The Light Pirate(33)
“Hard to believe it’s been that long,” Phyllis says, absently running her fingers through the water.
“What do you mean?”
Phyllis just frowns and gestures at the tackle box. “Open that for me, would you?” Wanda is quickly distracted by the jumble inside the tackle box. There are petri dishes, vials, pH sticks, different-colored Sharpies, a little net. She resists the urge to paw through it. If this is a test, she wants to pass.
“What’s all that for?”
“It’s my field kit.”
“What’s a field kit?”
“It’s for collecting samples. In the field.”
“This isn’t a field.”
“No, that’s true. It’s the field.” Wanda sits with this for a moment while Phyllis selects a vial and scoops up a sample of water from the river, then rolls up her sleeves and, in a separate container, collects some sediment from where it’s shallow. “‘Field’ can mean different things. It’s one of those words with different lives. It could be an open grassy area. Or someone’s area of expertise. It can be a verb, too—to handle, take the lead on. Or, you know, to field a ball. But in ecology, the field is the place where I gather data. In nature. See?” Phyllis looks up at Wanda where she’s still crouched among the mangrove roots. “Some of my work I can do in my study. But the other part of what I do is in the field. Like now.” This is a lot of information about fields for Wanda to process.
“So I’m at work with you.”
“Yes.” Phyllis hands her the samples she’s collected and Wanda takes them, aware she’s holding regular things—dirt, water—that have somehow stopped being regular and become important. “Well, technically I’m retired from teaching, but I still like to work for myself on occasion. Curiosity never retires. Those go back into the kit, please. Carefully.” Wanda handles the containers with reverence, eager to prove that she is a good assistant. Kirby and Lucas have taken her to work before, but they never let her touch anything. And anyway, she’s not allowed to go with them anymore. Phyllis gives her an approving nod.
“What are they for?” Wanda asks when the samples are back in the tackle box.
“For measuring change. Like how much salt is in the water, or what kinds of creatures live in it, or what the sediment is made of, or…this is an important one, hand me that measuring tape.” Wanda is pleased that she can identify the measuring tape, even though this one looks strange to her. She hands it to Phyllis. “Measuring the water levels.” Phyllis takes it and finds a thick pole spiking out of the water, a little downstream. She measures the water against lines etched into it, writes something down, then wades back over to Wanda.
“Why?”
“Because everything is changing. And the way it’s changing…well, I’m curious about it. We all should be curious about it, because the way we live has to change, too. Some creatures can’t live in this water anymore. Others can. Someday, new ones might evolve.”
“Like what kinds of creatures?”
“All kinds. Mammals, fish, amphibians. Insects. But even smaller ones, too. Infinitesimal creatures.”
“Infini…” Wanda stumbles over the syllables.
“Infinitesimal. It just means very, very small. So small you can’t even see them unless you have a microscope.”
“And they live in the water?”
“They live everywhere. In the water. Inside our bodies. In our colons and stomachs and noses. Humans tend to think the bigger the creature, the more advanced. But tiny creatures have been around for much, much longer. Maybe they know more than we think they do.”
It goes on like this: Phyllis supplying Wanda with a never-ending trail of information, leapfrogging from one question to another. Wanda is not used to her questions being taken so seriously or answered with such patience. She doesn’t have to be afraid of the attention she’s drawing to herself out here by the river. The anxiety of learning indoors is gone—there are no bullies to snicker when she raises her hand. So she asks until there’s nothing left to ask. Until she is full of answers that need ruminating on.
Wanda insists on carrying the field kit on the way back. Phyllis moves a little more slowly now, favoring her right knee, while Wanda darts ahead. There is so much new information spinning through her mind, but she keeps coming back to what Phyllis said about “the way we live.” She isn’t sure what to make of that. Is there another way to live? It had never occurred to her. In the little parking lot, she waits for Phyllis to catch up. Watching her wind between the dying live oaks and the thriving mangroves, the rubber waders still glistening from the river, her hair glowing white beneath the dimness of the tree canopy, Wanda realizes she doesn’t want to go home yet. The excitement of the afternoon is a taste that lingers. Except it’s more than flavor; it’s nourishment. Phyllis reaches her, breathing heavily, a slick of sweat shining on her cheeks.
“Shall we?” Phyllis unlocks the car and Wanda climbs in. Already, she would follow this woman anywhere.
Chapter 35
Kirby dreads Wanda’s birthday parties. It was easier when she was a baby. There were no parties. No need to celebrate a day that felt like a foot on his windpipe. But then she started talking and walking and demanding to know whether there would be cake. To which he could only say, “Of course there will be.” And now there is. The power is back on, so he hangs fairy lights from the trees the morning of the party and hooks them up to the house with an extension cord. This is perhaps the only thing on his to-do list that feels familiar. Lights. Yes, he can turn on the lights, at least.