Zia

  Mando was torn between the shore and the ship. He kept looking back over his shoulder until the topmost masts disappeared. From time to time, even then he would look back and sigh.

  "You are sorry," I said, "that they did not send out their longboats and catch us."

  "Nothing happens at the Mission," he said. "You work in the fields and clean the weeds out of the water ditches and sweep up the courtyard and light the candles."

  "On the Boston Boy you would carry tea to the captain. That is all," I replied. "It is not much. But if you want to be a sailor, Father Vicente will see that you find a place on one of the ships. Maybe a ship where you will be a sailor and not a servant."

  I had never been on this Ventura shore before in a boat. It looked like the shore at Santa Barbara farther up the coast, but there was a spit of land that ran out that had a rocky point. Between the spit and the shore was a cave. The water seemed to be quiet there and the breakers smaller than they were farther to the south. It was this cave that I aimed for.

  As we approached the breakers and were squaring the boat, holding it back as best we could to catch one of the smaller waves, a current caught us. It had foam around its edges and was running swift in a line with the beach toward the rocky spit.

  "Paddle hard away from the shore," I shouted to my brother. "That way we may free ourselves from the current."

  We both put all our strength into turning the boat away from the breakers, thinking that we could wait until the current let us free.

  But the current, with its white edges, held the boat and bore us past the cave and toward the rocks, as if we were a chip of wood.

  "Be ready to jump," I said.

  We were both good swimmers and as the boat struck the rocks and keeled over we jumped. The water was cold. For a while we had to fight the tide that had swept us into the rocks. The rocks were too slippery to cling to and the barnacles cut my hands. Finally, we both freed ourselves from the rocky ledge and the tide and struck out for the beach, which was not far off.

  Dozens of Indians were there on the beach as we staggered ashore. We were scratched and bruised but we were alive. It was sad to see the Island Girl, pounded by the waves, slowly drifting toward us.

  The Indians gave us dry clothes and some bowls of clam soup and dried beef. We were exhausted and slept all afternoon and that night. In the morning Captain Nidever rode up to talk to us.

  "If there is anything left of the Island Girl," I told him, "it is yours, if you want it."

  The boat had washed ashore and was in splinters.

  "There's good wood left in her," he said. "I can use it."

  I handed him the compass, which I had wrapped in oilskin before we left the ship and wore around my neck.

  He unwrapped it and took some directions. "Good as new," he said. "Never thought I'd get it back. I'll use it when I go to the Island of the Blue Dolphins."

  "When?" I said.

  "Soon."

  "When?" I asked again.

  "Maybe in three months. Maybe sooner. Maybe later."

  "Can I go with you?"

  "We'll see," he said, putting the compass in his jacket. "Women aren't good luck on a ship."

  "I brought the Boston Boy good luck. They harpooned four whales while I was aboard the ship."

  "Boston Boy?"

  He looked surprised so I told him what had happened to us on the whaler. When I had finished the story he still looked surprised.

  "You're lucky you didn't end up in Boston," he said.

  "Can I go with you?" I asked him again.

  "I'll think it over," he said.

  11

  EVERY WEEK during the rest of the summer I went down the beach to see Captain Nidever. Just before fall I saw him at the Chumash village near Ventura. It was a pretty village that sat on the curve of a shallow headland with a white beach in front of it. The Chumash kept their canoes on this beach and it was here that I found him talking with three men.

  I waited until he was finished talking and then I went and stood by his horse. After he came over and got on his horse he looked down at me and smiled.

  "I'll be going out to the island one of these days," he said.

  "When will it be?" I asked him.

  He pushed his hat, which had a high crown and a silver band around it, far back on his head.

  "Well, I can't say exactly. Depends."

  He was thinking and I waited for him to get through.

  "I bought two canoes from the Chumash," he said.

  I did not know why he needed two but I did not ask him.

  "I'm lashing the canoes together, with a little deck between. That way we can put up a bigger sail. We can go faster and bring home more pelts with two canoes lashed together with a deck between. I am using some of the wood from what is left of your boat. What I need now is a stout sail."

  "I can weave a sail, Captain Nidever. I have woven many mats at the Mission."

  "It'll need to be stronger than a mat and tight to hold the wind."

  "I can do both. I can weave the sail from reeds and young willows." In my excitement it did not matter to me that he was going to the island to kill otter and not to find Karana. "I can weave it as strong and tight as you wish."

  "How long will it take?"

  "I can only work at night," I said. "In the daytime I have to work for the Mission."

  Captain Nidever pushed his hat back again. "Let's see. This is August. Could you do it by September? Around the middle."

  I counted the days on my fingers. I counted the hours I would be able to work at night, since the lamps were put out at nine o'clock. I worked it all out by making marks in the sand.

  "September," I said.

  "Good," Captain Nidever said.

  The Captain turned his big white horse around.

  "The footprints you saw on the island last summer," I said. "How many did you see?"

  "I didn't count them, miss. But I'd say a dozen or more. Looked as if whoever it was saw us first, ran out of the water across the sand, jumped up on a rock, and climbed a steep cliff. Scared, I guess, of white men."

  "You are sure it was a girl?"

  "Sure of it, as sure as you can be of anything. Not small feet, exactly, but not big either. Sort of in-between. A man wouldn't have been scared of us, I don't think. Any girl would run and hide, if she had any sense, that is."

  I would have been scared, too. Neither Captain Nidever nor a friend of his named Curt were kindly looking men. They both carried guns and daggers. It would be wise to run from them and hide and not answer when they called.

  I had been thinking about this for many months now. It was in my thoughts so I spoke it.

  "When you go to the island," I said, "if you decide not to take me would you take one of the padres?"

  "Why?"

  "So the girl, so Karana, will see that he is not like other men. That he is dressed in different clothes and carries no weapons and has a kindly look. Then her fear will not keep her from coming with you."

  "My look is not kindly?" the captain asked.

  "No," I said, "with all respect to you. No."

  The captain laughed.

  "What size is this padre? Most of them can't lift one adobe brick without dropping it on their foot."

  "He's not so big as you."

  "Not many are," the captain said proudly.

  "But he's half as big as you. And he does not eat much."

  "When you come next time, perhaps next week, bring this padre and we'll see if he's half as big. The eating, I doubt. I've never seen one yet, big or small, who couldn't eat an ox."

  "His name is Father Vicente," I said.

  "I don't care about his name. Does he get seasick and can he lift an oar?"

  I did not know about these things—oars and seasickness—but "He is a brave man," I said.

  "We'll need that," the captain said. "Bravery is good to have."

  "I will bring him here," I said. "And you can look and see for yourself."
br />   "Bravery you can't see," said the captain. "But if he has a paunch, even a little one, don't bring him. That you can see and it means only one thing."

  Captain Nidever had a paunch, but he was a big man and strong. Father Vicente did not have a paunch, even a small one, but he was not very strong.

  "I will bring him," I said. "And myself, with your permission."

  In answer, he tipped his hat and rode away.

  12

  THE NEXT WEEK, with my two friends, Rosa and Anita, I went to see Captain Nidever again.

  It was a windy day but the sun was bright and hot. The tide was low and we walked along the beach until we came to the place where Captain Nidever was making his boat. It looked different since I had been there last.

  "You have worked much," I said to him.

  "Done the hardest part. The rest is easier," Captain Nidever said.

  "I came to see how big I must make the sail," I said.

  Captain Nidever had a long string with marks on it, which he used for measuring. With it he measured the size of the sail. He cut off two pieces of string from a roll he had and gave them to me.

  "One," he said, "the short one, is the width at the top and the other the width at the bottom. The sail will be almost square and the height about three times as tall as you are."

  Rosa and Anita wanted to stay and watch Captain Nidever work, but the tide was coming in, so we left for home.

  There was a trail to the Mission, but it was long and dusty and at this season of the year rattlesnakes came out to warm themselves. This was the time they were sluggish and did not like to run away. For that reason they were more dangerous, except in late spring when they shed their skins and were blind.

  I think most of the rattlesnakes in California lived in our hills because the hills were so sunny. And all kinds lived there—some were the color of the brown manzanita bush and some the color of gray granite and some had dark diamonds on their backs.

  They would always run away or try to hide, unless they were blind and sluggish; but I was scared when I saw one, like everyone else, even though I always felt sorry for them. It must be terrible, I thought, to be something that everyone fears and hates and tries to kill if they can.

  We girls chose to walk along the shore, which is longer, but it was still light when we got home. I started to weave the sail that night. Rosa and Anita decided to help me, but I would rather have done the weaving alone. I really wanted to make the voyage to the island alone. Although I had never seen Karana I had a great love for her and I did not want to share it with anyone. I was very selfish when I was fourteen. I am still selfish but not so much.

  Because Father Vicente had given us the afternoon to go to see Captain Nidever, we had to work extra. An hour that night in the kitchen and two hours in the morning making things that the Mission sold to Yankee traders, and again in the kitchen the next night.

  It was two days, therefore, until we could work again on the reed and willow sail.

  About a week later we finished it and took it to Captain Nidever. The sail would have fit perfectly except that he had decided to lessen the height, so we had to trim the edges and bind it with heavy cord.

  Father Vicente went with us to talk to Captain Nidever.

  "Do you think that it would help for me to go along?" Father Vicente asked Captain Nidever.

  "Can you catch otter?" the captain asked.

  "I am not a hunter," Father Vicente said. "But I can wield an oar. I have traveled the big river in Panama with a canoe."

  "The sea and the river are different."

  "They both have their problems," Father Vicente said. "Have you ever traveled a river where there are crocodiles everywhere? As far as you can see there are eyes watching you, bobbing up and down like corks, but watching?"

  "That I haven't done, nor do I intend to," the captain said. "But I think we have a better chance of finding the girl if you go with us. Not so many otter, however. Do you want to go? We don't promise you anything, Father, but a rough voyage. The girl may not be on the island at all. The footprints could belong to someone else. Probably do, but we can make a try. Curt and I aren't going out there to chase around over the hills and rocks looking for a girl. We're going to catch otter. If you want to see if you can find her, it's all right with me."

  "I will go. Now. Tomorrow. Whenever you wish," Father Vicente said.

  I had always loved Father Vicente since I first came to the Mission, but never so much as I did now. He was a small, thin, young man, pale and not very strong. Why should he go many miles through the rough seas to an island of rocks and treacherous winds to search for a girl he had never seen? Why should he search for someone who might not even be alive or there on the island at all?

  I asked him. "Father Vicente," I said, "why do you risk your life for a girl you have never seen?"

  He squirmed around in his gray robe. "There is little risk. Captain Nidever is a good sailor. He has been to the island before."

  "What if he cannot find it? What if he sails past the island and falls off where the ocean ends?"

  "The ocean goes on and on, so he will not fall off."

  Father Vicente did not want to explain why he was risking his life. "Your aunt must be lonely living there by herself for so many years," he said.

  "Yes," I said. "I would not like to live alone."

  "Without God," he added.

  I said no more, knowing now why he was going far out to sea among reefs and high waves and wild winds.

  Captain Nidever looked closely at Father Vicente and for a long time as if he were measuring the size of a piece of timber.

  "We're going to the island for otter," he said. "We require space for the pelts we bring back. You look as if you'd take up little room, about as much as three full-grown otter, so I guess we can take you." He turned to his friend, Curt, who had come with a bucket of pitch. "What do you think?"

  Curt said, "He can go in my place."

  I guess Curt must have been joking because Captain Nidever laughed.

  "Next week," the captain said, "if the good weather holds."

  "I am ready any time," Father Vicente said. "Let me know the day before you leave."

  "I would like to go, too," I said to Captain Nidever. "You told me once that you would think about it."

  Captain Nidever replied, "I've thought. I've given it much thought. Many times."

  I could tell by his words and by the way he said them that he had made up his mind.

  "You could cook for us and use an oar if need be, but we lack room. There is no place for you in such a small boat."

  I said no more. I could tell that he had never thought of taking me. But still I was happy that someone was going at last. Whether I could go or not mattered only to me.

  13

  ON FRIDAY of the next week Captain Nidever came to the Mission and told Father Vicente to get his things ready for they would be leaving at sunrise.

  "A small bottle of fresh water is about all you'll need," he said. "Maybe a strip or two of dried beef. And a heavy cloak and cowl. It won't hurt to bring a knife, too."

  Everyone helped to get Father Vicente ready. Even Madre Enrica, who looked after the kitchen and the place where we all slept and did not like to work much, helped.

  We found him a small olla that had a handle and would hold two gallons of water. We packed ten strips of dried venison, each strip a yard long, and wrapped each of them well. Anita and Rosa and I worked most of the night and knitted him a cowl that fitted his head tight and came down over his shoulders. We knitted it with red wool and put a tassel on top, so we could see him when he was still far off. We polished the best knife in the armory, the one that had a long, curved blade with an ivory handle. Father Vicente thanked us for our trouble, but did not take the knife with him.

  Long before dawn I was awake and dressed and out on the beach. It was not long before most everyone was on the beach. The tide was low and we walked down to the Chumash village near Ve
ntura. Father Vicente looked paler than he usually did. I guess he was thinking about getting seasick already.

  Captain Nidever and Curt had dragged the boat to the water's edge and they stood waiting for us to come and help them. For some reason the Chumash did not offer to help them. I think it was because they were very religious people and did not think it right for white men to kill otter and sell the pelts to other white men. That is what was said, but I do not know.

  The tide was out and the surf was coming in knee-deep, so we had no trouble pushing the boat into the water and beyond the small breakers.

  Then while everyone shouted instructions to Father Vicente, Captain Nidever put up his square sail we had woven and the boat moved away to the west. It went very slow. For a long time I could see Father Vicente's cowl bobbing up and the red tassel waving in the wind.

  When the boat had disappeared Gito Cruz, who was the mayordomo of the Santa Barbara Mission, motioned us to follow him and we went back to the bluff above the beach at Santa Barbara.

  He turned around and faced the ocean and pointed. "Mira," he said. "Look, and you will see the boat."

  We all looked where he was pointing and to our surprise there was the boat again, the square sail and the three men.

  "Why can we see the boat now but when we were on the beach it had disappeared?" my friend Rosa asked.

  "Very insignificante," said Gito Cruz, who liked to talk in Spanish and English both, often at the same time. "You see," he said, "the world is round like the orange. When we were there on the beach we could see a certain distance because the earth, being round like an orange, curves away from us as we look at it. But when we stand up here on the cliff we can see beyond the curve. Understand?"

  He looked around to see that everyone knew what he was talking about and everyone nodded to let him know they understood. I nodded my head also, although I did not understand about the world being round.

  "If we go higher," he said, "if we climb up in the belfry, we will be able to see them when they are even farther away than they are now. Understand?"