It seemed reasonable, but I said nothing. Much of religion is a reply to fear.
Delia said, 'The cross, it's not like a Christianity thing, but it represents all that's good. These doors within doors, they're like the doors to heaven where those big storms come from. Plus they also represent something else, some ancient place. I can't quite remember where she said it was, but it was a place that had stone pyramids.' Delia turned the totem toward me. 'From that angle, see how the doors resemble one of those squarish pyramids you see in the Geographic?'
It was true. They reminded me of the entrance to the Temple of the Jaguar at Tikal in Guatemala.
Now Delia turned the totem over. 'On the back, the gold medallion had the same thing, these crescent moons. Dorothy said they represented endless hope. She called them Tortugas moons, just like she called a nice balmy breeze a Tortugas wind. Living on Marco, both were from that direction, the southwest.
'Then there's these two square holes, side by side. If I hold it up, see how they're black? Dorothy said they're like the pupils of God's own eyes. That's what the Indians believed, that our souls are in the pupils of our eyes-but wait, you already said the exact same thing at the funeral.' Now she put her hand on Tomlinson's arm; gave it a squeeze. 'I know I already told you, but you did a real good job. I loved what you said. It was a lot better than the first sermon the preacher gave over her.'
Delia finished her beer and stood. 'I don't know how Dorothy learned all that she did, or knew all that she knew. In ways, she was like a stranger. But I loved her more than my own life. You folks ready for another round? I'll get it.'
I watched her walk away, a woman accustomed to pain. It happens sometimes: a parent and child so dissimilar that it seems one could not be related to the other. I saw nothing of Delia in what I imagined the girl, Dorothy, to be.
Tomlinson nudged me and said, 'You're doing it again. Drifting away.'
The person who'd found Dorothy's body was Ted Bauerstock.
I sat a little straighter when Delia told us that; sat listening very carefully. It was a couple hours or so before sunset, the westward light already illuminating reflective markers out on the channel.
Across the water, mangroves on Ronrico Key were black; the hulls of anchored boats were a lucent white.
'Mr. Bauerstock and Teddy, they were out hiking on their property. Indian Hills was right behind where we lived at the time, and they found her on the highest mound. She had her favorite dress on, the one I buried her in. She had a rope around her neck, hanging from a branch so low that her feet still touched the ground.'
Delia stopped for a moment to regain control of her emotions. Took a drink of her beer, lit a cigarette. Her hands were shaking. 'That's why I think she was experimenting with unconsciousness. Haven't you heard of kids doing that? Shut their air off until they hallucinate or have visions. She was having such terrible dreams by that time-and always about that damn medallion-I think she was just looking for some relief. Didn't leave a note, didn't tell me goodbye. Dorothy would of never left me like that. She was too kind, too loving.'
'What did Ted and Ivan Bauerstock do when they found her?'
'They did the best they could, I guess. She was still warm. She hadn't been gone long. Him and Teddy both did mouth-to-mouth. But no use. I know it was real hard on both of 'em. They both knew Dorothy because she spent so much time poking around their Indian mounds. She always had permission, anytime she wanted. They knew about her gift. Everybody on Marco knew. Teddy was one of the few who didn't make fun of her or talk about how weird she was.' Delia smiled, eyes glazed with introspection. 'He was quite a bit older, four or five years. But I think Dorothy had a kind of crush on him. Her first crush, and I think Teddy knew it.'
'You and the Bauerstock family, you've remained close ever since?'
Delia shook her head. 'Finding her upset Teddy so bad that he left Marco right afterwards. Went off to some expensive boarding school. The place they sent him was more like a monastery, very strict-there was just a story about him in the Herald. It had him saying how it improved his fife, going to such a strict school. Lord knows, he could have turned out bad instead of being such a good, successful man. His mama died when he was real young, and his daddy, he's such a rich, busy man he didn't have much time for kids or dirt-poor neighbors like me. I thought Teddy'd forgotten all about us until he called just a couple days ago, asking if there was anything he could do to help. He read about Dorothy in the papers.'
I touched the wooden totem. 'Did you ever tell Ted or anyone else about this? Where you'd put it.'
'I don't think I ever saw Ted Bauerstock again until yesterday. I may have told some other people. I can't remember. The months after Dorothy's death are a blur. There's a lot of it I don't remember. I remember despising that damn gold medallion. It's what killed my little girl. I believe it to this day. It's got all those good, godly signs on it, but it's not good. It's like the fallen angel, that's what I think.
'One night, when I was 'bout half crazy, I damn near threw the thing into the ocean. There was a big rainstorm going on; lots of lightning. I stood there on the beach at Marco, holding the medallion up at the sky, hoping God would strike me dead and put me out of my misery. Throwing it into the ocean, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But I didn't. What I did made even less sense than that. At least throwin' it into the water would've been just between God and me.' Delia's thin laughter was very old, very tired, but it still had a spark of life and amusement. 'Us country women, we never seem to miss a chance to show how dumb and trustin' we can be.'
What Delia did was give the medallion away.
A month after Dorothy's funeral, a man had contacted Delia at the chickee bar in Goodland where she worked. He'd just moved down with hopes of getting into the construction business, he said, but collecting Indian artifacts-pot hunting, he called it-was his hobby. He was from New Jersey, had a wife and kid, and he seemed trustworthy.
He told Delia that he'd met Dorothy and had actually helped steer her toward the water court on Swamp Angel Ways. He'd known it was a likely spot because of his more mature knowledge, but he was happy to let the young girl take the credit because publicity meant nothing to him.
'I should'a knowed right then he was lying. Dorothy didn't need no help from Yankee trash like that. The guy made it sound like he'd been so much help to Dorothy, but always staying in the background, that he could make a claim on the medallion if he wanted.'
I'd guessed the man's name before Delia said it: Frank Rossi.
Fifteen years and forty pounds ago, though, he'd been a very convincing fellow. Delia described him as a big talker, loud voice, very dominant.
That made sense. Obnoxious fathers tend to raise obnoxious sons.
Rossi finally worked the conversation around to psychic powers. He had none, but he knew a woman from Immokalee who did. He'd attended one of her seances and was very impressed. She was like a gypsy woman, only she wasn't a gypsy, and had amazing powers. Why not contact the woman, ask her to hold a seance and see if they could speak to Dorothy from the grave?
A parent who has lost a child will do anything on just the chance of meeting with that child one more time.
Delia said yes. Sat at a table in candlelight, her and Rossi and a dumpy old woman, who smelled like a drunk. She listened to the woman ask questions as if speaking to Dorothy's ghost. The table shook and ratded and Dorothy's 'ghost' rapped on the table in reply.
'I knew it was either her or Rossi knocking on that table. I had the sickest feeling in my stomach because I wanted so bad for it to be Dorothy. To kiss her sweet face one last time, to tell her I loved her. I pretended to believe for the same reason we all do-because I wanted to believe.
'When the woman asked Dorothy if I should keep the medallion or give it away because it was cursed, I knew what the answer was going to be. But know what?' Delia swirled the beer in her bottle, looking at its amber sparkle. 'That was the only time I felt Dorothy really was in the room. I could feel her there. She really didn't want me to have it. I could almost hear her say, 'Don't keep it!'
'So I gave it away. Gave it to him, Frank Rossi. Made him real happy. We'd gone to my little place to get it, just the two of us alone, and he went out to his car to get a bottle of wine. He said why not have a couple glasses, help us relax after dealing with the spirit world. But I know he went to the car to hide the medallion so's I couldn't change my mind.'
Delia looked from me to Tomlinson to Nora, the sad, bemused expression still on her face. 'Know what Frank Rossi said to me yesterday at the funeral? Same thing he said to me after strippin' me out of my clothes that night
