The ladyfish experiment

chapter 1

Chapter 1

It took me years to get my head straight after my wife died. We'd been together for ten years, since my freshman year in Florida State. The cancer came on slowly but then systematically spread through her, first stealing her strength, then her appetite and finally her will to live. It was tough to feel so helpless and yet so needed. I was there when she let out her last breath and kissed her goodbye and then I cried.
There was nothing left to my life. We'd been totally devoted to each other and then the illness took control I became her caregiver.
And suddenly, there was nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean it, literally. I'd left my job when Lydia needed care. Later, we sold the house and exhausted our savings to pay the medical bills and ended up in a cottage on the Keys that was part of an old family trust. At least, we had a roof over our heads for as long as needed.
After the funeral, I went through a period of 'Why me.' Then, there was my Jimmy Buffet era consisting of margaritas beginning everyday between noon and two; sometimes as early as ten in the morning. I guess Buffet lives somewhere around here. Thought I saw his plane once.
I passed the next two years in a MargaritaVille fog. Occasionally, I'd meet a lovely lady. But I wasn't ready and sooner or later, she'd move on.
But then, a morning came when I saw something far down on the beach. Despite my tequila headache, I stumbled over the sand thinking another body had washed up.
Just like the bales of hemp that float in every so often, so do bodies.
Well, I was close. I found a lovely young woman; probably in her twenties, tangled in a fishnet, lying naked and absolutely still. She was cold as the dead.
My God! She was a vision, an absolute Venus de Milo. My sensual lady looked as if she were sleeping. But I thought I knew better.
I knelt beside her. The smell of dead fish was overwhelming. I began to lift the net, and stopped. This was a job for the police. I decided I had to go back to make a call. But then, she turned to the side and threw up a quart of water and seaweed. She began to gasp and cough. I could hear the rattling of more liquid in her lungs and tried to help her up. But when I touched her, she recoiled and a welt appeared on her arm from my warmth. It was as if I'd touched her with a red-hot iron. I'd heard of this phenomenon but never saw it before. It once happened to Diana Nyad during one of her attempts to swim from Cuba to Florida.
“Jimmy,” came a familiar voice from behind me, “What is this? You have a 'nekked' girl friend?”
“Hello Mrs. Waterstein,” I said to my eight-five year old neighbor who now stepped forward and was examining my nude friend, “This is my cousin... Ah... Ah... Lydia.”
(I don't know why I said that name.)
“Young lady,” the old woman said, “I know this is a topless beach and all, but in my day...”
“Yes, Mrs. Waterstein,” I answered, “She's just had a scare. I was about to take her inside.”
I held my new friend's hand as she tried to stand. Again, she coughed up more seawater.
She was still terribly cold as I guided her to my cottage and let her lean against me. When we reached my porch, she flopped onto the glider and sat still trying to catch her breath.
Seeing her sitting there brought back memories of the sunsets, wife Lydia and I had watched from that very spot. I stared at the magnificent woman in front of me awestruck as the old memories flooded through me including the day that my Lydia had died. I'd carried my wife out here to watch the sunset and as the sun went down my Lydia let her last breath go. It was the only time that I'd ever seen the 'blue flash.' I like to think it was my Lydia's soul following the sun to a better life.
Don't know why I said the name 'Lydia' to Mrs Waterstein. Maybe it was a Freudian slip.
“Well shit!” I thought as I realized I was becoming maudlin again.
I knew that if I wasn't careful, I'd end up in tears and looking foolish in front of my lovely but fish-stinky visitor.
It was then that I noticed the dark red lines on each side of her neck. A minute ago, there'd been loose skin, almost like deep cuts. But now, they'd miraculously receded to dark red lines. Her breathing was becoming slower and more regular. The rattling sound in her lungs had also left her.
I hurried inside and retrieved my old robe and held it out for her to slip into. But she didn't move. She stared at the robe as if she didn't understand.
“Aren't you cold?” I asked, shaking the robe.
But there was no reaction. Finally, I held my hand out. After staring at my hand for a minute, she took it and stood.
Damn! She was such a vision!
I stepped behind her and held up the robe. But again, no reaction from her. Finally, I slipped her hand into one sleeve and then the other and pulled it over her. Still, she stood not moving, but curiously watching as I wrapped it around her.
“Can you speak?” I asked and received no answer.
“Do you understand English?
No response.
I helped her sit back onto the bench and began to walk into the house. But I stopped as I stood behind her and then clapped my hands. Immediately, she turned towards me. Well OK then... Not deaf.
I stepped back in front of her and knelt.
I pointed to my lips and speaking very slowly said, “Can... You... Speak?”
No response.
No...
Wait...
She opened her mouth as if to speak and then emitted two clicks and a tiny squeak.
“What the hell?” I thought, “Is she from an African tribe of bush people or what?”
“Are you OK?” I said slowly as I tried to enunciate my words slowly and clearly.
But now, her eyes were watching my mouth and her lips were slowly moving.
Well, what the hell?
I repeated, “Are you OK?”
This time her lips moved in sink with mine. But no words came out.
OK than, new tack...
“Are you hungry?”
Her lips tried to imitate mine.
“Food?” I said.
Her lips made the shape for an 'F' sound.
“All right,” I thought and patted her hand and began to stand when her other hand patted mine and she emitted another two clicks and a chirp.
“You can speak?” I said, “Can't you?”
Again, her lips were moving.
“Where are you from?” I asked as I walked in the house, “Another planet?”
As I reached my kitchen, I thought I heard 'ta' the 'T' sound.
I returned with a glass of water and held it out to her. She studied it for a minute and then took hold of the glass. I watched her study it and the swirl the water in the glass and then sniff it like a dog and finally, put her finger in it and bring her finger to her lips.
Then she looked up at me and held the glass out for me to take.
“Not thirsty?” I said, “Are you hungry?”
Her lips were moving again, imitating mine and then she let out an 'eeee' sound. I think it might have been an imitation of the 'Y' sound in hungry. Who knows?
However, spurred on by this triumph, I went back to my kitchen and returned with a plate of macaroni and cheese (my lunch) and held it out to her. Again she sniffed and wiggled the plate. Again, she pushed her finger into it and tasted. But this time, she obviously liked what she'd tasted and scooped a handful with her fingers and shoved it in her mouth. The fork fell to the side as she scooped and licked the plate clean and then her fingers.
A minute later, she held the plate out saying, “eeesssss?”
I didn't know whether to take that as 'please' or 'cheese.' But we were getting somewhere.
At this point, I need to say that the idea of calling the police or rescue squad had never occurred to me. I don't know why. But it didn't. Maybe it was her beauty.
I filled her plate with the rest of my lunch and offered it to her saying, “Mack and cheese. You like?”
Without any hesitation, she grabbed the plate from me and inhaled everything. This time, the fork fell to the floor.
A minute later, my guest held the plate out once more and said, “Sheeesss?”
Damn! She was starting to speak.
Regardless, we were getting somewhere. All be it that she now had orange cheese on her face, both hands and my white robe and my lunch was now gone. Then she opened her mouth and emitted a long and probably, very satisfying belch.
She lifted the plate up, studied my face and said, “Sheeess?”
This time it was obvious. She was asking for more.
Well as any good bachelor will know, macaroni and cheese is a staple in a single man's household. My inventory of such things was vast. And so I hurried to the kitchen to make more and being the resourceful person that I was, I made a double batch.
I returned with two plates and as I handed her one (no fork, this time), I sat next to her and started on my own plate.
I'd barely taken my second bite when she let out another belch and held her plate out. OK... So another trip to the kitchen to refill her plate. But when I came back with another heaping plate for her, my own plate was empty.
Well, common! Hosts need to eat too. Hmmmp. None left. Had to settle for a peanut and jelly sandwich. (And stale bread at that.) Meanwhile, my special guest sat watching me with a blank stare as she shoveled the last of my mack in.
But damn, even with cheese all over her face and chest, she was still a vision.
(Despite the smell of dead fish.)



Note: A new chapter will be posted within two days and every day or two thereafter until it is concluded.
That is my promise.
I hope you enjoy.
JM