Miranda and Caliban(90)

Other than the finery from the pirates’ treasure that Papa bestowed upon me, my possessions are few. There are the kidskin slippers I wore as a small girl, the sewing casket, and the little hand-mirror that once belonged to Caliban’s mother. I gaze at my face in it, and it seems I am looking at a stranger. I remember Caliban and me putting our heads together, thrusting out our tongues at our reflections and laughing like the children we were.

I could weep at the memory of such innocence.

I glance toward the garden, half-imagining that I might catch a glimpse of Caliban watching from the walls, but it is empty. The only sign of Caliban’s existence is a handful of limp trumpet flowers strewn on my window-ledge.

Unpacking my chest, I place one of the trumpet flowers in the bottom of it, then repack my things; all save the mirror.

I place the mirror on the window-ledge.

Do you promise it?

I do.

Caliban’s absence is discovered. The king and his men are indignant; they offer to delay our departure, to scour the isle that the monstrous villain might be found and brought to justice.

“No, leave him,” Papa says in a decisive manner. “Let him pine away his days in lonely misery. I daresay it is as fitting a punishment as any.”

Dear Lord God, I fear Papa is right.

The ship awaits us in the harbor, where the king’s crew have sailed it from the pirates’ cove. We make the long trek to meet it. Little gnomes trot alongside us carrying Papa’s trunks, my humble chest. Sylphs gambol around us in the jasmine-scented breezes. It is a fine, clear afternoon.

The prince is solicitous. He exclaims with horror when he realizes I have no shoes, and offers to carry me to spare my poor, delicate feet. I thank him and manage not to laugh.

He holds my hand.

I let him, because it is easier than explaining my refusal. And it is not so unpleasant, after all.

There is no sign of Caliban, but I do not doubt that he is somewhere near, watching. He knows every inch of the isle and all its secret places.

Thou art the shoals on which Caliban wilt dash his heart to pieces.

It is true.

Oh God help me, it is true.

In the harbor, a rowing-boat has been sent ashore to carry us to the ship. More men accompany it, sailors who rejoice in loud voices to be reunited with King Alonso and his men. The sailors marvel at the gnomes and the sylphs, at Papa’s presence, and most especially at mine. They call me “my lady” and treat me with reverent courtesy, escorting me aboard the boat.

I wonder where Ariel is.

I pray he will not be unduly cruel to Caliban in my absence, until such a day comes that I may fulfill my promise and send for him.

I pray such a day will come, because there is a canker of fear within my heart that warns me it may not. It warns me that the urgency of my promise will fade in this brave new world toward which I venture; a world in which Caliban could never be seen as aught but monstrous. I think of the glimpse of Caliban I saw through the prince’s eyes and shudder.

I will not let that happen.

I will not.

Once the last of Papa’s trunks is stowed on the rowing-boat, he dismisses the elementals. The sailors bend their backs over the oars and row, chanting in their loud voices.

So many, many men.

When we reach the ship, the prince climbs the rope ladder to board it before me so that he might extend a hand when I follow. The worn, sun-warmed planks of the ship are smooth beneath my bare feet.

Standing at the railing, I gaze across the sea at the isle that is the only home that I have ever known.

Orders are shouted; trunks are stowed. The rowing-boat is hauled aboard, the sea-anchor is lifted.

Ropes sing; sheets of canvas belly and snap.

The ship sets sail.

As the ship’s prow slides westward through the rippling waves, I see the twin curved arcs of Setebos’s jaws silhouetted against the sky. That is where Caliban will be, watching atop his high crag.

I raise my hand in farewell.

A warm hand comes to rest in the small of my back; it is Prince Ferdinand’s. He smiles at me, slanting afternoon sunlight brightening his brown eyes. “Whom do you salute, my lady?” he asks me.

One day I will tell him the truth, I will; but not today.

“No one,” I say to him. “No one.”





FIFTY-SEVEN





CALIBAN


I watch the ship go until I cannot see it. There is only the empty blue sky and the sun shining on the sea.

Miranda is gone.

She is gone.

Gone.

There is an emptiness inside my heart as big as the sky. Miranda is gone.

But she will send for me.

She did promise.

I go to the palace. It is empty, too. The gardens seem quiet, and I cannot think why until I do see that the fountains are stopped.

Quiet.

So quiet.

Master is gone; the little undines are free. No more splish-splashing fountains. The little gnomes are free; no more emptying chamber-pots and digging in the garden.

I am free.

Oh, but Miranda is gone.

In the kitchen, the larder is empty, but outside I see they did leave the chickens and the nanny-goat behind. “Hello!” I say to the chickens that do peck and scritchety-scratch in the dirt, to the nanny-goat with her full udder who looks at me with her yellow eyes. “Hello, hello! Do not worry, I will take care of you.”