Via Dolorosa(58)

“The hell happened to your arm?” Ben said.

“Nicholas was in the war,” Isabella said. “He was fighting the crazies and sand-monkeys over in Iraq.”

“Well,” Hansen said. “How about that? Did you just get back?”

“Yes.”

“How about that? What was it like over there?”

“Hot.”

“I’m sure of it. What were the people like?”

“Angry. With guns.”

Leslie Hansen got the hint. “Oh, sure. Sure.” He pointed his chin at Emma’s cleavage. “Do you like boats?”

“Oh,” Emma said, “I think they’re wonderful.”

“Ever been on a boat?”

Emma shook her head. “No.”

“We’ve got a great boat. We call her Kerberos.”

“I thought you were supposed to name boats after women,” Emma said.

“This could be true,” Hansen agreed, “but you’d first have to find the right woman.”

“Oh,” said Emma. “All right.”

“How about you?” Hansen said, leering over at Isabella. “Do you like boats?”

“Boats are for children,” Isabella informed him. “Didn’t you know? Weren’t you told?”

Hansen laughed. Beside him, smoking casually, Ben raised a single eyebrow but remained disinterested for the most part.

Joseph returned gripping a liter bottle of twelve-year-old Chivas Regal in one mitt while balancing a stack of rocks glasses in his other. Somewhat clumsy, he set the glasses and the scotch on the table, thumping his knee against Nick’s chair as he did so. Despite the men’s declaration that they did not drink when going out to sea, Joseph seemed to be doing quite all right for himself.

“I heard something about the war,” Joseph blurted. “Someone was in the war?”

“Pour the drinks,” Ben said.

“He’s a fool, that Joseph,” Leslie Hansen said to no one in particular, and intercepted the liter bottle before Joseph could make a dive for it. “You’re a fool, aren’t you, Pygmalion?”

“I can certainly be a fool,” Joseph agreed.

Hansen opened the bottle, poured. Looking at Nick, Hansen said, “You’ll have some, won’t you, champ?”

“All right.”

“We should drink absinthe,” Isabella spoke up from her side of the table. For whatever reason, this made Emma break into laughter, which she tried without resolve to stifle with the heel of one hand. “We should get muddy with it.”

“I heard something about the war,” Joseph repeated. He seemed in ignorance of everyone else. Unseated, half-propped against the wall just above their table, Joseph was the recipient of numerous thuds against his back as dancers, no doubt drunk in their own right, continued to run into him like a turnstile. The collisions, however, never seemed to register with either party.

“Nick here was in the war, Pygmalion,” Leslie Hansen told him, then turned to Nick. “Let’s drink to you, champ.”

“That’s all right,” Nick said. “Let’s drink to something else.”

“Something else,” Hansen muttered.

“I think I’ve suddenly lost my personality,” Emma marveled from her seat. Without anyone’s knowledge, Leslie Hansen had somehow made his way closer to her. Even pouring the drinks, he had managed to bring one arm up and behind her, resting it on the top of the booth.

“Let’s drink to the sea turtles,” drunken Joseph with the black eye suggested. “They’re trying to save the sea turtles on this island, you know. It’s an epidemic. Wait—is that—is that right? Well, whatever it is, they’re dying, these sea turtles. Being poached, their flippers cut away. Goddamn shame, is what it is.”

“You’re something else, Pygmalion,” Hansen said.

“Why do you keep calling him that?” Emma asked finally.

“Well,” Hansen said playfully, “it’s quite a personal story for old Joseph, here. Isn’t it, Joseph?”

“Quite personal,” Joseph said.

“He may not appreciate us talking about him and his personal stories,” Hansen went on.

“Not appreciated,” Joseph agreed.

“Oh come on!” Emma pleaded. “You can’t just call someone a name like that then not tell about how he got it!”

“The lady wants to hear it, Pyg,” Hansen said, shifting his eyes toward his drunken buddy. “Would you like to tell her, or shall I?”

“Christ,” Joseph muttered, “I can’t even remember it no more…”

“He’s got an infatuation with the inanimate,” Ben said through pursed lips. His cigarette bobbed. “That’s the long an’ short of it.”

“That’s true,” Leslie Hansen said. “You see, Joseph here was engaged to a young Navajo woman when he was still in school. They were very deeply in love. It was romance to the point of obsession. Old Joseph lost himself a little.”

“What happened?” Emma asked.

“She died,” Hansen said. “She was killed by a drunk behind the wheel of an enormous Cadillac.”

“It was a bus,” Ben announced.