“I’m Candy Quackenbush. I’m new here.”
“Yes, I could tell,” Izarith said. “It’s cold today; the water gets up through the stones. One day this place is just going to rot and collapse on itself.”
“That would be a pity,” Candy said.
“You don’t live here,” Izarith said, with a trace of bitterness. She led Candy to one of the houses made from fishing boats. As she followed the woman to the threshold, Candy felt just a little pang of doubt. Why was she being invited into Izarith’s house so quickly, without any real reason, beyond that of a stranger’s generosity?
Izarith seemed to sense her unease. “Don’t come in if you don’t want to,” she said. “I just thought you looked in need of a fire to warm you through.”
Before Candy could reply there was a series of crashes from outside the Head, accompanied by a din of yells and screams.
“The dock!” Candy said, looking back toward the door.
Obviously the jetty had finally given out beneath the weight of the crowd. There was a great rush of people out to see the calamity, which was of course only going to make matters worse out there. Izarith showed no desire to go and see what had happened. She just said: “Are you coming?”
“Yes,” said Candy, offering the woman a smile of thanks and following her inside.
Just as Izarith had promised there was a fire in the little hearth, which the woman fueled with a handful of what looked like dried seaweed. The kindling was consumed quickly and brightly. A soothing wave of warmth hit Candy. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said, warming her hands.
On the floor in front of the fire was a child of perhaps two, her features one generation further removed from the sea-dwelling origins of her grandparents, or perhaps her great-great-grandparents.
“This is Maiza. Maiza, this is Candy. Say
“Here,” she said. “Put this on. If you wear those wet clothes much longer you’ll get phlegmatic.”
Gratefully, Candy put it on, feeling secretly ashamed of her initial suspicion. Izarith obviously had a good heart. She had very little to share, but what she had, she was offering.
“It suits you,” Izarith said, as Candy tied a simple rope belt around her waist. The fabric of the dress was brown, but it had a subtle iridescence to it; a hint of blue and silver in its weave.
“What’s the currency here?” Candy asked.
Plainly Izarith was surprised by the question; understandably so. But she answered anyway. “It’s a zem,” she said. “Or a paterzem, which is a hundred zem note.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you ask this question?”
Candy dug in the pocket of her jeans. “It’s just that I have some dollars,” she said.
“You have
“Yes. A few.”
Candy pulled the sodden notes out and carefully spread them on the hearth, where they steamed in front of the fire.
Izarith’s eyes didn’t leave the bills from the moment they appeared. It was almost as though she was witnessing a miracle.
“Where did you get those…?” she said, her voice breathless with astonishment. Finally she tore her gaze from the hearth and looked up at Candy.
“Wait,” she said. “Is it possible?”
“Is
“Do you… come from the Hereafter?”
Candy nodded. “Actually I come from a place called America.”
“America.” Izarith spoke the word like a prayer. “You have dollars, and you come from America.” She shook her head in disbelief.
Candy went down on her haunches before the fire and peeled the now almost dried dollars off the hearth. “Here,” she said, offering them to Izarith. “You have them.”
Izarith shook her head, her expression one of almost religious awe.
“No, no I couldn’t. Not dollars. Angels use dollars, not Skizmut like me.”
“Take it from me,” Candy said, “I’m not an angel. Very far from it. And what’s a Skizmut?”
“My people are Skizmut. Or they were, generations ago. The bloodline’s been diluted, over the years. You have to go back to my great-grandfather for a pure Skizmut.”
She looked melancholy; an expression which suited the form of her face better than any other.
“Why so sad?”
“I just wish I could go back into the deeps and make my home there, away from all this…”
Izarith cast her sad eyes toward the window, which was without frames or panes. The crowd outside moved like a relentless parade. Candy could see how hard it would be to exist in this tiny hovel, with the twilight throng moving up and down the street outside, all the hours that God sent.
“When you say the deeps,” Candy replied, “do you mean the sea?”
“Yes. Mama Izabella. The Skizmut had cities down there. Deep in the ocean. Beautiful cities, made of white stone.”
“Have you ever seen them?”
“No, of course not. After two generations, you lose the way of the fish. I would drown, like you.”
“So what can you do?”
“Live on a boat, as close as we can to the deeps. Live with the rhythm of Mother Izabella beneath us.”
“Well, perhaps the dollars will help you and Ruthus buy a boat,” Candy said.
Candy handed Izarith a ten and one single, keeping six for herself.
Izarith laughed out loud, the music in her laughter so infectious that her daughter, Maiza, started laughing too.
“Eleven dollars?
really
“Of course,” Candy said. She suddenly realized she was starving.
“And Maiza?”
“Yes, Muma?”
“Will you be kind to the lady from the Hereafter, while I fetch bread and milk?”
“Grish fritters!” said Maiza.
“Is that what you want? Grish fritters with noga seeds?”
“Grish fritter with noga seeds! Grish fritter with noga seeds!”