As we reached the open sea, I rowed around the island, the fishing line tensed.
“We caught something,” she said excitedly, the breeze playing in the folds of her white summer dress.
The fish leapt, and the line played out until I thought she was going to lose it, but she pulled up expertly and it was snagged sound. She began to reel it in toward us, but too quickly, and gave way when the line tensed tight to the point of snapping. The fish ran free again, fast toward the open sea, but she had it with both hands and all her might, so it was clear how big it was. She opened the line, letting the fish run until it seemed to tire. When it swam less furiously, she began reeling in intently. From the curve of the pole I was afraid it might snap, but she loosened it in time, as the fish ran back, in a mighty struggle I would not have imagined she had in her.
“Is it too much?”
“No.” Her face was furrowed with sweat, and I could see she took pleasure in the contest. But the fish was massive, and I put one hand on hers to help her steady it, helping her coax it hard or slack as the fish kept struggling below.
“Yes, you can help me now.”
We saw the fish down in the clear water, close to the boat, and began to haul it in, as the beast lunged angrily into the air. Sylvie let out a shriek of fear and surprise at the sheer size of it, then surprise and joy. The fish dove under again, and we pulled up again, one final time, to claim it silver and glistening into the boat.
“What do we do now?” She laughed, proud, but drawing away from its convulsive final moments. It was a giant river creature, but I managed to pick it up soundly by the gills, and hold it against the bottom of the boat, where I so took up an iki stick.
“Don’t look,” I said, seeing her agonize, as I prepared to kill it.
“Yes, you can do this part,” she said.
“It will be painless.” I kept my voice calm, though it was something I had only forced myself to learn since I was on the island, and did not look forward to it.
“Do we have to kill it?” she asked when she saw the spike.
“We can throw it back, but if you want to eat it, this is the best way to end it.”
“It looks cruel,” she wavered.
“It is your fish. You can do whatever you wish.”
“It is our fish. We should cook it for dinner.”
“Then this is the best way.”
I got it over with quickly, and we rowed directly back to the Saavardra’s dock, where we carried the fish into the kitchen. There was no one about, as we cleaned the fish in the sink, then packed it in ice, and put it in the refrigerator for later, before cleaning up.
“You think it is okay we took the fish?” she asked.
“It is terrific we took such a fish,” I said. “It will be a great dinner.”
“Yes,” she said. “We can do it on the grill. I don’t know where my uncle and aunt are, but you will come for dinner tonight, and we will make a fire for the fish.”
I nodded.
“Then one day it will be our turn for the fire.”
“Eventually. It is the second law of nature, or so they say.”
“What do they say is the first?” she asked, though I think it was just to hear me say it.
“It is the radiance and connection of all things.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“No, but I’ve been told.”
“Yes, they told me that, too. Do you believe it?”
“I want to believe it.”
“I don’t know that I can anymore. I once did, but you go out and give your heart to doing things you think matter, and find out how little all your efforts are worth, and it weighs on you. Does that make sense?”
I looked at her in the diminishing light and nodded, and felt a great uprush of kindredness and the desire to continue with her.
She had walked with me toward the river, and we were still on the verandah of the house. I put my arm around her waist and she did not move it. But when I bent to kiss her she turned away.
“Don’t you feel what I do?”
She looked at me with the full force of our attraction, before turning back to face the dock. “I’m not sure I know exactly what you feel.”
“Yes you do. I don’t want to name it yet.”
“Then we won’t.”
“So that means you feel the same way?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“That makes me glad.”
“It scares me. You don’t live here, so we may suffer, and even if you did, we might still suffer.”
“That scares me less than missing an opportunity for happiness.”
“Me too.” She said, looking away. “Do you have another woman?”
“If I did I would not kiss you.”
“Do you swear?” she asked.
“Of course,” I nodded, and she cried. It was then I kissed her the first time, careful because I understood why it was she always played so godforsakenly hard.
26
The southern summer passed too quickly. We left our little island and returned together to her apartment in Farodoro, where I caught up on my affairs and balanced my accounts in New York.
The film had enjoyed a good opening, and the final wire from the production company, a bonus Westhaven had negotiated, had reached my bank. It was as much as I had ever received at one time, enough to not worry for a couple of years, if I was smart with the money, so I felt flush and brimming with energy.
As I was logging off, my cell phone rang with a call from Davidson, who was out in Los Angeles. He told me he had been trying to contact me for weeks, which I was happy to hear because I needed to get back to work.
“Well?” he asked expectantly.
“Well, what? I need work. Where have you been, by the way?”
“In the Gobi Desert, where I had the most amazing vision. I asked the universe to show me the future.”
I took the bait. “What did you see?”
“Television.”
“Of course.”
“So, did you get paid?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what? Like I said, I need work. I have expenses, plus catching up to do.”
“What are you going to buy? A house? An electric car? A car with bad gas mileage?”
“Nothing.”
“A man Friday who drives and build houses?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Maybe a little more time for myself to figure things out.”
“You cannot buy time, my friend. Time cannot be created, only used up. Compensation is for time you have spent. They give it to you to make you forget for a moment you’re going to die.”
“In that case buying something will not help.”
“Trust me, it will. Go buy yourself something that has a meaning for you, Harper. Anything. So long as it is something you will continue to enjoy.”
“I will think about it, but my pleasure is in the work.”
“Interesting. I did not know you had that in you.”
“Had what?”
“You don’t know your own power. Remember when you were a kid, before you ever got some, and you were walking around, all nuts, because you were tired of being a no-name chump virgin? Then one day, at last at last, you get some. You got some. But it was not how you imagined it would be, or what you heard it should be, because you were a no-name chump virgin, who would believe anything, and she was a no-name chump virgin, who knew nothing, so neither of you knew what you were doing. But you got some — alleluia — and were still marked by the newness of her skin; of the experience itself. You smell every electron in the room; feel every hadron, every boson; sense every tau in the air and it didn’t even feel like you were doing it. It was not bodily, but ethereal as innocence. Afterward, you don’t know how you feel, or how you are supposed to feel. Part of you wishes you had waited and were still a virgin, but you walk your half-virgin self through the streets, over the hills, across the lawn, down the beach, not knowing you just entered the hall to the big dance, and you do not know the steps. You just float through the subway, down the highway, over the hills where the dew has not burned away yet, like the baby fuzz on your upper lip, looking at the little kids playing tag, as you hear music and voices drifting from the houses you cannot make out. Everything has a new feeling to it. You got some. And you don’t know what or how, but something is different, take-me-to-the-river changed, because Time just looked out over that field, down that street, up across the sands, and noticed your chump self for the first time — putting a hand on you in a way you will not understand for years.