The Point of Vanishing by Maryka Biaggio (best e ink reader for manga .TXT) 📕

fine dry sand. She groped her way through the darkness, guided on one side by the lapping ocean and the other by the wind rustling the palms, seeking the moistened strip where her feet might gain purchase. Then, a quarter-mile ahead, she spotted the fluttering embers of a bonfire.

She heard voices as she approached and saw swimmers splashing close to shore. She stepped purposely, straining to hear voices, hoping to pick out Barbara’s.

On the beach ahead, she spied a coconut tree, slanting toward the sea, with clothes strewn over its trunk. Then she saw it among the scattered garments: Barbara’s pareu. Turning to the ocean, she scanned the swimmers. There was Barbara, her hair bobbing in the waves. In a man’s embrace.

Kicking off her sandals, she splashed through the water. She closed the distance to thirty feet and called, “Barbara, Barbara.”

Barbara and the young man, who’d been sitting in the water, jerked around and stood. She saw now—the man’s engorgement—and cried out, “Barbara, you mustn’t. Come with me.”

Barbara stood facing her, naked and unmoving, her rounded hips and budding breasts exposed. My God, she thought, she’s turning into a woman. Helen looked at the man. It was Tane. She waved him away and yelled, “Mais non, Tain. Non.”

Tane backed away and dove off.

She rushed toward Barbara, but before she could reach her, Barbara turned and swam away, her powerful arms clipping through the water.

My God, she’s swimming away from the shore. “Stop, Barbara.”

Barbara only kept stroking, the backs of her arms methodically rising and dipping.

She started swimming toward Barbara. No, it was useless. She’d never catch her.

She turned back toward the other swimmers and yelled, “Aidez moi.”

She swam close enough in to touch the ocean floor and high-stepped through the waves. Corie came running to her. Tane and others circled her.

“Regardez,” she said, pointing toward Barbara. “She’ll drown herself. Elle va se noyer.”

“Le proa,” Corie said, turning to Tane and the others. “Prenez le proa.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BARBARA AT FIFTEEN

South Pacific Islands, March-May 1929

She lay abed, by turns throwing off and grasping for her covers. Thoughts as filmy as fog flitted through her mind: my life is ruined; I’ll never write again; if only I could vanish. Time drifted and twisted, sometimes in tedious ticks and other times in sweeping swaths. She thrashed and slept, dozed and moaned, occasionally aware of her mother leaning over her, propping her up and spooning water or broth into her mouth.

Fevered days passed, hardly unnoticed, into desolate nights. She only wanted to escape this weakness of her body. Sweating discomfort and body-shaking chills racked her. Like water sloshing through a sieve, her mind passed between wakefulness and oblivion. She didn’t care if she lived or died.

Her mother’s words floated by like shifting winds: “I love you, my dear girl . . . I promise there is brightness ahead . . . Please don’t give up . . . You’ll be happy again; I know you will.”

Then one morning, she woke for the first time in what seemed like weeks, shaky but clear-headed. Her mother sat beside her, rousing her with soft pleas. “Barbara, your fever has broken . . . wake up.”

She blinked her eyes open.

Her mother stroked her forehead. “I was so afraid I’d lose you.”

Barbara brought her eyes into focus. She felt limp and spent, her stomach hollowed out, her memory hazy.

She ate some mashed banana and drank a cup of weak tea, and then collapsed into a deep sleep.

The next day, her mother told her now that she was out of danger and could travel again, that they must journey on. She’d pack their things; they’d go to Tonga. “There’s an American student there who needs help with his thesis. We have to go where I can find work.”

They secured passage on an inter-island steamer. Their first evening at sea, while Barbara lay in bed, her mother seated herself at the foot of Barbara’s narrow bed. “It’s time for us to talk, Bar. About what happened.”

Barbara had never felt so weak and dispirited, not even that time she had whooping cough. Baby Sabra had just joined the family then, and, despite how sick she felt, she knew she was safe and loved. Now she felt as if her life hung from the slender thread of her mother’s care, and she detested her dependence on her. But she had neither the will nor energy to resist. She raised her face to her mother.

“You mustn’t idealize your father anymore.”

“I don’t. He’s been wretched.”

“You can’t count on him. You shouldn’t.”

“I hate him. He’s nothing to me.”

Her mother dropped her gaze and pinched the bridge of her nose. She snapped her head up and held Barbara’s gaze. “Then why did you try to kill yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be this way, Bar. If Tane and his friend hadn’t rowed out to you, you would’ve drowned. I was there. I saw it all. You scared me and everybody else.”

“I wouldn’t have drowned.”

“Please don’t lie to me. I’m your mother.”

Her mother was the reason her father wasn’t coming back. It was her father she needed now, not her mother. He was her muse and guide. She flared her nostrils and steeled her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Look, you’re 15; you have your whole life ahead of you. You can’t let your father ruin your future.”

“But he has. Both of you have.”

Her mother scooted off the bed and knelt by her side. “Promise me you’ll not allow your selfish father to control your life like this. Please, Bar. Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”

She hated this haranguing. Her mother didn’t understand. She’d not wanted to leave Tahiti. Her parents had ruined it for her. “All right, I won’t. Now leave me alone.”

“You’re promising, then?”

“Yes, I said I am.”

“Thank God.” Her mother stood and looked down on her. “And as soon as we earn enough money for passage, we’re going back to the States. These islands aren’t good for