Eating the Moon

by Mark David Campbell

  Little by little the noise subsides, and eventually everyone falls quiet with only the crackle of burning torches and the squeals of fussing babies to disturb the stillness of the night.

  I sit expectantly, waiting for something else to happen, something to break the stillness. Nothing does. After an hour or more, people rise, one by one or in little groups, and wander off. Lalli kisses my neck, and Nando immediately nudges my elbow and says, “It is time to go home.” Lalli disappears through the passageway to the men’s side of the village, and Nando and I follow. I feel like a child who has just been told the facts of life, and now I have more questions than answers.

  The following afternoon, Pico and I are lounging on the sand patch at the bathing pool under the large breadfruit tree. Pico is sound asleep, using my thigh as his pillow, and I have an old coconut husk propped under my head. I watch as spots of sunlight poke through the canopy and tickle the surface of the water.

  “C’mon, Pico.” I jostle his head. “The tide should be out. Let’s go and see if we can find some crabs and clams for dinner.”

  Before I can push myself upright, Pico is wide-awake and has sprung to his feet. I stand, stretch, and brush off the sand. Then I hold Pico by his shoulder with my one hand and brush off the sand clinging to his backside with my other. I slap his ass lightly, and we trot down the trail to the tidal pools near the cliff.

  The sea is like a mirror, and the tide is almost at its lowest, exposing a world below the waterline that is usually hidden. Craggy rocks jut upward, covered with soft orange corals and green algae, which are flopped over, glistening in the sunlight. Gurgling pools are filled with barnacles, clams, and small fish, marooned there until the sea returns. Crabs, like last-minute shoppers, scurry everywhere. As we wind our way along the patches of saturated sand, clams squirt and click.

  Pico darts ahead and catches a large blue-clawed crab. He holds it up by its claw for me to see. I throw him a thumbs-up sign. In a tidal pool just beyond, I spot something floating and go to investigate. As I draw near, I make out a small boat about the size of a cradle made of woven bamboo. I carefully wade into the pool, mindful of the array of spiny black urchins along the rock walls, pull the tiny boat toward me, and look in. I gasp and jump back. There inside, covered with flies, is a tiny wizened body of a newborn boy. I scramble back to the rocks and try not to vomit.

  Pico appears, wades into the pool, and retrieves the boat. Then, as I steady myself against the rocks, my head still woozy, he climbs out of the pool with the boat in his arms and carries it over to the waterline.

  “Wait. Pico! What are you doing? That’s a dead baby,” I cry.

  Pico nods, places the boat in the water, and with a gentle push sends the tiny craft outward with the receding tidal current. We stand and watch as it drifts farther and farther out to sea.

  “Let’s go home, Pico. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  When we arrive back at the cottage, I immediately tell Nando about the dead baby in the little boat.

  “Sometimes when a baby is born,” Nando says softly, “he must be returned to the Moon.”

  “Why? What happened to him?”

  “Yabai, don’t ask me. I don’t know.” Nando looks to the ground and shakes his head. “Try to understand. This poor baby got trapped in the tidal pools, and Pico was just sending him home.”

  I look at him for a moment, trying to find words. Then I say, “I’m not hungry. I’m going to the lookout to tend the signal fire.” And I leave the cottage.

  GUY STOPPED talking.

  After a moment, Richard broke the silence. “In your story, you are always very careful to separate men from women. Do you dislike women?”

  “Ha!” Guy snorted. “On the contrary, I have enormous respect for women. It’s just I find their brains more interesting than their sex organs. I wish I could always say the same about men.”

  “Well, so far it seems that the women are in control and do all the political stuff while the men are pretty much passive.”

  “Apart from fishing, the men do most of the medicine and magic. But let me ask you, if it were the other way around, with the men doing all the politics and women being mostly domestic and passive, would you even question it?”

  “Hmm.” Richard rubbed his chin. “Probably not. I guess it just shows you how deep our gender stereotypes run.”

  “Well, for one thing, there are not as many men as women on the island.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Fishing, especially when they go outside the reef, is a lot more dangerous than planting potatoes.”

  “Do you think they also practice some kind of male infanticide? You did say you found a dead newborn boy floating near the shore.”

  Guy was pensive, then spoke slowly. “Every society regards males and females differently and has different ways of regulating birth. Usually male babies are valued more than female babies, but here on the island more women are needed for farming and birth than men for fishing and insemination.” He breathed in deeply. “The liver of the puffer fish is highly toxic, causing paralysis and suffocation. I don’t know if unwanted newborn males were sometimes ‘put to sleep and returned,’ but every baby I saw was loved and wanted.”

  “You don’t know or you don’t want to know?”

  “Not all truth is tolerable.”

  Richard sat thinking for a moment. “Everyone you’ve told me about so far is homosexual. So where are the heterosexuals?”

  “The ones that are there remain in the shadows.”

  “But life really isn’t like that, is it?”

  “No, real life is mostly the other way around. The homosexuals remain hidden in the shadows.”

  “Not anymore,” Richard scoffed. “Gay people are more and more visible all the time.”

  “Think about it for a moment,” Guy snapped. “In real life, if being gay were completely visible and nothing more remarkable than, say, I take sugar in my coffee, the gay movement would fade away and you wouldn’t still be in the closet.”

  “I’m not in the closet!” Richard sounded more defensive than sincere.

  “Whatever.” Guy whisked his hand like he was shooing a fly. “But thankfully they still need old queers like me to hate. It’s all just part of their game.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Family, church, society.”

  “And why do they need someone like you to hate?”

  “Because I’m the shadowy thing that goes bump in the night and scares children.” Guy grinned wickedly. “I’m the demon that sends men burdened with guilt running to the doorsteps of their churches in search of salvation.” He raised his finger in the air. “I’m the destroyer of morality and the family!” Guy paused for a moment and looked directly at Richard. “But most of all, I’m the monster you see in the mirror that you can’t look away from.”

  Richard made no response. His face was professional and without expression.

  “Whoa.” Guy rubbed his hand across his forehead and feigned flinging away the sweat from his brow. “Nothing like a little dramatic relief to get your blood going first thing in the morning.” He laughed.

  Richard pursed his lips and furrowed his brow.

  “Pretty good, huh? What do you think?”

  Richard looked as if he were trying out a phrase in his head prior to giving it voice. Then he began to speak. “Buried inside your humor I hear a lot of pain and anger.” Richard paused. “I think you need to consider why you personally feel so persecuted.”

  Guy curled his lip but said nothing.

  Richard checked his watch. “Oh, it’s past time. Next week I want to talk more about your feelings of hostility towards heterosexuals.”

  As Guy stood up, a gentle tap came on the glass of the office door. Richard swiveled around in his chair and said, “Come in.”

  Armando carefully opened the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “No, we ran a few minutes late this morning. Come in,” Richard said.
<
br />   “I have the file for your next appointment, Doctor.”

  “Oh, thank you. I was looking for it earlier.”

  Richard held out his hand, and Armando leaned forward and handed him the file. He was no longer wearing his Padre Pio medallion.

  Guy walked over to the door and paused. “How’s your mom doing?”

  Armando looked at Guy and smiled. “Better now, thanks. We were a little worried a week ago.”

  Richard furrowed his brow. “Your mom’s not well?”

  “She had pneumonia. That’s why I took a few days off. Remember?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot. If I can do anything, Armando, just let me know.”

  As Guy stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him, he heard Armando say, “Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate it. Should I send your next patient in?”

  Chapter 10: Luca Returns

  GUY ENTERED the studio without knocking. Richard was sitting at his desk reading his screen, freshly showered, hair blown dry, and the usual odor of chlorine in the room.

  “How was your swim this morning?”

  “Good, thanks,” Richard said casually.

  “You know, Doc,” Guy said as he handed Richard his coffee and took his usual place on the sofa, “I’m having trouble understanding people. I feel like everyone is mumbling.”

  “Have you had your hearing checked?”

  “Yes, yes. My hearing’s fine.” Guy fumbled in his pocket, produced a crumpled Kleenex, and blew his nose. “I can hear what people are saying, but I can’t gauge their sincerity or intent.”

  Richard came over and sat down on the swivel chair. “Are you really listening, or are you trying to read something else into what they are saying?”

  Guy slouched back in the sofa. “I feel like I’m speaking to someone through one of those glass service boxes with the microphones. You can see them, but you only ever get part of what they’re saying and the rest you guess at—‘put your ticket and your money in the sliding drawer.’ The glass box people always have to point in order for you to understand what they really want you to do.”

  Richard nodded. “When you search too hard for a hidden meaning and intent in everything people say, you miss the direct message.”

  “How can I connect with anybody if they only want to communicate superficially?”

  “It takes time to develop trust and intimacy with someone.” Richard paused. Then with a slight tone of suspicion, he said, “Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

  “Yes. No, I mean people in general. Look at us for instance. According to Bion, we are supposed to link minds. We are supposed to have intimacy and trust. But your words are insincere.”

  “We have a professional relationship with different roles. You’re the one who is supposed to reveal his emotions to me.” Richard shook his head. “It’s not supposed to be reciprocal.”

  “But Doc, it already is.” Guy leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. “I already know a lot about what you feel. Take that young nurse Armando, for example.”

  Richard’s expression became flat, and he slowly sat back in his chair. “What about him?”

  “Black wavy hair that touches his cheekbones, bright laughing brown eyes, and a waist that’s long and lean. When he turns quickly, he exposes a small patch of dark hair just below his navel.”

  Richard had the expression of a man who had been caught peeking. He interlocked his fingers and drew his hands in close to his waist. His foot rocked ever so slightly.

  “It’s obvious you’re attracted to him,” Guy challenged.

  Richard’s face flushed, and he stiffened. “Now you have gone well beyond the boundaries of our professional relationship, Mr. Palmer.”

  “But I’m trying to explain something,” Guy said, almost scolding. “Your words tell me one thing, but your body has already told me something else.”

  “Enough!” Richard clenched his hands as if he were trying to contain his anger. “Why are you so intent on probing into my sexuality?”

  “Because….” Guy stopped. He wrinkled his brow, looked to the floor, and mumbled, “You’re right, Doc. This is not about you.” For a moment he was silent. Then he looked up and, with a tone of renewed enthusiasm, said, “Let’s talk about me instead.”

  IT’S LATE in the afternoon. I’m sitting tending the signal fire when I finally spot Luca and Kizo in the distance beyond the bay. I sigh with relief. For more than an hour I watch them as they stumble along the rocky shore. When they reach the sand, they part, and Kizo heads along the trail that leads into the village. Luca looks to where I’m perched on the cliff and without a wave or a smile, continues up the rocky path toward me.

  “Good to see you back in one piece,” I say as he approaches, trying my best to restrain my joy even though I’m having trouble taming my smile. “I was getting a little worried that I’d been abandoned in paradise or something.”

  “Relax, Mother.” He meets my beaming face with a sneer. “I was only gone a moon.”

  I feel like he’s just rammed a fist in my stomach, and the smile drains from my face. After a moment of silence, I say casually, “Did you see anything that might give us a clue?” trying hard not to show my hurt feelings.

  “Nope, no luck at all.” He wipes his forehead with his forearm and flicks the drips of sweat over the edge of the cliff. “At least we know it’s an island for sure—one big fucking round island, no other villages, no other inhabitants, just jungle and shoreline.”

  He throws down the bundle he has slung over his shoulder and collapses onto his flat rock, directly opposite mine. He’s smeared with dirt and covered with numerous cuts, scratches, and bug bites. His shoulders are raw and scabby from sunburn, and he has definitely lost weight.

  “The south side looks the same as this, only a bit rougher. From what I could make out, the smaller island over there to the west is similar to this one.” He pauses and swallows; his lips are swollen and cracked. “There’s not a single sign of anyone over there.”

  “Nando did say we are on one of three islands, called the Islands of the Stars. Did you find any garbage on the shore, anything that would tell us that at least there is someone out there?”

  “Like what? A sign saying Cuba fifty miles this way?”

  My stomach churns, and I taste acid in the back of my throat.

  He looks at me for a moment and then softens his tone. “Nothing but jungle, rocks, sand, bush, and eelgrass.” He falls silent and stares out at the darkening horizon.

  “Well, that doesn’t make sense, does it?” My voice becomes somewhat alto and my hands animated in a manner that I always try to suppress. “I don’t think there’s any place on earth now that’s not on a map. They must have some kind of contact with the outside world. I mean, it’s not like we’re living in the eighteenth century or we’ve dropped off the planet.”

  Luca continues staring out to sea. “Kizo tells me there’s a far island out beyond the reef.” He turns back toward me. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “But he also says it’s really dry and desolate and nobody goes there. Funny, it was like he didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, Nando speaks English,” I say, using my most encouraging tone. “American English, and so do some of the others. Some of them speak Spanish too. They must have learned it somewhere from someone.”

  Luca’s eyes become hard. “We’re either missing something or we’re not being told.”

  “Why do you keep saying they’re hiding something from us?” I scowl.

  Luca reaches into a fold in his waistcloth. He leans over onto one elbow and flicks something shiny toward me.

  I catch it. “More gold?”

  “Yeah, Spanish doubloon. Found it on one of the beaches.”

  I examine the coin. “I don’t give a shit if they do have gold, I’m not about to steal from them.” I place the coin on the rock beside me and pull a burning stick out of the signal fire. I fling the stick off the edge and watch it plumm
et down, end over end into the sea below.

  “Calm down. Look, all I’m saying is there must be something more to this place than fishing and fucking. And we need to know.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I slump forward and rest my chin on my hands. “Nando said his father was American. I’m going to grill him a bit more and find out how his father got here and how he left.”

  Luca looks at me and bites the corner of his lip. “I can tell from your smoldering signal fire you didn’t see anything.” Then regaining a little of his usual vigor in his voice, he says, “Shit, sooner or later a ship’s got to pass close enough, and we’ll be ready.”

  His resilience touches me, and I shiver. How can I be angry with him? He needs me.

  “I’m going to rest up for a few days, then head up the volcano where I can get a better view.” Luca points to the volcano looming overhead.

  “Go ahead. Leave me again,” I say with sarcasm and a stupid grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here tending the fire!”

  Luca springs to his haunches and pounces on top of me. I topple flat onto my back. Straddling me, he pins my arms to the ground. I gasp and flinch, not sure if he’s playing or wants to hurt me. But he just hovers over me, holding me there and staring into my face. Then after a moment he flops the full weight of his hot, sticky body on top of me and buries his face in my hair.

  I feel a warm tear trickle down my ear, and I pull my arms free from his grip and wrap them around him. “I won’t abandon you,” I promise.

  We lie there like that for a few moments, and I feel him growing hard against my belly. Then, as I too become hard, Luca sniffs loudly and pushes himself upright until he’s standing straddled above me.

  I sit up quickly and adjust the bib of my loincloth, hoping to conceal my boner. “You know, you could use a bath. You smell like a dead animal,” I say as I brush his sweaty grime off my chest and stomach.

  “Right now, I got a volcano right here that’s ready to erupt.” He cups his groin and jiggles it. “And I wouldn’t mind a couple of those things they pass off as beer, as well.”