Bless Me, Ultima(94)

I had to laugh with him because I was excited and happy that we were going to let Florence in on our secret. Perhaps later Jasón would know, and then maybe others. It seemed like the beginning of adoration of something simple and pure.

We made our way up the creek until we were just below the Blue Lake. On this side of the lake there was a concrete wall with a spillway. As the lake filled it emptied in a slow trickle into el Rito. No one was allowed to swim along the wall because the water was very deep and full of thick weeds, and because the lifeguard was on the other side. But as we came up the gentle slope we heard the shouts of swimmers. I recognized Horse and the others shouting and waving at us.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Cico said.

“Something’s wrong,” I answered. I heard the pitch of fear in their voices as they called and gestured frantically.

“Remember, we tell only Florence,” Cico cautioned.

“I know,” I replied.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Abel cried.

“It’s a joke,” Cico said as we neared the gang.

“No, something’s happened—” We sprinted the last few yards and came to the edge of the culvert. “What?” I asked.

“Florence is down there!” Bones cried.

“Florence hasn’t come up! He hasn’t come up!” Abel sobbed and tugged at my arm.

“How long?” I shouted and worked myself loose from Abel. It was not a joke. Something was wrong!

“A long time!” Horse nodded through the spittle in his mouth. “He dived,” he pointed into the deep water, “and he didn’t come up! Too long!”

“Florence,” I groaned. We had come seeking Florence to share our secret with him, a secret of the dark, deep-blue water in which he swam.

“He drowned, he drowned,” Bones whimpered.

“How long?” I wanted to know, “how long has he been in the water?” But their fright would not let them answer. I felt Cico’s hand on my shoulder.

“Florence is a good swimmer,” Cico said.

“But he’s been down too long,” Abel whimpered.

“What do we do?” Horse asked nervously. He was frightened.

I grabbed Abel. “Go get the lifeguard!” I pointed across the lake where the high school boys loitered on the pier and dove off the high board to show off for the girls. “Tell anyone you can find there’s been an accident here!” I shouted into his fear-frozen face. “Tell them there’s a drowning!” Abel nodded and scampered up the path that cut around the side of the lake. He was instantly lost in the tall green reeds of the cattails.

It was a warm day. I felt the sweat cold on my face and arms. The sun glistened on the wide waters of the lake.

“Wha—?”

“Dive after him!”

“No! No!” Horse shook his head violently and bolted back.

“I’ll dive,” Cico said. He began to strip.

“Too late!”

We looked and saw the body come up through the water, rolling over and over in a slow motion, reflecting the sunlight. The long blonde hair swirled softly, like golden seaweed, as the lake released its grip and the body tumbled up. He surfaced near where we stood on the edge of the culvert. His open eyes stared up at us. There was a white film over them.

“Oh my God—”

“Help me!” Cico said and grabbed an arm. We pulled and tried to tear the dead weight of his body from the waters of the lake.

There was a red spot on Florence’s forehead where he must have hit bottom or the edge of the culvert. And there was some rusty-black barbed wire around one arm. That must have held him down.

“Horse!” I shouted, “help us!” The weight was too much for Cico and me. Horse hesitated, closed his eyes and grabbed a leg. Then he pulled like a frightened animal. At first he almost tipped us all back into the water, but he lunged and his frantic strength pulled Florence over the side of the culvert.

Bones would not come near. He stood away, a dry, rattling sound echoing from his throat. He was vomiting and the vomit ran down his chest and stomach and dirtied his swimming trunks. He didn’t know he was vomiting. His wild eyes just stared at us as we pulled Florence on the sand.

I looked across the lake and saw the high school boys pointing excitedly toward us. Some were already convinced something was wrong and were sprinting up the path. They would be here in seconds.

“Damn!” Cico cursed, “he’s dead for sure. He’s cold and heavy, like death—”

“¡Chingada!” Horse muttered and turned away.

I dropped to my knees beside the bronzed, wet body. I touched his forehead. It was cold. His hair was matted with moss and water. Sand clung to his skin, and as he dried little black sand ants began to crawl over him. I crossed my forehead and prayed an Act of Contrition like I had for Narciso, but it was no good. Florence had never believed.