She flips over, wriggles backward till her legs are hanging over the edge, lands on her feet, wobbles in a crouch till she gets her balance, then trots into her mother’s bedroom.
Her mother is deep asleep, lying on her stomach with her light brown hair in a tangle over her face and shoulders. Faan holds her breath and scurries across the room. She raises on her toes, stretches up, gets her fingers on the latch handle, pulls it down, and leans into the door. It opens and she slides through the gap after a quick guilty look at her mother.
She manages to get all the way outside before the guardian sprites of Jal Virri catch her, strip off her nightgown and her damp diaper, and dress her in a dainty; lacy shift. They play with her a moment, then go back to the never-ending work of keeping the house and garden in order.
› › ‹ ‹
She is watching a frog hop beside a pond when she hears the humming. For several minutes she sits on her grubby heels and listens, then she shakes her head impatiently, gets clumsily to her feet. Wiping her muddy hands on the shift she starts toward the sound. ‘‘Maksi,” she says. As she trots around the house, she makes a song of the name. “Maksi, Maksi, Mak la la si la la Mak la la si la la Mak la la seeee…”
When she sees the boat and the Bee-eyed Woman standing in it, she stops and stares. “Not Maksi.”
The humming grows louder and more compelling. Faan slows. She doesn’t like that woman’s eyes. They frighten her.
Step by step the Bee-eyed Woman hums her closer. Closer.
She is walking on sand now. She doesn’t like walking on sand. It gets between her toes and makes them sore. Closer.
Mamay said never go in the water.
The sprites said never go in the water.
They aren’t here now.
She whimpers, but the sprites don’t come.
The water is cold. It pushes at her. She stumbles and goes floundering under the surface.