GINNY BATES: DYKUS AMERICANUS

(Fernando de Noronha, Brasil)

All right, fans, here's another shorter segment of my novel-in-progress, Ginny Bates. This occurs after a brief unwritten gap following my last post a day ago. If you are already a familiar reader, begin below. If you need background, check the links in the sidebar on the right, fifth item down, to get caught up.

June 2010 -- on the protected Atlantic island of Fernando de Noronha, 340 miles off the coast of Recife, Brazil. This island is a Brazilian marine preserve whose visitors are strictly limited. They have walked from their bungalow up a trail along some cliffs overlooking the ocean and stopped in a little grove, a flat place carved from the cliffs. Myra is 54, Ginny is 53, Margie is 20, Gillam is 18.

"On the trail here, did you look down into those coves at the bottom of the cliffs? I want to see them up close" said Margie.

"Let's go" said Gillam, standing up and brushing off his khaki shorts.

Ginny was leaned back on her elbows with her legs crossed. She cocked her head up at Gillam. "It's too hot for more climbing right now" she said.

Myra agreed, "I'm just not the scrambler over rocks I once was. But if you two go, please be super careful. We're hundreds of miles out in the Atlantic, serious injuries are much more serious here."


Margie picked up one of the bottles of water and stuck it in her fanny pack. "No doubt you'll both produce some spectacular art based on this trip, and half of it will be cribbed from what we tell you about or the photos we take while you two nap" she teased.

"We always thank you in our pretty little speeches about all those who made it possible for us to blah blah blah" replied Ginny.

Gillam snorted, then touched his shoe to Myra's toes. "See ya."

He and Margie headed down the narrow, cliff-hugging trail. After they were gone, Myra said "One thing I love about this spot is that despite its commanding view of the Atlantic, there isn't another place on the island that can look down into this little protected grove."

"I noticed that too" grinned Ginny, rolling over on top of Myra. "Oh, look, one of your shirt buttons has come undone."

A couple of hundred yards down the trail, Margie suddenly stopped. "Shit" she said, "I forgot my sunglasses. I'm already a little headachey."

Gillam turned around. "No sweat, at least we're not that far." They started back up the trail, Margie about ten feet ahead of Gillam. Right before the turn in the trail that led into the clearing where they had all been gathered, Margie stopped and seemed to be listening. She delicately parted the leaves of a thick bush and peered into the clearing. As Gillam reached her, she put her finger up to her lips.

"What is it, a bird?" he whispered, trying to see through the leaves as well.

She giggled silently. "Yeah, the rare dykus americanus in a mating ritual" she whispered.

Gillam pulled back abruptly. "Don't look" he said.

"Haven't you ever wondered what they do together?" said Margie.

"They're always in some kind of physical contact, we know what they do together" he said reprovingly.

"Not really. They could be totally different when they're alone. Aren't you the least bit curious?" she said, her gaze fixed on the clearing.

"Not in the least" he said. Then, raising his voice to a loud tone, he said "I swear, Margie, you'd think the one thing you wouldn't forget in the tropics is sunglasses."

Margie saw her mothers break apart hastily. Gillam counted to 15, which should be enough time to zip zippers and look like they had when he left. Even so, he kept his eyes on the trail as he came out from behind the bush, laughing, until he got to the blanket.

"Quick trip" said Ginny, forcing herself to breathe normally.

"Margie left her sunglasses. Ah, there they are." He scooped them up, then squatted down and asked Myra in a confidential tone "One thing I've haven't asked yet is what kind of venomous snakes are likely to be here. Or nasty insects, for that matter. Are the scorpions here those deadly sorts?"

Myra sat up. "I don't know. I haven't read anything about it, but I haven't looked for it, either."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just be hypervigilant" he said. He stood up again and started for the trail again. "See you soon" he called back over his shoulder.

When he got to the bush, Margie hissed "Killjoy." He handed her the sunglasses, grinning, and tromped back down the trail, Margie on his heels.

Myra looked at Ginny, who said dryly "I think maybe Gillam would rather us not fuck on the hillside."

They laughed together. "I'm really glad to see them and have the next month with them. But, Myra, I feel like I need a lot more time with just you. I'm thinking after they go back home, we should extend our trip, wherever we want to be, until we're filled up with each other. I am so ready to be your sweetheart first and last thing every day."

"As if we aren't already" smiled Myra.

"You know what I mean" said Ginny. "We did the right thing, having children, doing it when we did. But my god it was harder than I ever imagined it would be."

"Me, too, and I'm known for my imagination" said Myra.

"You and me -- we've had some really hard patches over the last decade" said Ginny slowly. "We've had to work nonstop some weeks just to tread water. And, I want to acknowledge...I think I had a harder time holding up my end of things for a long while there. I -- I lost it after Margie was raped."

Myra held Ginny's hand, then said "I honestly believe we are both exceptional mothers."

"Yes, but -- you had a role model for mothering. I know your mom wasn't perfect, but she taught you some superb skills. Me, on the other hand -- I had the modified kind of parenting Daddy could offer and then all the examples of how not to mother from my mom. Which I made the most of, I'm not putting myself down. At least not completely. But positive models go further in the final analysis than negative ones."

"I think you're forgetting how badly I lost it" said Myra. "Talk about brain-dead..."

"Well, moron" said Ginny, laughing with Myra, "First of all that wasn't your choice, and secondly -- oh, never mind, it was godawful, you're right, and I did step up to the plate. I redeemed myself, and it made me feel like your equal again."

"Ginny -- you really didn't feel like my equal?" said Myra, cupping Ginny's face in her hand.

"I really didn't, not for a few years. I don't think I was. And one thing I want you to hear: Whatever mistakes I've made, however I've failed, it was never a failure in how I've loved you I've never had a flicker of alteration in how I've loved you." She kissed Myra tenderly.

"I know that, Ginny Bates. I actually do know that, through and through. Remember how much insecurity used to come up for me, about how I was going to blow it with you? You told me to get over it, and after a hellish slog, I finally did. And here's my reward, I get to be completely sure of you."

Ginny had started crying lightly, a lopsided grin still on her face.

"Here" said Myra, "Let me kiss those off your sweet cheeks for you, they might dry out your skin too much."

Ginny offered her cheeks, giggling. After a little while, Myra said "Now look, here we are again, you back on top of me and my pants unfastened."

Ginny feigned surprise. "How does this keep happening?"

"Maybe, as a token concession to modesty, we should forego oral pleasures and keep my shirt buttoned up" suggested Myra.

"I could put my hand in your pants and just finger you" said Ginny.

"Do that finger that you fing so well" laughed Myra.

"I bet I can make you come, big-time, in less than two minutes" said Ginny.

Myra grinned at her: "Name that tune."

Less than two minutes later, Myra was gasping "How did you do that? Am I just ridiculously easy?"

"No, I"m just that good" said Ginny smugly. Then, relenting, she said "We know each other better than most people ever do. We could probably do it that fast every time. But what a waste of fun, eh?"

"Roll over here to my left side, I'm right-handed, you know. And I'm taking myself off the clock" said Myra.


© 2008 Maggie Jochild