Eating the Moon

by Mark David Campbell

  “What’s wrong with you people!” Luca throws his arms in the air. “Rufus killed Tiki!” he yells, then storms off.

  Kizo looks to the ground, then looks up. “Yes, this is true.” He clasps my face in his big hands. “But you cannot punish a tree for being a tree or a bird for being a bird. And you cannot punish Rufus for being a shark.”

  “What if he does it again?”

  Kizo nods. “Then we will be ready for him. The sea is full of sharks, and you cannot kill them all. A death cannot be paid for with another death. Tiki was not ready to become a man. It was Molap, his father, who, out of pride and vanity, pushed him too early.”

  “Tiki was awfully immature,” I said.

  “Now we must have a finding.” Kizo nods.

  “What’s a finding?” I grit my teeth.

  “It will be argued in front of all and responsibility determined.”

  “When?” Considering the mess I got myself into with Nando, I worry that I might be blamed as well.

  “That is for the women to decide.”

  A few days following the funeral, the finding is announced. That night the moon is full as we gather in the women’s plaza. Kyle, who presides over the finding, is seated on the upper platform of the great pyramid mound, while Tuss and Molap stand in the plaza below, facing her. The men and women of the village sit in two separate groups on the steps.

  I sit with Pico and Lalli. A few minutes later, Kizo appears, looking quite agitated.

  “Where’s Luca?” I ask.

  Kizo looks to the ground. “He said he had something important to do. He took my boat at dawn.”

  “Maybe he wanted to go out fishing?”

  “Yes, but he also took my heavy net and my longest spear.”

  I think of how agitated he was at the funeral, and I hope he is not up to something stupid, like trying to kill Rufus. Ever since Luca started hitting the grog again, his behavior has become more unpredictable. “I’m sure he just wants to be alone. He’ll be fine.” I pat Kizo’s bum as he sits down. My words don’t sound very sincere.

  A low humming starts and spreads throughout the crowd. Two women, Molap’s sister and Dzil, step into the center of the plaza and face one another.

  “Dzil will represent Tuss in the finding,” Kizo leans and whispers in my ear. “And Molap has asked his sister to defend him, but she is no match for Dzil.” He scrunches up his face and shakes his head.

  “Why are both representatives women?” I whisper back.

  “Because women are experts in these arts. Very few men have the capacity, and even fewer are foolish enough to take the risk.”

  I watch Dzil, who looks like a champion fighter warming up for a prizefight. I shiver out of sympathy for Molap.

  Drums sound, the women make that shrill noise, then everyone falls silent. The finding begins with Dzil singing and wailing an incomprehensible dialogue. Molap’s sister follows with tears and sorrowful moans.

  I lean against Kizo and whisper, “I can’t understand a thing they’re saying.”

  “That is because they are not speaking words.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “They are expressing only what is inside, those feelings that cannot be given words. Words are forbidden during a finding, because once a word is spoken, it becomes real, and like poison, words can kill.”

  After my encounter with Tukuman, I realize that truth on the island is not always found in words. As the finding proceeds, I understand why Dzil is considered such a dangerous woman. The range, volume, and intensity of her vocals rival the great Maria Callas. Her performance is accompanied by a repertoire of gestures and gyrations that even a Russian gymnast couldn’t match. All the while she never utters an actual word.

  The opera continues for hours, late into the night, sometimes angry, sometimes sorrowful, always tragic. By the end we are all crying. Tuss, sobbing uncontrollably, reaches out and embraces Tiki’s younger father, Den. They cling together. Molap has thrown himself to the ground facedown, moaning pitifully. It’s truly the saddest public display I’ve ever witnessed, yet not a single word has been spoken.

  Finally Kyle rises and speaks. “And so the finding is concluded.”

  The men and women, still crying, try their best to collect themselves, many embracing one another. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen men and women make physical contact. Kizo and Pico pull me into their crying circle, and I find myself surrounded by men and women embracing me in a way that I interpret as gratitude for my attempt to help Tiki and sympathy for the pain and guilt I have for having lost him.

  “What will happen to Molap?” I whisper to Kizo.

  Kizo looks stern. “The original arrangement with him has been dissolved as if it had never existed. Molap will now wear a name of shame. He must return any gifts that were given him. No man will fish or make sex with him. No woman will trade potatoes or accept his juice. Den has already left him. He has lost everything.”

  “Yeee, severe.” I clench my teeth.

  “It is our way,” Kizo says.

  I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder, and a woman’s voice calls my name, or at least the name everyone now uses for me, Yabai. I turn and face Kyle. She smiles at me like we are old friends. She takes my hand, places something in my palm, and wraps my fingers over it. Still cupping my hand in hers, she says, “Brother.” She clasps the back of my head, drawing me downward as she stands on her toes and touches her forehead to mine. Then she turns and walks away. I stand motionless for a few seconds, not knowing how to react and fearing I might do something out of protocol. I examine what she has placed in my hand. It’s a simple seashell on a hemp cord, just like the one Nando always wears.

  “She is giving her approval.” Kizo grins.

  “Her approval? For what?”

  Kizo flexes his eyebrows. “For Nando.”

  I put the necklace on and smile, but a lump rises in my throat as I think of him still lying unconscious in his hammock.

  It’s late and the finding is over, but just as we are about to return to the men’s side of the village, we are startled by a loud throaty roar from Luca as he appears on the top platform directly above us. Everyone stops talking and looks up toward him. He stands like an Olympian with his legs spread wide and his arms over his head. His body is smeared with what looks like greasy fish blood, and his hands are cut up. He’s wavering unsteadily and has a crazed look on his face. I suspect he’s high on grog. He’s holding something over his head shaped like two bows. I stare up at him, trying to figure out what he is holding.

  Kizo and Pico dash up the steps toward Luca. Pico jumps up and grabs the bow-shaped thing out of his hands and runs off behind the mound. Kizo scoops Luca up and sweeps him away toward the men’s village. It happens so fast that Luca doesn’t have the chance to resist. But it’s too late. Everyone has already seen the thing he’s holding: the jaw of a large shark—Rufus!

  An expression of sheer horror splashes across Tuss’s face as she stands and watches.

  I close my eyes in dread. “Luca, you macho idiot,” I mumble to myself. “What have you done?”

  GUY SAT in silence. The mechanical click of the wall clock dominated the room.

  Richard waited a few minutes before speaking. Then he said, “So death comes to the island. You told me your parents had passed away during your final year of university.”

  “Yeah, they died in a car accident driving back from a vacation in Florida, back in 1970.”

  “Do you want to tell me about that?”

  “After they died I was really all alone.”

  “Did you have any other relatives you could turn to?”

  “Well, I did have an aunt who lived in Saskatchewan, Aunt Emmy, my mom’s sister. She was a close friend of the living Jesus, and we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. The last Christmas I spent with her, I mentioned Darwin over turkey and mashed potatoes and was accused of blasphemy. If only she knew, evolution was the least of my transgression
s.

  “My parents’ funeral was her first time back east since she’d been married. Truth is, she had always been envious of my mother and never liked my father, but she took on her role like a true drama queen, dabbing tears with one hand while serving finger sandwiches with the other. My parents’ church had received advance notice of her arrival and instructions. A SWAT team of local church ladies was waiting for me when I arrived by train from Montreal. They had pretty much arranged everything. I remember the people all dressed in black and the long somber expressions on their faces, the sermon in the church and the graveside prayer. The minister said, ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’”

  “And what about you?” Richard coaxed.

  “I did my best to hide in a corner, poking at tuna sandwiches with no crusts, guzzling warm soft drinks, and trying to figure out how to say words with eths on the ends. Every time I popped a gooey sandwich in my mouth, someone would come up and offer their condolences and sympathies. By early evening I was bored shitless. I managed to make my escape by assuring my aunt that I just needed a little time alone.”

  “Did you resent your aunt?”

  “Not really. I didn’t begrudge my aunt her moment of glory nor mind the invasion of the Bible-thumpers. They saved me the bother of dealing with it. But my folks were dead, and nothing would change that, full stop.”

  “And how did you react?”

  Guy’s lower lip trembled. “After my parents’ funeral, I hopped the first train back to Montreal, got stinking drunk in the bar car on the way, headed straight down to the docks, and got fucked repeatedly.”

  “That was very self-destructive.”

  “I guess everybody handles grief in their own way.”

  “Did you blame yourself for your parents’ accident?”

  “I don’t know, Doc.” Guy stared at the wall above Richard’s head and said nothing more. Minutes passed, and he remained transfixed and silent. Then Guy turned toward Richard. “Doc, you ever had anyone close to you die?”

  “Yes.” Richard nodded slowly. “I lost my best friend to AIDS a year ago.”

  “People still die from it, don’t they?”

  “The cocktail doesn’t always work,” Richard said.

  “People should come with airbags,” Guy said flatly. He dropped his head, grabbed the hair at his temples, and pulled.

  “Might make life a little easier,” Richard said. He pressed his lips together tightly.

  “I’ve got to go.” Guy got up and hurried out the door.

  “See you Monday,” Richard called after him.

  Chapter 22: Babo Ceremony

  THE RUBBER soles of his high-tops squeaked on the freshly polished linoleum as Guy walked down the corridor, rounding the corner toward Richard’s office. Up ahead, he spotted Armando with his head poking partway inside Richard’s doorway. Guy stopped and stepped backward, around the corner and out of Armando’s sight. He listened to their voices rolling lazily back and forth, although he couldn’t quite catch what they were saying. He heard Armando laugh, followed by the sound of his footsteps. Guy stepped around the corner.

  “Good morning, Mr. Palmer,” Armando said as they passed. “How are you today?”

  “Not nearly as good as you.” Guy grinned.

  “Oh, thanks for the tickets to the awards ceremony. Linda says thanks too.”

  Guy winked and made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Think nothing of it, Kiddo.”

  “The doctor’s ready. You can go on in.” Armando dashed off toward the nurses’ station.

  “How was your weekend?” Guy said as he entered the office.

  Richard was sitting with his chair leaning back against his desk, smiling and looking out the window at two squirrels chasing each other around the base of a maple tree. He hadn’t switched on his computer yet. His gym bag was in its usual place, wedged between his desk and the wall, but it was dry and zipped tight. Richard sat upright and stretched his arms wide. “Great. The celebrity dinner on Saturday was a smashing success.”

  “I’m sure it was.” Guy smiled.

  “We sold out. It’s a shame you couldn’t get tickets all the same,” Richard said.

  “Oh, I had tickets. They send them to me every year. I’m what you might call a patron of the Center.”

  “Well, then, why didn’t you come?”

  “I gave my tickets to a fishing buddy of mine. I much prefer an intimate Sunday brunch for two over a crowded dinner with a bunch of strangers.” Guy twitched his eyebrows.

  Richard said nothing for a moment. He squinted and carefully studied Guy’s face. “You’re a clever old fox, aren’t you, Mr. Palmer?”

  “A good fisherman never tells the fish where and when he will place his hook, does he?” Guy shrugged. “But enough about your little prom night. I’m in the middle of a very important part of my story.”

  I WOULD like to tell you that when I return to the cottage I kiss Nando and he awakens, but that would be too sticky-sweet for anyone to swallow. Besides, I think Disney corporation owns the copyright to that story line. Even though I’ve gone through the rites of passage for him, Nando is still motionless in his hammock, and I don’t know if he will ever get better.

  Pico and I are staying at Kizo’s cottage in the village while we wait for Nando’s recovery. I’m now back in society as Yabai, and as before, I go fishing with Kizo, Pico, and sometimes Lalli in the morning, and often spend the afternoon cleaning fish and bathing at the pool with Pico.

  After the incident with the jaw of Rufus at the finding, Kizo says it’s best that Luca stays at their camp up in the hills, at least for the time being. I know Luca was only trying to help by avenging Tiki’s death, but some things can never be set right again.

  In the evening I sit alone at the signal fire, watch the sun sink into the sea, and question what I’m doing here on this island. I wish Luca were here to put his arms around me and say “Don’t worry, Kiddo. It’ll be all right.” But Luca is lost in the grog, and I don’t know how to reach him anymore.

  I close my eyes and picture Tiki’s face smeared with clay when we were making pots together. I think of how proud he was when he gave me that little squirrelfish at the beach in front of the other boys. But Tiki is gone now.

  Most of all I think about Nando, still in a semicoma. I imagine his warm breath against my ear as he whispers those promises that only lovers share. I’m not sure when it happened or how, but his smile, his touch, his smell has made whole in me whatever was missing and incomplete.

  Then I open my eyes and look out at the white strip of surf beating against the purpling expanse of sea, and I feel truly lost and alone in paradise.

  But as they say, dawn follows darkness, and soon Nando opens his eyes. He looks up at me and smiles weakly as I crouch next to his hammock and caress his face and smooth his hair. I want to hold him in my arms and make him better. He doesn’t speak yet, but the glimmer in his big brown eyes assures me he has come back to me.

  Kyle, who has been presiding over him like a head nurse, allows me to visit only for short periods, hustling me out the door before crazy Tukuman arrives for his daily visit. Although Nando remains in his hammock, with each passing day his strength and senses grow. Little by little, Kyle allows me to stay longer, until eventually Pico and I move back in and Kyle retires to her home in the women’s village.

  Finally one day, as Pico and I climb the steps after returning from fishing, I see Nando through the open doorway, fussing around the cottage, straightening up and cleaning. My first instinct is to grab him and smother him in kisses, but as we burst in through the doorway, I see the expression on his face is more perturbed than amorous.

  “When I was out of my head, did you two do any cleaning?” he says.

  “I swept a few times, and I recall Pico fluffing a pillow.” I point to Pico, while he points back at me.

  “This place is a disaster.”

  “We brought fish,” I say brightly, and Pico holds up a group of m
ackerel strung together through their gills.

  “Both of you, go away so I can clean and make something to eat.” Nando points out the door and scowls, trying hard not to smile.

  “Drop the fish, Pico, and run! Don’t think of me, save yourself!” I grab Pico around the waist, and we scoot out the door. “Oh yeah.” I swing around, clutch the doorway with both hands, and lean my head back inside. “Welcome back.”

  Nando comes running toward me swinging the broom.

  I hop down the steps after Pico. “I love you!” I holler back loud enough to startle the cattle egrets roosting in the nearby tree. I freeze in my tracks. It just kind of slipped out, but there it is. I’ve finally said it. I stand there on the bottom step with my mouth hanging open.

  Nando is standing on the terrace looking down on me. His face is beaming. He pounds his chest twice over his heart, which means ‘I love you too.’

  Just then Pico comes running back and grabs my arm and pulls me ahead. I break into laughter, throw Nando a kiss, and follow reluctantly. Nando holds his fist firmly over his heart as he watches Pico and I run off.

  By the time we leave the bathing pool, the sun has set. My heart is jumping like a fish. I practically skip back home, leaving Pico behind.

  As I rush in, I call out, “Daddy’s home!” Man, I can’t believe I actually say that. I look around. Our cottage is clean and neat, food is set out, but Nando’s gone.

  A few seconds later Pico wanders in, casually munching on a mango.

  “Where’s Nando?”

  “Babo festival,” he replies with a mouth half-full of mango.

  “Fuck,” I mutter through my teeth.

  Pico looks at me and smiles widely with mango smeared all over his mouth.

  That evening the full moon seems especially large and bright as we head out the door—Pico hopping and bouncing and I almost jumping down the steps. The other men have already gathered on the steps at the foot of the pyramid mound. Tukuman sees us and signals for us to climb up and sit next to him. Oh great, I think, I’m going to spend the evening sitting with my schizophrenic father-in-law.