The Art of Floating (16 page)

“
I read an article about ways highly empathic people can have better relationships.”

“And?” Sia's therapist said.

“Pretty much what I've been saying all my life. You know, all the stuff that makes Jilly insane.”

“Which is . . .”

“I need my own space, my own bathroom, my own office. I need to be able to take breaks from other people's sadnesses.” She paused. “I need, I need, I need.”

“And?”

“Easier said than done when you find a sad, silent man on a beach.”

“W
hen you're hungry,” Jackson used to say, “you'll do anything.”

“Anything?” Sia would tease back, acting as if she'd never heard this story before.

“Anything,” he'd say. “Like Trout.”

“Trout?”

“Yeah, you remember Trout. The fish that spent two years avoiding the fisherman's expertly tied flies.”

“Ooohhh, the fat-bellied fisherman whose shadow and footsteps always gave him away.”

“That's the one.”

Here Jackson would wrestle Sia to the bed until she went limp, looked up at him, clearly feeling his hunger and her own, press her legs open, and plead. “Tell me again what happened to Trout.”

“Oh,” Jackson would say, “one cold spring morning before the good hatches started to break, silly old Trout gave in to his growling belly and snapped up the woolly bugger he'd worked so long and so hard to avoid. For one quick second before the fisherman yanked the line—just before Trout felt the hook set in his jaw—it felt good, so good.
My belly will be full
, he thought.”

“How sad,” Sia would say.

“Hunger's funny that way.”

“And what do you know about hunger?” Sia would tease and press up against him.

“Oh, beautiful Sia,” he'd say, wanting, hungry himself, but, “not so fast. First, you need to know about Bear.”

“Bear?” she'd say.

“Yes, Bear.” Then Jackson would unpin one arm so she could drape it across his back. “Though the men who finally trapped Bear thought he was cross-eyed from birth, it was actually hunger that drove his eyes so.”

Sia would cross her eyes.

“For many years Bear was a happy, healthy bear, but then there was a terrible drought. The world around Bear dried up like an autumn leaf and he could no longer find grubs in the old tree stump or berries on the bush by the stream. Old Bear grew hungry. By the time he smelled the mess of rotten fruit and bad meat in the back of the steel-can trap a few ranchers had set for him, that boy was beyond hungry. He was salivating so much he might have drowned in his own juices if they hadn't caught him when they did.”

“He was that hungry?” Sia would ask. She'd tuck her hand under Jackson's shirt and drag her nails along his lower back.

“Bears have big bellies,” Jackson would say, “and Bear hadn't filled his for weeks. That's a long time for a bear.”

“That's a long time for me,” she'd answer, wiggling beneath him.

But Jackson would ignore her and continue. “The thing is, when Bear crawled into that trap, he didn't care anymore. He was ready to chew off his own leg.”

Sia would shake her head.

“When he heard the cage door slam down behind him, he was pissed but resigned. He gnashed his teeth and growled like the devil, but set right to work on his meal. And again, like Trout, for a moment Bear was happy.”

“You can make me happy,” Sia would say, trying to free the hand he still had pinned to the bed. She'd raise her head and bite his neck. “I can make you happy.”

Jackson would pin her tighter. “You know, after hauling him some fifty miles east, those men shot Bear like they'd been told to do. They used a high-powered rifle and shot him right through the bars of the cage. Then they dumped his body near a lake where if he'd been luckier and they'd let him live, he might have caught a few trout to tide him over until the rains came.”

“And did the rains come?” Sia would ask, whispering close to Jackson's ear. “Did they come?”

Jackson would smile at her. “Oh yeah,” he'd say, “they came.”

“Poor Bear,” she'd say. “If only he'd been able to resist that rotten fruit.”

“Resistance is futile.”

“What about Trout?” Sia would ask, hoping that maybe the fisherman had unhooked Trout so he could swim free for a few more seasons.

“No luck. The fat-bellied fisherman whose fat-bellied shadow had saved Trout for so many years ate Trout that very afternoon. Cooked him over a small fire he built in a clearing.”

“He must have been pretty hungry himself,” Sia would say.

“No, just selfish,” Jackson would reply. Then he'd unpin the hand Sia had worked so hard to free and slip-slide her skirt up over her thighs.

“I'm hungry,” she'd say.

“I know,” Jackson said every time, “but you gotta remember that Trout and Bear both knew—on some level—they were giving in. They knew it would be their last bite, and it seems they didn't care.

“Me, too. Me, too,” Sia would say. “I'm giving in, too.”

At exactly 4:30, Sia returned to the police station.

Maude looked at the clock on the wall. “Right on time, Odyssia Dane,” she said.

“How's he doing?” Sia asked.

“Okay, I guess. He's a little hard to read. If I give him something to eat, he eats. If I give him something to drink, he drinks. If I take him to the john, he uses it. But the guy never asks for anything.”

“I guess he's doing fine then. He's consistent.”

Maude unlocked the door between them.

“He hasn't said a word to you?” Sia asked, stepping into Maude's glass box.

“No, though I talked his ear off while I filed some papers. It's kind of nice to have someone so quiet around.”

“He didn't open up for Richard either?”

“Nope, not a word.”

“I didn't think he would.”

“It's strange, though,” Maude said. “It's not just that he's silent. There's also this silence about him. Like his soul is silent. Do you know what I mean?”

Sia nodded. That was a good way to put it. “Have they brought anyone to see him?” she asked.

“Yeah, that high-and-mighty psychologist from Boston drove up. Dillard, I think. He was wearing a bow tie and penny loafers, so I didn't think he'd have much luck.”

“And?”

“Nothing. He talked to Toad for a fairly long time. Showed him a few maps and photographs. Newspapers in various languages. But as I suspected, he got nothing. Those loafer-wearing types are useless.”

“Are they offering any theories as to where he might have come from?”

“None that I've heard.”

“No new missing-person reports?”

“Nope.”

“Prison breakouts?”

Maude laughed and shook her head. “Richard told me to send you in when you arrived.”

Sia turned toward Richard's office. “So what's next?” she asked.

“I'll let him talk to you.”

“Thanks, Maude.”

•  •  •

Richard was at his desk filling out a form when Sia walked in. She sat down and waited.

When he was done, he looked up at her. “You want a housemate for a while?” he said.

Sia leaned forward. “What?”

“Do you want a housemate?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your Toad. Do you want him back for a while?”

This was the last thing Sia had expected to hear. “Why?” she said. “What's happening?”

Richard organized a stack of papers into a pile, pulled himself up straight, and set his forearms on the desk. “We can't get a word out of him, Sia. He doesn't match any of the reports for missing men. I invited Dr. Elston Dillard up from Boston. He has a great reputation, but even he is stumped. He mentioned the possibility of depression or amnesia and wants Toad in a hospital down in Boston, but I'm just not sure that's the best thing for the guy right now. Like I said before, as far as we know, he hasn't done anything wrong. I don't see any reason to lock him up in a mental ward and scare him even deeper into silence.”

Sia nodded slowly. “So . . . ?” she said.

“I've talked Dr. Dillard into letting Toad stay with you. He seems to have formed some kind of bond to you and that's the only thing we have going for us at this point.”

Sia looked at her cell phone. It was buzzing wildly. “Jilly,” she said. “I haven't updated her in at least an hour.” She hit
silence
.

Richard smiled.

“Anyway,” Sia said, “Toad may have formed a bit of a bond to Gumper, but I don't think he's bonded to me. I've just served as his path to food and shelter.” As she spoke, the fish seemed to swell to the size of a whale.

“Either way, you're the only option to the hospital right now.”

Sia paused. A million thoughts raced through her head, everything from
Thank God
to
No way
. “Richard, I'm not sure I'm up for this,” she said.

He nodded. “Up to you, Odyssia. We've got a slot for him at the hospital if necessary. I just wanted to give you the opportunity since you're the one who found him.” As he leaned back in his chair, Sia wondered if any of this was calculated. It was no secret the whole town wanted her to get over or through Jackson's disappearance. Sometimes she could actually feel their urgency to have her happy and normal again. Was this part of it, too? Forcing her to deal with this lost man?

“Isn't this rather unorthodox?” she said. “I mean, they would never do this in the movies.”

Richard laughed. “Probably not. They'd send him off to the hospital where he'd get all wrapped up in adventures with the doctors and in the end, a Good Samaritan nurse who couldn't resist his charms would discover his origins, fall in love with him, and take him home. But I don't think it's fair to lock this guy up just for being a little lost. And I think he may be more likely to talk if we let him be for a while instead of poking and prodding him with a million questions. Dr. Dillard and his Boston associates are, to put it kindly, rather intense.”

This was what Sia loved about small towns. Her small town especially. They all thought pretty much the same way about important things. Sure, they disagreed a lot about politics and sometimes dug too deeply into each other's personal business, but they stuck together good.

“Jilly's not behind this, is she?” Sia asked. She imagined candles, lace panties, and poor, silent, salt-encrusted Toad sitting silently on the edge of the bed in a pair of silk boxers, courtesy of Jilly.

“No,” Richard said. “That woman is imaginative, but she didn't suggest this. I just think that your place is the best place for Toad right now.”

“Okay,” Sia said, “that's good enough for me. But not for long.”

“No, it's all up to you. You say the word. If it gets to be too much, just call me. I can be at your place in ten minutes to retrieve him. Besides, once Melissa Cho runs that spot on the news”—he paused, looking at his watch—“someone will probably call to identify Toad.”

“I assume Jilly told you the whole tale?”

“Eleven times so far.” He looked at his watch. “Shall we?”

•  •  •

Melissa Cho's white Chiclet teeth gleamed in the afternoon sun, her black hair clung to her pumpkin-shaped head, and sweat dribbled down her nose, yet her enthusiasm for the hot story of the day was evident in the charge of her jaws as she spoke.

“Geez, Odyssia,” Richard said, “did you beat her up before the interview?”

“Nope, just made her walk on the sand.”

When footage of Sia's house finally gave way to footage of the beach, Sia sighed. She hated seeing her house on television. You might as well just hand out a map to the gawkers who would decide that getting a glimpse of the Silent Man was going to be the highlight of their weekend.

A few minutes later when Melissa introduced Jillian's theory that Toad was visiting from another planet, Sia stomped around the room. So much for promises.

“Where'd she get that idea?” Richard said.

“Guess.”

“Jillian?”

“Who else? She's got this cockamamie idea that Toad is an alien. She thinks I found him just seconds after he was beamed down by his spaceship.”

“Really? Is she serious?”

“Quite.”

“Does she have any evidence?”

Sia looked at Richard. “Are you serious?”

He smiled a little.

“Oh, my God, you are!” she said. “How can you be serious?”

“You never know, Odyssia.”

“I do know that Melissa Cho's report is going to bring out every wacko in Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire, and probably Vermont.”

“Yep.”

“To my house, you know. Not yours.”

“Yep,” Richard said. “Still want him?”

•  •  •

Ode to the shower:

Toad was clean. Fresh. Wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt. Sandals, even.

“We cleaned him up,” Richard said.

“Obviously. Jillian's going to be jealous of that hair.” Toad's freshly washed hair hung about his head like a lion's mane. The word
godlike
popped into Sia's head.

“
I'm
jealous of that hair,” Richard said, tapping his own receding hairline.

“Did he fight you about showering?”

“No. He pretty much showered himself, except for his hair.”

“What's under there?” Sia asked, nodding at the bandage on Toad's forearm.

Richard peeled it back. There was a flaming, ragged gouge about three inches long.

“Ouch,” Sia said.

“A doctor came in for a look. It's infected but doesn't need stitches. He prescribed some antibiotic cream, and Maude picked up more bandages for you.”

“Okay,” Sia said. “That's it? We're free to go?”

“You're free to go.” Richard smiled. He pointed to the bag of clothes Toad had been wearing when she'd found him. “I'm going to hold on to these for a while.”

Sia nodded. She looked at Toad. “Let's go home, my friend.”

•  •  •

“There's something else, Odyssia,” Richard said, walking them to her car. “Melissa Cho is not exaggerating the world's growing interest in you and Toad. France, Belgium, China, South Africa. Everyone in every country is writing about the Silent Man, and countries are beginning to compete for his origins.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, they all want him to be theirs.”

“Like an Olympic medal?”

“Yep. He's the goodwill story of the week.”

“Great.”

“Odyssia?”

“Mmmmmm . . .”

“They know about you, too.” Richard paused. “And Jackson, of course. They're reporters. They see this as sort of a modern-day fairy tale.”

“Good God.”

“They're all developing theories, postulations, ideas about where he came from and where he belongs. They're fascinated.”

“The whole world?” Sia said.

“Just about.”

“And?”

“Like I said, they're all hoping for a fairy-tale ending.”

“Are you sure you're not talking about Jillian?”

“Again I ask, do you still want him?”

Sia nodded. “What do you suggest?”

“Take him home. Give him some dinner. See if you can engage him in any kind of activities . . . games, reading, et cetera. Call me tomorrow. And don't answer your phone. It's going to ring off the hook.”

•  •  •

When Sia and Toad walked through the door of the house, Gumper raised his leg and pissed in the entryway, something he hadn't done since they'd first taken him in.