The Art of Floating (29 page)

Pressed up against the screen of Sia's front door, Dr. Dillard's face looked like a glob of cookie dough stuffed into a sheer stocking.

“Go away!” Jilly shouted. “You're scaring me.”

“I want to talk to Mrs. Dane.”

“Mrs. Dane is not here.”

“Of course she's there.”

“No, she's not.”

“You're lying, Miss Weaver. I just saw her through the window.”

“Quit spying on us.”

“You can't keep the Silent Man. I'm going to get a court order and take him back to the hospital where he belongs.”

“You wouldn't dare. The media and Toad's fans will eat you alive. Your reputation will be shit. More shit than it is already,” Jilly said. “Now go away.” Then she popped him a light one in the nose.

Dr. Dillard jolted back from the screen. “Hey, that hurt.” He rubbed his nose.

“Quit sticking your fat schnoz where it's not wanted.”

“I'll be back, you know. This is crazy. You won't get away with this.”

“You're right. This is crazy. Now get off Sia's property before we call Richard to arrest you for trespassing.”

Dr. Dillard stomped around for a few more minutes. Then he rolled down the stoop and along the sidewalk to his car. The photographers begged for interviews, a statement, anything. But this time, he ducked into his Lexus and drove off.

Sia was awake this time. From the beginning. From the moment Toad turned her foot and tasted the shallow hollow near her ankle. Bit her calf. Nuzzled the back of one knee. Licked the other. His chin scratched her thigh and she wondered if he tasted salt from her evening swim. He buried his face between her legs, spread them, opened her. Then she forgot to wonder anything at all. He was inside, on top, and under. Hard. Rough. Lightning cracked on the beach. Rain lashed. Sia swallowed. Thunder rolled out to sea.

S
ia pulled the English version of the letter from China from the drawer.

Dear Keeper of the Lost Man,

My name is Xiao Xia Lu and I am writing on behalf of my great-great-grandmother. She wrote the pages in Chinese in this package, but because she doesn't speak or write English, she asked me to translate for her. My grandmother is a wise woman . . . a follower of lost souls. Like many followers, she is a lot older than she would have you believe. I thank you for taking the time to read her words. I will now disappear from this letter and deliver her story in the very best English I can. I owe her this and much, much more. Please know that in Mandarin, it is only more beautiful.

•  •  •

Xiao Xia Lu disappeared.

Dear Keeper of the Lost Man,

I am an old woman in Fujian Province in China. If you saw me, you would laugh. I have only three teeth left in my mouth and a few very short hairs on my head. I have lived here for one hundred and six years. Each year my great-great-grandchildren anticipate my death, but each year I simply lose one tooth and one hair and continue to arrive at the dinner table for a bit of rice and a bite of chicken.

Though we are in a rural area, my youngest great-great-granddaughter travels to and from the city each week to do her work. It is a long journey for her, but she says that it is her time to think and wonder about the world. Each Friday, she carries a newspaper home with her and in the evening reads to me about faraway lands and faraway people. It is here that I first heard of the lost man who appeared at the water's edge near your home.

The story that my great-great-granddaughter read to me had a picture, too. You are a very beautiful woman, of course, but there is something deeper that I saw. Like this lost man, you, too, are wandering this world without a rope to tether you. She and I have talked about you a great deal and I wonder if you feel this when you sleep, as she tells me that when we are talking in our part of the world, you are sleeping in yours.

Most importantly, perhaps, I have seen the man who stays with you now. At first when I told her this, my great-great-granddaughter thought I meant that I had seen him in my dreams—as I see many things in my dreams and she is accustomed to hearing about these.

“No, Grandmother,” she said to me the first few times I insisted. “It is not possible.”

“Yes,” I told her, “right here in our village, and not so long ago either.”

As you might imagine, a tall man with fair hair is instantly noticeable here in our village. It is true that the bigger cities in China are sprinkled with men like this now, but not our villages and towns. These are still filled with those of us born of this country.

Keeper of the Lost Man, it has taken a while for my granddaughter to find the place where we can send this letter. Otherwise we would have sent it long ago. She had to speak to the editor of the newspaper many times before she received the information we required.

Now that you and I are here together, I will tell you that the man appeared beside a pond where I take my morning tea. My family installed a small bench where I can curl for a nap when the need arises. When you are one hundred and six years on this earth, you too will nap when the need arises.

On that day, I had taken my tea, talked to my ancestors, and curled for my nap on the bench. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the call of a bird. He was sitting on a low branch of a cherry tree. I do not know how long I slept. Time is of no use to me anymore. But when I woke, the first thing I saw was the Lost Man kneeling by the pond. His face was empty, as it is in the newspaper photograph, but his eyes were full. You must know what I mean, as he has been your companion now for many days.

Though my family says I should have been scared, I was not. I also no longer have any need for fear in my life. That is for young people who have something to lose. Mostly I felt sorrow. It swam to me from him and nearly drowned me. What irony would that be? To have lived one hundred and six years only to be drowned by a fair man's sorrow. So I fought that end and instead climbed into a sitting position, struggled into a standing position, and slowly made my way to his side. I hoped he might be crying, for it is clear he needs to, but he was not. He was simply staring into the pond, as if there might be an answer floating on one of the lily pads.

I dared a liberty I might not have dared with another stranger and put my hand on his head. For many minutes he didn't move and I could feel his sadness in my hand. Thankfully, I am strong, and no amount of sadness is too great for me to bear. I lost one husband and my only daughter, the first to a cough and the second to a tiger. The first I could have withstood, as I didn't care much for his person, but the second nearly sent me off the top of a mountain.

When he finally stood, I saw that he was wearing a black suit and white shirt. I would like to say he looked at me before I turned to go, but you know that would be a lie. In fact, he simply looked in my direction. This is how I know I could not be mistaken about the newspaper photograph. I will never forget his face.

Keeper of the Lost Man, that is the last I saw of him. I wanted you to know this and know that you are not alone in knowing him or caring for him.

•  •  •

Sia stumbled to her office and switched on the desk lamp. What the fuck was going on? She turned her chair to the wall and studied the map. China was enormous, so far from Massachusetts. She looked for Fujian Province and found it on the southern coast. How could Toad have gotten to China? How could he have navigated his way to this small village? And if what this woman said was true, he was not speaking even then, so whatever sadness had crossed his path had done so before she had met him by the pond.

Sia did not know how to assess this information. She didn't even know how to take it in. She pushed a red pin into the coastline of Fujian Province.

Now there were six.

“T
oad?”

Silence.

“Toad?”

Stillness.

“Toad, what is this?”

Sia pressed her finger to the keyhole wound behind his left ear. A small bit of pus oozed out. “Is it a gill?”

Silence. Stillness.

The fish in Sia's middle leapity-leapt/jumpity-jumped/flippity-flipped.

“Were you in a fight?”

No response.

“Were you injured in an accident?”

Nothing.

“Does it hurt?”

“Toad?”

Silence.

“It looks like it hurts.”

The
Dogcatcher's route was circuitous, one that led Sia through the west end, along the waterfront, through a couple of boat yards, and near the eastern edge of town. Twice she paused: once to take a sign for a lost collie from a light pole and once to pick up a discarded hat from a grove of trees. As the rain lashed down, she stuffed the flyers and the hat into the pocket of her slicker.

When she made the necessary turn for the warehouse, Sia was relieved. Despite her rain gear, she was soaked to the skin. Hot, sticky, and tired, she now understood how the Dogcatcher maintained her mop-handle figure.

•  •  •

When they reached the warehouse, the Dogcatcher turned suddenly. “Are you coming in with me today?” she called to Sia, who was crouched behind a bush not far from the white building.

Sia stepped out from what she'd thought was a hiding spot. “May I?”

“Yes, of course,” as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“She
feels things like I do.”

“The Chinese girl?”

“No, the grandmother who wrote the letter.”

“Why does this surprise you?”

“I've never talked to anyone who feels things the way I do. People's sadnesses and pain.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So how do you feel knowing there's another one of you out there?”

Sia picked at a torn cuticle. “Not sure. Comforted, I guess.”

Her therapist nodded. “Anything else?”

“Less responsible.”

“What
if one of us dies?”

It was snowing outside. The wind off the ocean was pelting the house with icy flakes, and already the truck was buried up to its fenders.

“Dies?” Jack said. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, if one of us has an accident or gets sick.”

“Odyssia Dane, why would we worry about that tonight?”

“I just don't ever want to lose you.”

“I never want to lose you either, but we can't live life worrying about it.”

“I know, but what if?”

Jackson pulled Sia's nightgown so her stomach was exposed. With his finger, he drew circles around her belly button.

“Well,” he said, “if you died, I would chase you all the way to Hades and bring you back with me.”

“You would?”

“Absolutely.” He sat up and flexed his biceps. “I am a brave and passionate man. I will follow my wife to Hell and back.”

“Just like Orpheus?” Sia said.

“Yep.”

“Well, you know, Orpheus ruined it all by looking back at Eurydice.”

“Come on, Sia, you know I'm not that gullible.” He kissed her shoulder blade.

“You wouldn't look back to make sure I was there?”

“Oh, I'd be tempted all right, but nope, I'd just know. I'd feel you behind me.”

Sia smiled. “I'd follow you to Hades, too.”

“Ah,” Jackson said, “but the gods wouldn't be so kind if I died. They'd say, ‘That rat? No way. He's here to stay. Earth has had enough of him.'”

“Stop it.”

“They would. I'm not beautiful or sweet smelling or perfectly kooky about my pens and my dog. They wouldn't have any reason to send me back.”

“I'm sleepy, Jack.”

“Good. Close your eyes.”

“I don't ever want to live without you,” Sia said as she dozed off.

“You'll never have to,” he whispered.

•  •  •

An hour later. “Jack?”

“Mmmmm?”

“Why are you so sure I'd end up in Hades?”

Jack laughed. “Took you a while.”

Sia pinched him.

•  •  •

“In the winter censuses,” Stuart read aloud, “the highest concentration of plovers are found in Florida, Texas, and Louisiana.”

“Are y
ou sitting down?”

Sia walked to the kitchen stool with the phone and sat. “I'm sitting.”

“Okay,” Richard said, “the lead was correct.”

“Which one?”

“The one from Italy. It's him.”

The fish whipped around. Sia pressed a hand to her belly.

“Odyssia?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Are you sure it's Toad?”

“Yes, I spoke to his family earlier today, just after I e-mailed a photo to them.”

“And?”

“They confirmed his identity.”

“So he's from Italy?”

“He is.”

“Toad is Italian.” Sia thought of Lothario and his wife's most delicious lobster.

“Yes.”

“Did you ask if he speaks English?”

“He does. French, too.”

“Not Dutch?”

“No, not Dutch or German.”

Sia laughed.

“He's been missing a good while, Odyssia. His family had pretty much given him up for dead.”

•  •  •

Sunlight leaked through the blinds onto Toad's head.

“We know who you are now,” Sia said.

He didn't respond.

•  •  •

That night, Sia tiptoed into the guest room, pushed Gumper to the floor, and crawled into bed beside Toad. He was curled on his right side, facing out toward the edge of the bed. She curled on her left side, facing out. As they lay back-to-back, each in their own dreams, tucked in like two potato bugs in a sandbox, the light from the alien beacon blinked against the window, summoning someone who would never come.