this but her. ' didn't know I
was there, that I saw him do it.' What was it Bobby had said? You can't
forget old friends. Never to forget; oh no. She stared up into Rubens'
face, aware that the sounds of the sea were coming again like invisible
waves, the Sirens' hypnotic call. ' happened to Ashley ..
.' Rubens was staring at her in a very peculiar way, his eyes hard and
dark and filled with a quicksilver anger. ' asked me what I wanted more
than anything else,' she said, starting over. ' want the same thing to
happen to this man.' Rubens put his arm around her and together they
walked to the bridge. He pressed a stud and the anchor was weighed.
As he prepared to get under way, he said, '. You can hear the whales
calling to each other, a long lonely song.' Then he spun the wheel,
heading for home. When they got back to the house, Daina told Rubens the
man's name: Aurelio Ocasio. How odd it sounded on her tongue.
She had not spoken his full name in so many years. It was the name of an
alien. While Rubens went to the phone, she crossed the living room,
pulling open the window-doors out to the garden. The pool shimmered in
the heat, sunlight turning its surface to diamonds. If I dive in there,
she thought, I'll surely break my neck. She stepped outside and the
sunlight hit her like a hammer blow so that she staggered. Her stomach
knotted and she thought she might vomit. She stumbled, reaching quickly
out for the metal top of the nearest chaise. Her legs were trembling and
sweat had broken out along her hairline, under her arms. My God, she
thought. This is the moment I've longed for since I saw Ocasio standing
over Baba's body. I wanted him dead. I was so full of hate for him, for
my father for dying and leaving me alone with my mother. That hate had
been a closed fist encysted within her heart, a part of her for so long
she had lost its true meaning somewhere inside herself. Instead, it had
grown as she allowed it a life of its own. She saw very clearly now in a
flash so sudden and so powerful it dizzied her, how she had become lost
within that hate and with this last act would be drowned by it. For an
instant she felt as helpless, as utterly alone, as terrified as she had
during her long incarceration with Dr. Geist, and she began to weep.
Idiot! she berated herself. Why are you crying? You still have the
power. Use it! ' she cried, tearing her hands from in front of her face.
'! She leaped up, ran through the garden, thinking, He was just picking
up the phone when I went out. '!' she called again. How much time had
passed? '!' He was hanging up the phone when she hurtled into the living
room. ' God, nop Her eyes were open wide, staring. She seemed to be
having trouble breathing. ', what 588 on 07 'Rubens, is it done?' ' was
just talking to Schuyler. He "The call to New York!' she screamed. ' you
make it?' ' was just about to. What's this -P ', thank God!' Her eyes
closed and she took a deep shuddering breath. He came across to where
she stood, trembling. He put his arms around her. ', what's the matter?'
' don't want you to make that call.' She looked up into his eyes. ''s
your present. Of course I ' don't do itv Consciously she softened her
voice, put a hand up against her chest. ''s all.' ' thought this was
something you wanted very badly. Did I get the wrong impression?' Daina
closed her eyes again and he felt a shudder run through her. ', you
didn't.
Ocasio's death was something I had prayed for for eleven years.' ' let
me make the call. Let me make you happy. You have the power now, don't
you see?' ''s just it. I do have the power, just as you do.
Marion was right. It's not getting the power that's so difficult. It's
knowing what to do with it after you've got it. I think Meyer feels the
same way -' '?' His eyes got hard. ' &you know about Meyer?" She looked
up at him. ', when I was in San Francisco he came to see me.' ' didn't
you tell me before?' ' didn't think you'd understand. He's worried about
you. He thinks you've become too much like him. He's right.' ' makes you
think I'll understand now?'- "Because now I'm sure you love me. I can't
live like this any more, Rubens. I've lived with violence all my life
but I've never really understood it. I see now that I - you and I - have
been sinking deeper and deeper into a kind of quicksand without even
knowing it. I was your most willing pupil but now I understand what I've
become. ' I saw what you'd done to Ashley I promised myself 590 I'd
never let that happen again. It was the same promise I made to Meyer.
He's smarter than you or I gave him credit for. He made a deal with me:
he'd help me find out who murdered Maggie if I kept you safe from harm.
But he was giving me a lesson to learn. He was offering me violence and
I took it; took it willingly. ' I understand that we'll be outlaws for
the rest of our lives if we don't stop now; there'll be no turning back.
Once, long ago, in the days I knew Aurelio Ocasio, that's what I wanted
to be: an outlaw. And every decision I've made from then until this
moment has been to further that end. Now I know I don't want it; that I
mustn't have it. ''s dead. There's nothing either of us can do about
