Iguana Spirits
by Astrid Jirka
2002
Has anyone ever encountered the old iguana that lives on Whistling Cay, just off the island of St. John? If someone says yes the following story might be more easily explained, though it is my deeper hope that nobody says so, in order that I may believe the spirit to be alive.
It has been six years since my younger brother, Andres, passed away. Until recently my mother kept his ashes in a wooden box in her bedroom, adorned with dry flowers, statues of buddhas, and an old, dried up puffer fish that had been his. The mystifying family question these past six years has been what to do with these ashes. We just couldn’t find an appropriate solution. Somehow, I didn’t feel it to be healthy that my mother kept them in her bedroom, hanging onto them as if they still somehow embodied his presence (though, I’m sure most mothers would do the same). When I went home this summer, my mother, second brother and I finally came to a resolution. We took a small amount of the ashes and transferred them to a buddhist statue of Jizo which resides in my mother’s garden. Jizo is the protector of both living and deceased children, their parents, and of physical and spiritual travelers and we thought it thereby a very appropriate place of rest for my bro. The majority and remainder of the ashes, we decided, would come back to St. John with me, where I would put them in the ocean so that they could travel the world and he could be both everywhere and nowhere at the same time. There was great relief in a decision having been reached.
I carried the heavy bag of ashes with me on the airplane and bore the sad responsibility of their dispersal. I was okay with that. Three weeks later my husband, my son, and I rented a dinghy and set off for the Sir Francis Drake Channel. I liked that spot because my mother had been there and because the current is strong and I felt it would quickly carry the ashes away and set Andres off on his further journeys. I untied the thick, unnatural feeling plastic bag, submerged it, and let the ashes flow out. They sank much more quickly than I expected and there was no trace of them by the time I looked back. My heart was heavy, but once again I felt relief. I felt that by letting go of his bodily remains we had finally set him, his spirit, free.
Not having any set plan as to what to do next, we decided to pull the dinghy out at the rocky beach facing Maho Bay, on Whistling Cay. We’d never been there and thought we’d explore a bit. I stood there and took some photos of the spot in the water where I had dispersed the ashes, of the beach itself, and of the old stone house there which I found to be very picturesque. We were there not more than ten minutes when an old and full size iguana came literally running out of the bush, full speed, straight for us.
I was a bit alarmed. I know iguanas to be vegetarians and not particularly aggressive, so I couldn’t understand the intention behind this one’s rapid approach. I considered my options: Jump in the dinghy? Jump on Christian? Dive in the water? Scream? Well, no need for alarm. When it came within about one foot of us, it stopped, tilted its head the way iguanas do and just sat and waited. For what? I squatted down to get at eye level with it and to ask it what it wanted. All I got was a penetrating, inquisitive stare in response. The only logical conclusion seemed to be that this was a tame iguana that was accustomed to people coming to shore and feeding it. We pulled out some lettuce and some melon and we gave it some lunch. It was amazingly tame and would have eaten right out of Christian’s hand, if Christian hadn’t been too shy, himself. (Good thing he was because I was later told that they can bite a finger right off, though this one didn’t seem inclined to do so.) It took it’s leisurely time eating and, actually took so long, that my son and got bored, so he and I walked down the beach a ways. By the time we returned, the iguana was still sitting there, having left some food untouched. Not that hungry after all. So why was it really there and why didn’t it retreat back to the bush?
Somebody had to leave first, so we decided it would be us. We pushed our dinghy off the beach and set off, marveling at the encounter with this iguana. And then it struck me. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t struck me earlier! Iggy! Of course, Andres’ iguana! In the years before Andres passed away, he’d had a pet iguana named Iggy. They were practically inseparable. Once, Andres flew from Colorado to New York with Iggy tucked under his jacket because he didn’t want to traumatize the poor lizard in cargo. I also have a series of black and white photos that I took of the two of them together, Iggy perched on Andres’ shoulder, which bore a large tattoo of an iguana-like dragon. They really made a very good team, traveling together for a good two years.
So, now I don’t know what to make of Iggy, I mean Andres, I mean the iguana, on the beach. My husband calls it a “powerful coincidence”. Indeed it was, but I’d like to think it was more.