Dark Shimmer Read Online Free PDF Page B

touch bottom, it’s so deep. How did that happen? Fear forces my arms above my head. I surface and roll onto my back and float. If I stay this way, the water will carry me to the island without my having to decide anything.
    The coward’s way.
    I swim around the east side of the island. I hear a bell toll the noon hour, calling the faithful to prayer. I imagine everyone rushing here and there. I can’t face that many people.
    I need someplace smaller. Where people might need me, talk to me, where someone might even like me.
    Look at that: I want to live. How strange. Mamma is dead, so the best part of me is dead. But the rest isn’t. Not yet.
    I swim and swim. My arms ache, my legs ache. The first island is far behind me now. I’m not sure I could make it back there even if I wanted to. After a while my arms and legs move without my telling them to. It’s as though I could swim forever, as though I could die and keep swimming.
    Ahead, a tuft of green emerges from the water. As I swim, it grows taller. Trees. Another island. I don’t see houses.
    Deserted?
    I need to get out of the water. A deserted island is fine with me. I can live off wild greens till I figure out what to do next. I can cover myself with branches at night.
    The closer I get, the more clearly the trees sketch their outlines: tall cypresses. Mamma calls them holy.
    Mamma is dead. I should never have taught her foot-fishing.
    No one will share meals with me again. No one will sing with me at night. No one will be so happy when I bring home special foods. No one will tell me I’m beautiful.
    Mamma is dead.
    And I’m swimming to an island that looks to be deserted.
    But what does it matter if there are no people? I’m alone no matter what.
    I swim hard again. A cramp seizes me. I go under, and my feet hit the bottom. I make it to shore, stumble past rocks and pebbles to sand and grasses.
    Then I fall, and cry myself to sleep.

A lone heron strolls among the clumps of grasses. His head is the rust red of ripe chestnuts, his black neck stripes move like eels in night water, the hump made by his back and folded wings echoes the curve of a belly full with child. The purplish-blue cap on his head marks him as king of this island. I love him instantly.
    He picks his way on those grand stick legs. Pecks at something. He’s been at this a long time this morning. I bet he’s quick enough to catch a fish.
Go on, bird, be flexible. If you’re hungry, eat what’s at hand. Survive.
    I watch from the spot where I fell yesterday. Warblers sing behind me. Little bitterns squeal. Gulls cry. This must be a bird haven. Mamma would call me lucky. Oh, my mamma. I bite the side of my hand in grief.
    Ai! My lips are dry. My whole mouth is dry. I’ve been salted, like cod for winter. Lord, I hope there’s sweet water somewhere on this island—a rock shallow where rain collects, a mudhole, anything.
    A lizard thrashes in the heron’s long bill, disappears down his throat.
    “Yay!”
    With a hoarse scream, the heron takes to the air, but my eyes are on the girl who just shouted. She comes running from the cypress trees, hair ribbons trailing behind her, flapping her arms. I gasp. Those arms—they stretch far above her head. She’s all out of proportion.
    She dances around, skirts flouncing. Then she spies me. Her face lights up and she runs over. “Who are you?”
    I move slowly. I don’t want to frighten this monster of the long arms and legs. She might not know there are others like her. I smile to allay fears that will surely arise as she takes in the whole of me. Finally, I’m on my feet, unfolded, towering above her.
Please, child, don’t run away.
    “What are you doing on the beach? Watching the bird? Do you love birds? I do. Why are your skirts tucked up around your legs? Did you sleep here?” She tilts her funny head—it’s small for her body, just like mine was when I was her age, and we both have small foreheads. She cocks her spindly arms and rests