Duma Key(40)

Fascinating as this story was, there were two others that interested me even more, especially when I thought of how I'd gone rooting through my daughter's purse.

I found them in an article called "They See with What's Missing," from The North American Journal of Parapsychology. It chronicled the histories of two psychics, one a woman from Phoenix, the other a man from R o Gallegos, Argentina. The woman was missing her right hand; the man was missing his entire right arm. Both had had several successes in helping the police find missing persons (perhaps failures as well, but these were not set out in the piece).

According to the article, both amputee psychics used the same technique. They would be provided with a piece of the missing person's clothes, or a sample of his handwriting. They would shut their eyes and visualize touching the item with the missing hand (there was a huggermugger footnote here about something called the Hand of Glory, aka the Mojo Hand). The Phoenix woman would then "get an image," which she would relay to her interlocutors. The Argentinian, however, followed up his communings with brief, furious spates of automatic writing with his remaining hand, a process I saw as analogous to my paintings.

And, as I say, I might have doubted a few of the wilder anecdotes I ran across during my Internet explorations, but I never doubted something was happening to me. Even without the picture of Carson Jones, I think I would have believed it. Because of the quiet, mostly. Except when Jack dropped by, or when Wireman - ever closer - waved and called " Buenos d as, muchacho! " I saw no one and spoke to no one but myself. The extraneous dropped away almost entirely, and when that happens, you begin to hear yourself clearly. And clear communication between selves - the surface self and the deep self is what I mean - is the enemy of self-doubt. It slays confusion.

But to be sure, I settled on what I told myself was an experiment.

iv

EFree19 to Pamorama667

9:15 AM

January 24

Dear Pam: I have an unusual bequest for you. I've been painting, and the subjects are odd but kind of fun (at least I think so). Easier to show you what I mean than describe, so I will attach a couple of jpegs to this e-mail. I have been thinking about those gardening gloves you used to have, the ones that said HANDS on one glove and OFF on the other. I would love to put those on a sunset. Do NOT ask me why, these ideas just come to me. Do you still have them? And if you do, would you send them to me? I will happily send them back if you want.

I'd just as soon you didn't share the pix with any of the "old crowd." Bozie in particular would probably laugh like a look if he saw THESE things.

Eddie

PS: If you don't feel good about sending the gloves, perfectly O.K. It's just a wind.

E.

This response came that evening, from a Pam who was by then back home in St. Paul:

Pamorama667 to EFree19

5:00 PM

January 24

Hello Edgar: Ilse told me about yr pictures of course.

They certainly are different. Hopefully this hobby will last longer than yr car restoration thing. If not for eBay that old Mustang would still be behind the house I think. Yr right about it being an odd request but after looking at yr pix I can sort of see what yr up-to (putting different things together so people will look at them in new ways, right) and I'm ready for a new pr anyway so "knock yrself out." I'll send them UPS only ask that you send me a jpg of the

"Finnish Product" PRIVATE "TYPE=PICT;ALT=emoticon"

if there ever is one.

Ilse sd she had a terrific time. I hope she sent a Thank-You card and not just an e-mail, but I know her.

One more thing to tell you, Eddie, altho I don't know how much you will like it. I sent a copy of yr e-mail and jpg pictures to Zander Kamen, you remember him I'm sure. I thought he would like to see the pix, but mostly I wanted him to see the e-mail and find out if it was cause for concern, because you are doing in yr writing what you used to do in yr speaking: "bequest" for "request," "laugh like a look" for "laugh like a loon." At the bottom you wrote "It's just a wind" and I don't know what that means but Dr. Kamen says maybe "whim."

I'm just thinking of you.

Pam

PS: My father is a little better, came through the operation well (the doctors say they might have "got all of it" but I bet they always say that). He seems to be handling the chemo well and is at home. Walking already.

Thanks for yr concern.

Her PS zinger was a perfect example of my ex-wife's unlovelier side: lie back... lie back... lie back... then bite and "make yrself scarce." She was right, though. I should have told her to pass on best wishes from the Commiecrat when she spoke to her old man on the phone. That ass-cancer's a bitch.

The whole e-mail was a symphony of irritation, from the mention of the Mustang that I'd never had time to finish to her concerns about my mistaken word-choices. Said concerns delivered by a woman who thought Xander came with a Z.

And with that petty spleen out of my system (spoken to the empty house, and in loud tones, if you must know), I did review the e-mail I'd sent her, and yes, I was worried. A little, anyway.

On the other hand, maybe it was just the wind.

v

The second striped beach chair had become a fixture at the heavyset guy's table, and as I drew closer to it, we sometimes shouted a little conversation back and forth. It was a strange way to strike up an acquaintance, but pleasant. The day after Pam's e-mail, with its surface concerns and buried subtext ( You could be as sick as my father, Eddie, maybe even sicker ), the fellow down the beach yelled: "How long before you get here, do you think?"