Dragon Moon

A few moments later, a grey fluke rises from the water and slaps down again. The manatee it belongs to pokes its snout above the water and blows out air in a single huff.

Henri looks at me. "Can I Papa?"

Just as glad not to explain anymore this morning, I nod, smile as my son runs toward the dock.

The manatee has visited us before but this is the first time I’ve allowed Henri to greet the beast by himself. I sit down next to the gumbo limbo tree, lean against its trunk, let the sun dappled shade beneath its branches cool me as I watch my son begin to unravel the hose I keep coiled on the dock near where my boat is tied.

I have to will myself not to interfere as Henri grabs the top coil with both hands and yanks, barely budging more than a few coils. The hose curls into a spiral as he pulls, resisting his attempts to straighten it, but the boy jerks and yanks until enough is free to make it manageable.

Henri gives it a final tug, looks up at me and smiles, then turns his attention to the spigot. Holding the hose nozzle with one hand, he attempts to turn the valve with the other. It refuses to give. To my son’s credit, he just bites on his lower lip and tries again, struggling with the stubborn valve until it too succumbs to his attentions and begins to rotate.

Water flows, then shoots from the nozzle, the hose becoming alive, twisting and flexing. Henri holds onto it with both hands, tries to point it - first splattering water on the dock - then wetting the bow, the cockpit, the outboard motors of my boat.

For a moment I wonder whether the hose or Henri is in control. I start to get up but, before I can, the boy manages to direct the stream toward the manatee, the water shooting up, forming a shallow arc, splashing into the surface of the calm harbor.

The beast swims toward the dock, putting its head directly into the flow. Henri smiles. Crouching by the edge of the dock, leaning over the water, he offers the hose end to the ugly thing. It nuzzles and slurps at the nozzle like it’s nursing. Almost taking it into its mouth as it drinks the fresh water, the manatee accidentally nuzzles my son’s hand too and he giggles loud enough for the sound to reach me.

I grin. Too bad, I think, that Elizabeth never had the opportunity to hear him laugh. I shake my head as I lament the short time she and I had together - the emptiness I feel without her.

Henri’s a beautiful boy, a worthy subject for my devotion. Still, it’s been almost four years since I’ve felt any female’s touch, almost fours years since I’ve ventured to the mainland.

My man, Arturo, nags me constantly to leave the island. I’ve never explained that Henri lacks the necessary self-control to be around ordinary people or to have anyone but me watch him - nor would I. The man’s paid to run my business and to do my bidding, not to offer personal advice.

Still, just the other day, he said again. "I admire your dedication to the boy. But you need to get out some. You need to have some sort of life . . . At least let’s arrange to bring you a woman . . ."

I sighed into the phone. "Let’s not. When Henri’s four, he should be old enough for me to take from the island.