Potion Magazine - Poetry + Fiction
Cris Mazza
Waterbaby
a novel

Preamble

She felt a seizure coming on for the first time in 25 years. The quarter-century anniversary of the convulsion named Denny. Either the grand mal aura stage induced memories of him, or a stray memory jarred loose by accident (or incident) caused the aura stage, or maybe a pre-aura stage that she hoped to stave off.
        Retired at 44, now pushing 48, Tam barely owned anything but money. Making (or earning) it had been an efficient distraction for twenty years. Surely enough time had gone by to make Denny no longer a factor. Besides, there were too many other factors that conceivably could spin her into a convulsion. Since retiring, ordinarily, she dodged the news — not conducive to essential tranquillity — but had been unable to evade elections auctioned to the highest paid attorney, terrorist sharks concealing themselves in the surf off playground beaches, passenger jets used as guided missiles, and junk mail bacteria. Meanwhile her life-saving brother becoming even more renowned, her ex-roommate holding her belongings hostage, and a whole family on the next block massacred by an estranged adopted son. Perhaps non sequiturs — wasn't everything? — but good enough excuses for Tam to stop trying to dilute her eddying brain waves with new age muzak — just head off to Maine and attempt to discover if her great-great grandmother was a shipwrecked baby.

Before leaving for Maine, living temporarily in an empty bungalow, Tam had sent the news article about the family massacre to her sister, Martha. Father, mother, adult child, uncle, aunt-by-marriage, grandparents, tied up, throats cut. The defense attorney maintained that the young man suffered from "a form of epilepsy called Rage Syndrome." Martha, in return mail, sent two things. One a newspaper clipping about their brother, with a post-it sticky and Martha's round girly writing: "Gary's famous again — this one has been on my desk a while, I kept forgetting to send it to you!"
August 3, 2001 Abandoning his own chances in the Mission Beach Triathlon, sports-writer Gary Burgess-Marr, 46, stopped his race during the rough-water portion of the three-part race to assist a struggling fellow-swimmer. A certified Water Safety Instructor (WSI), and a member of the Red Cross canine search-and-rescue team, Burgess-Marr returned to the beach with Jason Udall, 32, eight minutes after the start of the race. With the eerie sound of screams from the 75-year-old Bellmont Park roller coaster in the background, Burgess-Marr emerged from the 4-foot surf carrying Udall. "He'd swallowed a mouthful and was sputtering when I passed him," Burgess-Marr said after paramedics took Udall by stretcher to Mission Bay Hospital. "I turned and saw him go down." Burgess-Marr's mother, Emily Marr, 71, on the beach as a race spectator, said, "This is what he's been trained for, since he was four or five years old." She added that Burgess-Marr had been the youngest person in county history to achieve the difficult WSI certification when he was 14. Udall was listed in good condition and is expected to be released from the hospital tomorrow. Burgess-Marr is the author of TRIATHLETE IN-TRAINING, RESISTANCE TRAINING IN WATER, and NEVER TOO OLD, THE 40-SOMETHING'S GUIDE TO SPORTS CONDITIONING.
The other piece of paper also had a post-it sticky, "From my new computer!" It looked, on first glance, like one of Martha's children's school history reports. But it was a segment of the genealogy project Martha had been pursuing since she was 16.
In 1866, Jaruel Marr became the keeper of the Hendricks Head light on the Island of Southport in Sheepscot Bay, the coast of Maine. [Note: boring to start with dates and names. Punch this up a little. Ask Gary for help!] Born April 3, 1829, Jaruel was of the appropriate age to serve in the Civil War. There, as a private, he was injured and also taken as a Prisoner of War. Another prisoner, Doctor Wolcott, caring for the sick and wounded, inspired Jaruel, who never forgot him. Thus Jaruel's first born child after the war was named Wolcott. Jaruel was a carpenter who built his own house on Marr Point on the island of Southport, where he also was the lighthouse keeper for 29 years. He died of apoplexy [note: Tam, don't get excited, I don't think it's the same thing] in March of 1907.
        Jaruel and his wife, Catherine, had six children (listed below). This is crucial because, according to the Boothbay Register (article dated April 24, 1997), Jaruel Marr only had five children. (..."five living children" it says.) The Register was attempting to debunk a story in a 1945 book about New England lighthouses that claimed the Hendricks Head keeper had rescued a shipwrecked baby in 1875.
        According to the story (a story repeated in a Navy newspaper in 1955) a March blizzard took Sheepscot Bay by surprise. In the 19th Century, most terror came at the hands of the weather. Since any ship off the coast might seek a harbor refuge during a storm, Jaruel lit the tower lantern at Hendricks Head.
[Note: the rest I'm quoting directly from the 1955 Navy newspaper, until I can put it into my own words. I'm not supposed to speculate and I'm not sure if I wander into speculation when I start putting it into my own words. Gary, help!] "After lighting the lantern, Marr and his wife, wrapped in heavy woolens, stamped their feet and slapped their arms to keep warm in the captain's walk of the lighthouse. As they shivered with cold, they suddenly saw through the dense snowstorm the faint outline of a ship coming up Sheepscot Bay." [Note: remember they say "coming up" because Sheepscot Bay is also called Sheepscot River, not sure if it's really a bay or a river.] "Apparently the captain of the ship did not see the lighted lantern of Hendricks Head. Before he could prevent a disaster, his ship crashed on rocks near Cuckolds, about a mile away at the tip of Southport." [Note: the history of this name is also interesting.] "Marr rushed down the lighthouse stairway and out onto the rocky shore to see if he could launch his dory and possibly make a rescue. Only when he saw that the rocky shore was being swept by 10- to 15-foot breakers did he realize that no dory or human being could long survive in the angry sea. To brighten the fading hopes of the persons aboard this wreck, Keeper Marr and his wife built a huge bonfire on a high rock as a signal that the ship had been sighted." [Note: the 1945 book containing this story claimed the bonfire was to guide the ship in, but the ship soon went under.] "Next, Keeper Marr surveyed the shore to see if any wreckage was coming in. He observed a large bundle drifting. Heavy seas mercilessly pounded the badly damaged ship. Gigantic waves swept wildly over persons clinging to the rigging. The cold sea water and zero temperature soon froze helpless human beings to the ratlines of the ship's shrouds." [Note: find out, ask Mom, is a shroud actually part of a ship, or was this a gruesome metaphor?] "Then Marr ran to his boathouse and grabbed his boathook and some line. Mrs. Marr securely fastened one end of the line around his waist. The pair ran along the shore to a small beach where the bundle was rapidly coming ashore. Wading into the furious surf, Marr finally made fast his boathook to one of the fastenings of the bundle. As he did, a huge wave tossed him and the bundle toward the beach. Marr lost his grip on the boathook, but seized one of the bundle's fastenings and dragged it out of reach of the next breaker." [Note: question: when I rewrite, I'll have him riding the bundle in like a boogie board? That would be simile, not speculation, right Gary?] "After getting his breath, Marr discovered that he had retrieved two featherbeds from the angry waters of Sheepscot Bay. Then he cut the fastenings and found to his amazement a wooden box, and from the box came the screams of a baby." [Note: this article I copied was by George W. Grupp from the Navy Times. Find out the correct format to give credit.] Reportedly Jaruel found a locket in the box where the baby's mother had put a message, placing her daughter in the hands of God. This account also reported that since Jaruel and Catherine had recently lost a baby, [note: it says their only child!! But see birth dates below.] they adopted the shipwrecked girl. The Boothbay Register claims this story can easy be proven untrue by the names and birthdates of five "living children." (Those five births probably found in local archives by the reporter.) However, my research into family genealogy, shows six children:

Eugene Clarence, b. May 10, 1854
Cedelia Ann, b. November 20, 1856
Mabel Verona, b. September 23, 1860
Wolcott Garrett, b. December 15, 1866
*Mary Catherine, b. January 20, 1868 and died June 16, 1899
Lowell Herbert, b. May 11, 1872

Can a mysterious new member of our family be proven ?

*This is the one the historian in Boothbay didn't find!

[Note: Tam, want to take a trip to Maine and check on some stuff for me? Call me and I'll give more detail, but you can probably guess from the above what it is.]
No mention from Martha, no 3rd post-it sticky note, on the coincidence of pairing her lighthouse keeper yarn with the article on Gary's previous stint at heroism. No comment on the epileptic's rampage.


CRIS MAZZA'S most recent books are a memoir titled Indigenous / Growing Up Californian, and Homeland, a novel. Among her other notable titles are Dog People, Girl Beside Him, plus the PEN / Nelson Algren winning How to Leave a Country and the critically acclaimed Is It Sexual Harassment Yet? She is a professor in the Program for Writers at the University of Illinois at Chicago.


Copyright 2004 Cris Mazza.