The Monster's Wife(86)

“Victor told me you did this to me.”

She knelt on top of him, heard the bubbles fly out of his mouth, felt the wild beating of his heart under the lapping waves. She pushed his head into the sand.

“I should let you drown in vengeance for what you did to me. But we are different.” She pulled him up by his shirt and stood.

He coughed hard and struggled up. “You were already…by the time I got there…your heart…”

“You drove me towards that fate. You wished me dead so you would have a friend in the world.”

“You were dying already.” His voice sounded broken. “I loved you. I wanted you to live.”

“Don’t lie!”

He caught hold of her hand. “Oona please. We must go. The boat’s not tied. It’s merely floating in the cave. Please come.”

“If I do, it’s only because I want to live.” She pulled her hand away.

She followed his footsteps through the caves, half of her wanting to hit him again, half wanting to climb into the boat and row out into the light. He stopped still. She bumped into him, reeled back, heard the clucking noise of a hull tapping the rock. She squinted, her eyes finding dull light through a cave mouth somewhere ahead of them. A boat’s curve gleamed in the blackness.

She waded towards it, her skirts bobbing round her hips, translucent as tissue in the cave’s dark well.

They each took a side and ran the boat through to the mouth of the cave where the rock gaped wide and the day poured in, blinding. He took her by the waist and hoisted her into the boat. A wave picked the boat up and hurled it forward.

She leaned over the side. “Climb in!”

His fingers touched hers. “Head south.”





78


In four beats of the heart, he was out of sight – back there in the darkness where the echoes of their last words circled. The sky turned dark. It was a black shroud poised for a storm. A thunderhead hung heavy on the horizon. The wind froze tears on her cheeks, words in her throat. A wave rolled under the boat and bumped her high. She clung to the edge to stop herself from flying out and fell back, hitting her head on the oars.

She struggled up, pushing back the folds of her sodden dress. The shafts of the oars pressed into the backs of her knees, but when she tried to reach for them, her hands were too frozen to move.

She closed her eyes, feeling the cold creep through layers of her flesh. Icy spray pricked her breasts and throat, the places where Adam’s warm hands had touched her and the salt air stung her mouth with harsh kisses.

It wouldn’t take long to die out here. It happened at least once a winter to some foolish soul trying to poach a night catch with a sup of whisky for company. They said it was a quiet death and came upon you slowly, though the men who drifted back to their wives carved from ice never spoke a word.

Oona saw herself from the outside, a still thing hardening to a white glaze. She would be pure, every scrap of impiety gone, no longer a monster but a girl made from glass, a prism catching the scant rays of the evening sun. The boat rocked and spray hit the deck. Above her, a swart-back called out, hoarse and plaintive. When the tide turned, she’d drift back to shore just like the fishermen. Adam would find an ice princess, an ornament, his mouth open in wonder at the wife he’d forced Victor to create.

She opened her eyes and shook her arms clumsily, the fingers clumped up like an old man’s. She beat them together, knocking the blood back into them, forcing it to flow. Needles of pain brought her back. Opening her mouth, she cried out, hoarse as the gull, shuddering with the return to life. She fell onto her knees and scrabbled up the oars, fingers slipping over the smooth wood like a seal’s flippers at first, then gripping, holding, lifting.

Though her mind was lost in the frozen sleep she’d almost succumbed to, her body still worked. The oars slid into place on each side. They churned the water. It resisted, pushing the blades back up. Her arms worked harder, growing stronger with each stroke. May’s heart beat loud and livid, forcing her on as they had gone on that night, laughing together in the dark. Her hands began to remember the rhythm. One oar sliced the sea, then the other, then both at once. The boat moved where she willed it, back and back and the island shrank into its icy mist like a woman stepping into the firth, wrapping her shoulders with a pale wool shawl.

Adam would be out of the cave by now. Maybe he’d already have found Victor. In spite of what he’d done to her, her skin ached with his absence. The oars’ cadence was a prayer pulsing from her. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Our Father who art in heaven. What if Victor killed him? She paused and let the oars drag on the water. It was hard to breathe. She gasped for air. A breaker tossed the boat forward. She heaved the oars back, forcing a beat. He’d said to head South. She looked over her shoulder, saw nothing but the blank sea.

No choice but to keep sculling. Staying still let the waves get the better of her. She saw herself from a distance again. This time, she was rowing into the firth, her heart clotted with fear and Adam rowing after her. The boat had filled with water. Her heart had given out. He’d said she was gone by the time he got to her. The sea had beaten her then. She looked down between her tensed knees at the green water, expecting it to rise and fill the wooden shell. And then she would sink down again, the cold brine setting her on fire.

The boat pitched and threw her to the side. Clutching the oars, she prayed they’d anchor her. She landed with a thud and dragged the oars into the boat, letting them fall on her lap. Her hands were raw and covered in blisters. She ran her finger over one, feeling the tight pillow of water underneath. There were no landmarks now, only a rimy veil and leaden sea tapering into it. Propping herself on one elbow, she peered behind the boat and saw the mirror image of what lay in front. She fell back. It was hopeless. She was lost.