HOME OF THE KING OF KEY WEST
And, below, in smaller letters:
FANTASY FEST, 1980
“Meg! Wait! Look!”
“I’m not looking. I’m not waiting either. I don’t like graveyards.”
“Not the graveyard. There. It’s the house. The King of Key West. We have to go there. I promised the swans.”
Chapter 37
The king went so often to see his dear children that the queen was offended by his absence.
—“The Six Swans”
“Excuse me,” I say to the woman who opens the door. “Are you Caroline?”
She’s about my mother’s age, tall and slim with an unusually long neck. Could she really be the swans’ sister?
“Sure am.” She smiles. People are friendly in Key West. “Who’s looking?”
“Johnny.” I gesture toward Meg. “And Meg. We’re from Miami. We know some friends of yours, but you’d better sit down.”
She laughs. “You think I need to sit down, hon? You think you can tell me anything that would give me a shock?”
It’s clear she thinks my answer will be no. But she doesn’t know I’m about to tell her she has six siblings who’ve been transmogrified into swans. So I say, “Um, maybe. See. I saw your sign. It says someone here is the King of Key West.”
She sighs. “Oh, that was my crazy dad. I just keep it here for local color. My father is one of those weird Key West legends—that just happens to be true.”
“Okay, well—”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” She gestures toward a wrought-iron table. “And I’ll tell you the story.”
And before I can say that we’re in a hurry, she’s off getting a pitcher of lemonade for us and a beer for herself. Meg and I exchange looks and sit at the table. In the distance, I can hear people laughing, a band playing “Freebird.” I look toward the cemetery.
Finally, Caroline sits and tells her story. “My father called himself the King of Key West because one year, at Fantasy Fest, he rode a float that showed the Conchs seceding from the United States and being ruled over by him.”
“Conchs?” Meg asks.
“A conch is a shellfish. They also call people from Key West Conchs, and call Key West the Conch Republic. Some people joke about Conch secession, but to my father, it was no joke. He was convinced that if Key West seceded, he’d be their king.”
I think I see something fluttering in the darkened cemetery, but when I look again, it’s only a leaf. Caroline continues her story, which I’m guessing she tells anyone who’ll listen.
“My father was a little crazy in other ways. He said when he was young, he went to the Ocala National Forest in the center of the state. He got lost there. It was close to dark, and he was afraid. Just as he was about to lie down for the night, he saw an old woman. She said she’d help him find his way out if he agreed to marry her daughter. Otherwise, he’d be doomed to wander forever.
“He agreed, figuring he’d escape later. But it turned out the daughter was beautiful. They got married and had me.
“My mom was beautiful, but it turns out that wasn’t enough. My parents hated each other. He said she was a witch. She said he was a fool. I know the second was true. He also said there was a curse on him. He did other weird stuff too.”
“Weird stuff?” I say, looking for an opening.
“Like one day, I saw my father wake early in the morning. He got in his truck, not realizing that I’d secretly hidden in the truck bed. He drove until he reached a beautiful park. At the park, there was a pond, and in that pond, there were six swans. Dad fed the swans, talked and sang to them. When he finally left, I saw him wipe a tear from his eye.”
A group enters the cemetery, maybe a ghost tour. The sky is dark except for the light of the full moon and their flashlights. I scan their faces. None is familiar.
“Turns out, he did this every day,” Caroline continues. “Once, my mother seemed mad that he’d gone, and I said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s only gone to feed the swans.’
“My mother turned away, but not before I saw her face turn pink. I knew I’d said the wrong thing. I told her not to be upset. When she turned, her anger had melted away, and she said, ‘I merely think he should spend time with you, not the swans.’
“The next day, I followed my father again. He drove quickly, and I was excited about seeing the swans. When we reached the pond, I wanted to shout with glee. I didn’t, though, because I knew it would alert my father to my presence. I shouldn’t have worried, though.” She stops speaking and stares ahead, remembering.
I know what’s coming, but I say, “What happened?”
She looks at me as though she’s forgotten I was there and says, “They were gone, the beautiful swans. My father called the names he’d given them as if they were children, but they didn’t come. I was crying then, and my father found me. I helped him look for the swans until finally, we couldn’t look anymore because the sun had set, and there was no moon. We went back every day for a month, but the swans were never there again.”
Caroline wipes a tear from her eye. “He made me promise that I’d look for them all my life, even if he was gone. He told me that once I was eighteen, I could break the curse.”
“Did he tell you what the curse was?” Meg asks.
Caroline shakes her head. “He died a year later. He was never the same after the swans left.”
“And your mother?” I remember Harry talking about the witch who’d turned them all into swans. I don’t have a good track record with witches.
But Caroline says, “She disappeared. The neighbors raised me, and when I was of age, I moved back here.” She gestures toward the King of Key West sign. “Guess I’m part of Conch lore.”
I glance at Meg and say, “What if I told you I could find those swans?”
“I’d say you were crazy. I’m way more than eighteen. Swans don’t live that long.”
“But people do. And that’s what these swans were—your brothers and sisters.”
“I think you need to leave now.” Caroline points at the street.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Meg says, “but he’s talked to those swans. They live in the fountain at the hotel where we work.”
“Right.”
“They were turned into birds by their wicked step . . .” I stop, remembering I’m talking about Caroline’s mother.
“Go,” she says. “You may think I’m this crazy Conch, but I’m not that nuts.” She grasps my shoulder to lead me away.
“Please,” I say. “I told your brother Harry I’d find you.”
She stops walking. “My brother, who?”
“Harry. They’re all named after Key West things. There’s Harry and Truman, Ernest, Mallory, Margarita, and—”
“Johnny!” Meg’s voice cuts me off. She grabs my arm and points to the gray cemetery. “Look!”
I look. At first, I see nothing but moldering tombstones, but as my eyes adjust, I spot what Meg’s so excited about.