Libbit almost could have been the doll-girl in...
Libbit almost could
have been the doll-girl in the sketch Ilse had
demanded - the one I had titled The End of the
Game
And after he saw all those things, he hug me hug
me hug me
I made a hurried little sketch of John Eastlake
doing just that, his facemask pushed up on top of
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his headThe picnic basket was nearby, on a
blanket, and the speargun was resting on top of it
He hug me hug me hug me
Draw her, a voice whisperedDraw Elizabeth's fair
salvageI was afraid of what I might see
And what it might do to me
And what about Daddy? What about John? How much
had he known?
I flipped through her drawings to the picture of
John Eastlake screaming, with blood running from
his nose and one eye
Probably too late, but he had known
What exactly had happened to Tessie and Lo-Lo?
And to Perse, to shut her up for all those years?
What exactly was she? Not a doll, that much prada bags online seemed
sure
I could have gone on - a picture of Tessie and Lo-
Lo running down a path, some path, hand-in-hand,
was already asking to be drawn - but I was
beginning to come out of my half-trance and was
scared almost to deathBesides, I thought I knew
enough to be going on with; Wireman could help me
figure out the rest, I was almost sure of itI
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closed my sketch-padI put down that long-gone
little girl's brown pencil - now just a nubbin -
and realized I was hungryBut
that kind of hangover wasn't new to me, and there
was plenty to eat in the refrigerator
vi
I went downstairs slowly, my head spinning with
images - an upside-down heron with blue gimlet
eyes, the smiling horses, the boat-size swim-fins
on Daddy's feet - and I didn't bother with the
living room lightsThere was no need to; by April
I could have navigated the route from the foot of
the stairs to the kitchen in pitch omega geneve automatic blacknessBy
then I had made that solitary house with its chin
jutting over the edge of the water my own, and in
spite of everything, I couldn't imagine leaving it
Halfway across the room I stopped, looking out
through the Florida room to the Gulf
There, riding at anchor no more than a hundred
yards from the beach, clear and unmistakable in
the light of a quarter-moon and a million stars,
was the PerseHer sails had been furled, but nets
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of rope sagged from her ancient masts like
spiderwebsThe shrouds, I thoughtThose are its
shroudsShe bobbed up and down like a long dead
child's rotten toyThe decks were empty, so far
as I could see - of both life and souvenirs - but
who knew what might be belowdecks?
I was going to faintAt the same instant I
realized this, I realized why: I had stopped
breathingI told myself to inhale, but for one
terrible second, nothing happenedMy women's rolex watch chest
remained as flat as a page in a closed bookWhen
it rose at last, I heard a whooping soundThat
was me, struggling to go on with life in a
conscious stateI blew out the air I had just
taken in and inhaled more, a little less noisily
Black specks flocked in front of my eyes in the
dimness, then fadedI expected the ship out there
to do the same - surely it had to be a
hallucination - but it remained, perhaps a hundred
and twenty feet long and a little less than half
that in the beamRocking
from side to side just a little, tooBowsprit
wagging like a finger, seeming to say Ouuu, you
nasty man, you're in for it n -
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I slapped myself across the face hard enough to
bring water to my left eye and the ship was still
right thereI realized that if it was there -
truly there - then Jack would be able to see it
from the boardwalk at El PalacioThere was a
phone on the far side of costume chanel jewelry the living room, but from
where I was standing, the one on the kitchen
counter was closerAnd it had the advantage of
being right under the light switchesI wanted
lights, especially the ones in the kitchen, those
good hard fluorescentsI backed out of the living
room, not taking my eyes off the ship, and hit all
three switches with the back of my handThe
lights came on, and I lost sight of the Perse - of
everything beyond the Florida room - in their
bright, no-nonsense glareI reached for the phone,
then stopped
There was a man in my kitchenHe was standing by
my refrigeratorHe was wearing soaked rags that
might once have been blue jeans and the kind of
shirt that's called a boat-neckWhat appeared to
be moss was growing on his throat, cheeks,
forehead, and forearmsThe right side of his
skull was crushed inPetals of bone protruded
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through the lank foliage of his dark fendi spy hai