Envious Moon(15)

Cars and couples riding bicycles passed me but no one looked at me twice. I left the town behind and the morning sun warmed my face. On either side of me now meadows of heather and clover rose up and away from me. The road moved inland and I could not see the ocean anymore but I could still smell it. Salt spray hung in the air and the big ocean sky was blue and flat.

At the edge of a small brackish pond I stopped and sat on the grass. I removed the bag from my shoulder and I ate one of the sandwiches. I watched the occasional car driving down the island road. Then I smoked and for a while I just looked across at the rolling land. After a time I rose and began to walk again.

The road meandered through a high country of sedge meadows. Low stone walls crisscrossed bright green pastureland and along the roadside purple loosestrife grew almost to my belt. This was beautiful land and I saw why the tourists all came here. In the distance weathered gray farmhouses sat on the sloping land and in front of some of them, brown horses in small paddocks flicked their tails against flies. The sun beat down and it was hot now. Not as bad as it was on the open sea but I took off my shirt and tied it around my waist.

As I walked the road began to curve back toward the coastline and coming around a bend I saw the ocean again, to my right and far below, and somewhere down there was the cove that Victor and I had brought our skiff into that night. I was getting close. The house could not be far now.

Another half hour and I found it. I had walked almost the full length of the island. I stood in front of an ornate iron gate cut into a high hedgerow. I couldn’t see all of the house, but I could see a slice of roof, two of the three chimneys and part of the turret, which gave it away. There was no mistaking this house. On the other side of the gate, a winding road cut through the trees.

Now that I was here, I had no idea what to do. It was not like I could just open the gate and walk through it and then knock on the door. What would I say? And in the back of my mind it occurred to me that maybe she had seen me better than I thought that night on the stairs, that maybe she would hear my voice and know that it was me, close the door in my face and call the sheriff.

And as I was thinking this, I heard a car slow behind me. When I turned I saw the rack of lights on the roof and I thought, so this is where it ends.

The red-and-white sheriff’s car slowed next to me. I saw the cop inside, and to my relief it was not Sheriff Riker, but a man not much older than myself. I nodded at him and he looked me up and down and then he kept driving. My heart beat like a bird. I watched the car disappear around the bend in front of me and that decided things. I started to walk again.

I followed the road until it turned to the left and began to trace the other side of the island. In front of me was a lighthouse, another marker I knew from sea. It was a brick building turned a deep rust color from a century of exposure. A parking lot in front of it was full of cars. And on the wide-sloping lawn that surrounded it were hundreds of tourists, sitting on blankets, all here for the dramatic view.

I joined them and sat on the lawn. Far below two strong currents came together on the rocks. The waves moved not toward shore but toward each other, meeting some fifty yards from the rocky beach. Where the waters converged cormorants and gulls dove over and over. The fishing must be good here. Where there were birds there were fish. Though to tell you the truth, this was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to blend in, as much as that was possible. Stay off the road. Figure out what to do next.





I made camp on a private beach west of the lighthouse. I had spent most of the afternoon on the lawn and by early evening I left and found a general store on the road heading in the other direction from the way I came. It was a small gray clapboard building and it housed a post office. Inside I cracked one of the hundred-dollar bills and splurged on a nine-dollar steak from behind the case. It had been a long time since I had had a steak. I also bought a can of baked beans and then I returned to the lighthouse. I followed a path through high sea grasses and down to the beach where families had gathered to watch the sunset. I walked through them and then rounded the point and followed the coastline back toward the cliffs and the great house. I stopped when I found a beach that looked like it had not been used for a long time. Above me was a house but there were no pathways or stairs down to the beach. There was a rock promontory that hung over the beach and this provided me some shelter. I had good sight lines in either direction.

After the sunset, I gathered driftwood and with the newspaper from my bag as kindling, I started a fire. Fires were no doubt illegal but I kept it small. The sun-dried driftwood burned hot and I only needed it to cook the steak.

I pierced the flesh of the meat with a long stick and when the fire had some coals I held the steak over the flames and I let them lick up the sides of it. I cooked it until it was good and charred on the outside. Then I let it cool by sticking the stick into the sand and letting the meat dangle from it. I opened the can of beans and warmed them in the coals. I uncorked a bottle of Berta’s wine. I ate the steak right off the stick and I spooned the warm beans out of the can and into my mouth. I wished I had brought salt and pepper but after a long day of walking I can say that that was one of the best steaks I have ever had. I smoked. After a while I stood and stripped off my clothes. I waded into the surf. The water was shallow and sandy-bottomed and warm. I walked until it was thigh high and then I dove. I slid underneath and closed my eyes and when I came up I floated on my back. The salt water rinsed off all the grit of the day. All around me the color was leaving the world and the darkness rolled in.