‘Fury’

by Karen Levy

The raft was made of a soft mesh that allowed her body to dip into the water. It was nothing like the rafts and tubes the vendors sold on the beach, those fluorescent plastics that got all hot and sticky. Even as the Sunday crowds played noisily in the shallow waters of Boca Chica, throwing bottles of rum and yelling and splashing and making out, Serena was lulled to sleep, enveloped by the sea. Her bikini showed the smooth, tight, hugeness of her belly.

Yahaira stood beside her with one hand on the raft. Colorless fish circled her waist. They were good friends now, best friends, except that Serena wouldn’t tell her the secret behind the hugeness of her belly. When she asked, Serena looked away, and shook her head and Yahaira knew it was shame for what she’d done, but she was having the baby anyway. 

A group of pelicans soared overhead. Without warning, they dove into the waters quite close to the bathers, surfacing with large silver-bellied fish in their bills.  Flapping along the surface of the water, they swallowed their prey and rose up to search out their next bite. As they circled overhead, the bathers were caught in the excitement of the hunt.

Yahaira shook the raft. “I’m going for Papi’s  camera, Serena. I have to get a picture of these birds. I’ll be right back.”

The games of tossing bottles of rum and building pyramids stopped as everyone watched the precision with which half a dozen birds hit the water and rose with their beaks full.  One pelican rose from the sea with an enormous fish in its beak.  It struggled with its prey as it flew higher and higher, and it seemed that all the bathers caught their breath when they saw that fish.  It was bigger than the bird itself, big enough to feed a family. 

The fish, a deep red color, fought back.  It shook itself partway out of the giant bill, but the bird gulped at it over and over to prevent its escape. The bathers laughed and cheered and made bets on both sides.

“I’m going with the bird.” 

“I’ll put fifty on the fish.” 

“One more wiggle, baby!”

“He can’t escape. That bill’s is the biggest I’ve seen!”

A second bird flew in. It tried to snatch the giant prey, but the first bird swallowed down the better part of the fish, and then struck his opponent with the fish’s head.  The bathers roared with delight. The second bird flew off screaming but returned to fly circles around the first.  Then it lunged.

The first bird veered sharply, struggling as it rose higher and higher above the water’s surface to escape the attack.  Its wings beat powerfully as it moved vertically with its prey, but then it opened its beak just the slightest bit, just enough for the fish to twist away and free fall the great distance back to the sea.  Its scaled body caught the sun and shone iridescent as it dove toward home. Just before it hit the water, the second bird swooped in and smoothly swallowed it halfway down its enormous neck.  

The bathers cheered.  

The fury of the fish prevented the second bird from rising.  It skimmed the ocean’s surface, awkward and heavy, as all eyes watched. Its feet dragged the water, making patterns and wakes and gentle waves. Then, with a long stretch of its neck, it swallowed down even more of the giant fish, whose head created an obscene bulge in the bird’s long neck.  The bathers clapped their hands and traded dirty jokes as the bird flapped frantically and then rose from the water to fly off.  

No one noticed the sleeping woman floating away.  

Once Serena drifted from the circle of bathers, she was caught in a current that pulled her out from the safety of the beach into the open sea.  She was just a speck of white belly when Yahaira returned for her.  

“Papi! Papi!” she shouted. “It’s Serena!”

Her father stood up from his chair and followed her finger as she pointed out to sea.

 “She’s floating away!” Yahaira yelled, and they both ran for one of the fishing boats on shore. 

 “Llama la policia!” Call the police! Her father shouted at a man with a phone. “Mi mujer esta alejando hacia lo ondo -” My woman is floating away - 

Yahaira froze at his choice of words.

The speck of white belly disappeared behind la Matica, the mangrove island a quarter mile out that separated the beach from the sea.

Papi yelled for her to help and they pushed the boat through the crowd of Sunday bathers. People jumped out of their way. They climbed in. Her father pulled the oars out from under the seat and rowed wildly.

All the while, Yahaira stayed calm.  She’d been quick to react, running for her father and heaving the boat into the waist-deep waters to save her friend.  Now, she was stilled by his frenzy.  

He was speaking fast and low under his breath, “Oh, God!  Help me! Why isn’t there a motor?  Coño!”  as he plunged the oars into the water.   

She didn’t offer to help - she just watched him lose himself to his rescue attempt. 

He dropped an oar and had to jump overboard for it. The sun played tricks on them. They traveled in circles. 

Finally, they reached the raft; it was running its own course. Serena was gone.  

Her father threw down the oars. “Coño!  Que vaina!”  Tears fell from his eyes like stones: hard and round; they bounced off his thighs and over the hull of the boat, into the sea.

He stood up and jumped. 

Yahaira sat back; cold to his loss.

 He dove into the dark blue water, resurfaced and dove again. She lost count of how many times. He dove until he was exhausted.  Bobbing with one hand on the boat’s hull, he sucked in huge mouthfuls of air. 

“La Policia!” came a shout from a motorboat headed their way.

“Ayudame! Help!” Her father croaked between ragged breaths. “Coño! She’s pregnant with my baby!” 

Yahaira threw up into the beautiful, salty sea.