Part 4

When he returned, a large, square-backed security woman sang a patois lullaby to the setting sun touching the earth where the sky and ocean blended and where horizon ceased to exist, and where one could only perceive the mountains of Martinique behind the ocean mist. From afar, he gawked at the young girl on a red towel and when she walked into the ocean, he followed. He threw himself into the waves. As the sun continued to set, he lay on his back in the water. He watched the purple sky. An orange cloud shaped like an octopus hung stationary above him while the full moon clawed its way over the octopus. And here, between the sun touching the molten horizon, and the moon faster than the clouds, he still laid still in the still ocean. In that moment, his world of language and justification for not living up to expectations had gone shattered and it drowned with a thump in the ocean’s hum. He slipped down and dove deep.

The currents moved against his skin, and he felt and smelled each creature worth devouring. Creatures crawled on the ocean floor, fish hunted and were hunted, people south of him walked knee-deep in the surf. He smelt all beasts in the water and machines’ rancid engines roaring miles away, and he smelt and tasted all parts of the girl in the water as she surfaced, and dove, and surfaced again. He swam closer and rubbed his bulletproof skin against her body. His teeth tasted iron. She screamed.

When he walked out of the waves people gathered around the girl’s red towel. She cried as blood streamed down her leg and people applied pressure to the gnawing wound. His tongue tasted her estrogen on his tongue. He licked his lips. He put a finger in his mouth and realized he was missing a tooth. His blackened eyes met hers and he held her with a cold stare and a fleeting grin as he licked his lips again.

“Him. It was him. He did this,” she screamed pointing to him.

“No, Miss, it couldn’t be. It was a shark,” said the security woman. “There is a tooth in the wound. Look. You need a doctor. You need stitches. You are lucky you haven’t drowned. There has never been a shark in this here water,” she said, stepped away, and radioed for an ambulance.

“I don’t know how, but it’s him. He ogled me. He ogled me all day. He attacked me.”

“Okay, Miss. Police will speak with him. They will take a statement. I save the shark tooth for you.”

“So, you haven’t touched the lady at the beach?” asked the police captain and the second officer stood in the darkness by the door of the small and dim management office.

“You mean the lady who got bitten by a shark?” he asked back and gently slurped not to reveal the missing tooth. His tongue searched to plug the hole in his gums, but all it found was the tip of a new tooth. He grinned.

“Yes.”

“I find this ridiculous, officer. A shark attacked her. Everyone saw it. You saw the bite. You saw the tooth. Everyone says that.”

“Yes. Yes, they say that.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that we are just making sure the lady knows we do our work to her satisfaction, and her satisfaction means for us to make sure you are not the one who attacked her,” said the captain. The second officer grunted in patois and the captain raised his voice to end the conversation, but the officer wouldn’t. “I sé on Rekenjé,” the officer shouted and stepped into the light looking at him. “Lésé sa!” the captain snapped, the conversation ended, and the officer retreated into the shadow.