Eating the Moon

by Mark David Campbell

  “If you want to be my bloody wife, then act like one and get me and my dear friend here a fresh gourd of grog.”

  Kizo obeys, serving him a gourd, then handing one to me. I remember Larry’s father and how hostile a drunk can get if you refuse to drink with him, so I play along, taking tiny sips.

  “What are you, some kind of old lady drinking tea? Drink that shit like a man.”

  “You called me up here to tell me how I should drink?” I place the gourd on the ground and turn and start to walk away.

  “Ah, come on, come on. I was just having a bit of fun with you.”

  I turn back, throw him a sour smile, and pick up my gourd. “And it’s good to see you too.”

  “Yup, I got a pretty nice little setup here. You’re welcome to move on up anytime, Kiddo. Tin Man here is not much of a conversationalist, and I could use the company.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m more of a beach boy, not really a mountain man. Besides, I’ve got the signal fire on the cliff to tend to.”

  “Oh I forgot, you got your own cozy deal with Nando. Wouldn’t want to interfere with the honeymoon couple.”

  I ignore his jab. “So I hear you’ve made an arrangement with Dzil.”

  “Not bad, eh?” He pushes his hammock and swings lazily. “My juice for her potatoes and coffee. That’s me, just an old milk cow.” He winks. “Or the only bull in a pasture full of steers. Depends on how you want to look at it.”

  The muscles in the back of my neck tighten. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Dzil’s not a woman to mess with.”

  “She’s just a twat. I know a lot more about how to handle a twat than you do, fairy boy.”

  “Can’t argue with that one.” I grab the cord of his swinging hammock. “So what’s so urgent you needed to see me about?”

  He grabs a nearby bamboo stalk and halts his swing. “Gold!”

  I see a fire light in his eyes. “Gold? Are you still on that?”

  “You bet I am. You know how Tin Man here likes to run around in that stupid chest plate half the time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that chest plate is decorated with gold.” Luca holds his gourd up. “Gold! You hear me?” He takes a big swig. “Seems like a long time ago a Spanish galleon smashed up on the rocks here. The thing was full of Inca gold headed for Spain. It didn’t sink right away, and the natives had the good sense to salvage the gold and store it in a cave just up the coast, not too far from here.” He beams and holds up his gourd for a toast.

  I make no move to reciprocate. An old Spanish wreck, I think. That explains two pieces of the puzzle: one, why they have gold when they obviously neither mine nor have metallurgical technology, and two, why so many of the villagers look Hispanic and can speak some Spanish. There has been contact, though obviously limited and a long time ago. I don’t bother to explain any of this to Luca, as he clearly has only the gold in mind.

  “Great.” I shrug. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  Luca takes another swig. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” he yells, spitting grog on his chest. “We load up as much gold as we can carry in the lifeboat and get the fuck off this rock. We’ll be rich as kings. When we get back, we’ll buy a ship and return for the rest, tax free. Tin Man here tells me the calm season is just a moon away, and that’s when we head out.” He points over his head toward the sea. His arm is shaking and he’s dripping with sweat, probably the effects of the grog. “Once we’re in the shipping lanes, we’ll be spotted.”

  “What if you aren’t picked up?” I ask. “You could die out at sea.” Luca doesn’t seem to notice I said “you” and not “we.”

  He waves his hand back and forth. “We’ll take plenty of fresh water and supplies. I know how to navigate by the stars, and we can’t be too far from Florida or Cuba.” He slaps his chest. “Besides, the time has come. We either take our chance at sea and get rich or spend the rest of our lives rotting here like savages on this island.”

  I’m silent for a moment. I wish I didn’t owe him my life. Then I look at him and say, “The gold is not yours to take.”

  “What the fuck are they going to do with it?” Luca sits upright, his legs straddling his hammock. “It’s not like they have anything to spend it on. They won’t even know it’s gone. Look, there’s enough gold for both of us.”

  “Forget it!” I shake my head and stick out my chin. “I’m not going to be part of your little scheme to rip them off.”

  “Fine, Kiddo, just don’t start crying the blues when I’m living like a king and you’re kicking yourself for not knowing a gift for the taking. Just remember….” He jabs his finger in the air. “I saved your ass. You owe me.”

  “Yes, I’ll help you get home. That’s all.” I place the gourd on the ground and turn and walk away. This time I have no intentions of being coaxed back.

  “You’ll change your mind once we get rescued,” he calls after me. “Then you’ll thank old Luca for saving your ass and making you rich. You just be sure the lifeboat is ready to go.”

  I’m fuming. I want to… really, I don’t know what I want to do. I hate Luca for what he has become, for what the grog has done to him, but at the same time, I realize that I can’t hate him just because my paradise is his hell. How did my hero become my nemesis?

  “Kizo, go back with him and get some fresh fish for dinner,” he yells. “I’ve got some things to take care of, and I don’t want you hanging around.”

  Kizo catches up with me, and we walk in silence along the path until he passes me.

  “Kizo, wait up. Your legs are longer than mine. Slow down.”

  Kizo slows slightly, and I trot up to him and grasp his elbow.

  “Why do you let him talk to you like that? You’re not his bloody servant, you know.”

  “He does not mean it. It is just the grog. He is worried.” Kizo avoids my eyes.

  “Worried about what?” I stop abruptly, pulling Kizo to a halt. “He’s sitting on his fat ass all day in a hammock drinking like a fish. What has he got to worry about?”

  “Fish do not drink.” Kizo looks to the ground.

  “It’s an expression, and besides, you are trying to avoid my question. Why do you let him treat you like that?” I reach out and gently lift Kizo’s chin.

  “I love him.” Kizo’s eyes briefly meet mine, and then he looks down again.

  “That’s not an answer. That’s an excuse.” I lift his chin again.

  “He loves me. Really he does.” Kizo speaks quickly. “I have made an arrangement for him to have a child with Dzil. He did this to show me he loves me. I am his man.” Kizo pulls away and walks ahead.

  I want to tell him he’s being used, that Luca is only trying to prove to himself that he’s not homosexual. And now he has gold fever. But I know anything I say to Kizo will not make it better, and I don’t want to hurt him. I also know what happens to the bearer of unwanted truths. I’m totally dependent on the people here, and I can’t afford to fall out of favor with Kizo.

  “And when the time comes for him to leave?” I call after Kizo.

  “I go too. He needs me, and I cannot live without him,” he calls back without turning to look.

  It’s pathetic really, but there’s nothing I can say or do. I run up to him and put my hands on his broad shoulders. “Kizo, wait. You are as much my brother as he is. You know that. And you also know that I am as worried about him as I am about you. I desire only goodness for both of you.”

  Kizo stops and turns. “Also me. I desire goodness for you.”

  We say nothing more and continue on in silence.

  Not too far along the path, in the soft mud, I see a small set of recent footprints. I’m sure Kizo sees them too. They’re too large to be a child’s, too small to be a man’s. Petite really. The only person I know of with such petite feet is Dzil. Something in my gut tells me trouble, big trouble, is brewing. Why would Dzil be visiting Luca? Why indeed? I pray my worst fears ar
e wrong.

  Then an idea occurs to me, slightly self-serving and manipulative, and I feel a little guilty for conceiving it. In all fairness, if Kizo is intent on following Luca to the ends of the earth, and let’s face it, he is an infinitely more skilled seaman than I am, then maybe a solution has presented itself. If Luca leaves as soon as possible with Kizo, perhaps trouble can be avoided before whatever secret things going on between Luca and Dzil become public knowledge.

  I resolve to go ahead and prepare the lifeboat and supplies: water and food. The gold is Luca’s affair, not mine. It is more than obvious he needs to leave, and if a little gold will hurry the process along, so be it. Again, simple village life has become far from simple, and I have a lot of work cut out for me. Time is running out. So much for fishing, feasting, and sex. Am I sacrificing Kizo in my own interest to stay? Do I want to stay and maybe end up as crazy as Tukuman? If things continue as they are headed, sooner or later everyone will pay a price.

  “WORDS LIKE ‘I love you’ fade the instant they are spoken,” Guy said casually, as if he had not been staring at the far wall and talking for the past forty minutes. “A lover, a friend, an important event, they’re all here.” Guy swept his flat palms over his chest and shoulders.

  “Are we still talking about tattoos?” Richard asked.

  “Every experience—every person you know—they all leave a mark, a tattoo, or a scar.”

  “True, but do our experiences always need to be displayed?”

  “They are, one way or another.”

  Richard nodded thoughtfully.

  “Look at the way you dress, for instance. You obviously know the difference between quality Egyptian cotton, rami, and linen. And not only do you have an eye for fabric, but you also appreciate craftsmanship. All of that had to come from somewhere.”

  Richard snorted an uncomfortable laugh. “You don’t miss a thing, do you? I guess that’s something I inherited from my father. He started out as a salesman with nothing, and now he has one of the best men’s haberdasheries in the north end of the city.”

  Guy nodded. “So even though you didn’t follow in the old man’s footsteps, in a sense, the clothes you choose honor him and a tradition he dedicated his life to. See, you already wear your father’s tattoo.”

  “I’ve never really thought about it that way.” Richard smiled. “I have to admit, we have that in common. We both like nice clothes.”

  “By the way, nice watch too. Was it a graduation gift?”

  Richard took a quick look at his Rolex. “Thanks. Well, sort of. I bought it with some of the money he gave me for graduation.”

  “Strange, how when a father gives his son a watch it validates who he is and who he is trying to become, whereas a check feels like he’s just paying off an obligation.”

  Richard flinched.

  “A son who is never able to get his father’s approval,” Guy continued. “I guess that’s an old story, isn’t it?”

  “What are you really trying to say?”

  “Nothing.” Guy lowered his head, raised one eyebrow. “I thought we were discussing your tattoos.”

  Richard closed his eyes and raised his palm sharply. He breathed in deeply and tensed his jaw. “Guy,” he began carefully. “One of the reasons you have difficulties with people is that you say things that are invasive and offensive.”

  Guy shrugged. “But is it true or not?”

  “That’s not the issue here, Guy,” Richard said. “The issue is that your comments are neither requested nor desired.” Richard cleared his throat and continued. “In your story you describe Luca as a man who is also quite invasive and offensive. He has all but destroyed his relationship with Guy and has ended up marginalizing himself on the island.”

  Guy looked up. “You really don’t get him at all, do you?”

  “Why don’t you explain him to me, then?”

  “He’s not a bad person. All Luca wants is to be wanted and needed, but every time he tries to reach out, he makes a mess of things.”

  “And why is that?” Richard said.

  “Because he hates himself too much to allow anyone to love him.”

  Richard continued, “On the other hand, Guy in your story is a man who cultivates the love of others and has become completely integrated into the society.”

  “Yes, that’s the way it was.” Guy nodded.

  “One character resists while the other embraces. One wants to leave while the other wants to stay within the fantasy. Yet neither character is able to let go of the other.” Richard held out his right palm as if he were offering Guy something.

  Guy looked at his empty palm.

  “Both of these characters are really you, aren’t they?”

  Guy opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

  Richard waited a minute, but Guy remained silent. “It’s time,” Richard said as he glanced at his watch. “But I think you should reflect on how both Luca and Guy in your story really describe you and your struggles.”

  Guy said nothing, got up, and left the room.

  Chapter 24: Baby Leo

  GUY ARRIVED at Richard’s door a few minutes early. He leaned against the wall and waited. Inside he could hear Richard and Armando talking in low, lyrical tones.

  “Now get out of here before I throw you down on the sofa and commit some unspeakable violation of workplace etiquette,” Guy heard Richard say.

  “And you know who would walk in and catch us, don’t you?” Armando said.

  “Oh, that would be all we need.” Giggles. Then the type of muffled silence one hears when two people are secretly snogging.

  Guy covered his mouth and snickered like a schoolboy as he made a stealthy retreat down the corridor around the corner. When he heard the door open, he casually started back toward the office.

  “First one home makes dinner,” Armando whispered back through the door. He closed the door and turned to leave.

  Guy was standing a few feet behind Armando. “Good morning, Armando.”

  Armando jumped. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Palmer.”

  “Sleep well last night?” Guy smirked.

  “Not at all.” Armando fought back a yawn.

  “Good boy.” Guy entered the office.

  “Here’s your cappuccino, Doc.”

  “Oh, thanks. I could really use another cup of coffee this morning.” Richard sat up. “A suit and tie? You’re very elegant today.”

  “Meeting at the university after our session.” He pulled the lapels of his Gucci suit, straightened his Armani tie, and sat down on the sofa. As Guy crossed his foot over his knee, Richard quickly glanced at his Prada shoes—no socks.

  “What’s the meeting about?”

  “Disciplinary committee.” Guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a rather flattened croissant. He took a large bite and continued to speak as he chewed, crumbs falling onto his lap.

  Richard’s stomach growled.

  “Oh, sorry, would you like a bite?” Guy held out the half-eaten croissant.

  Richard waved no. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I teach a course about shamans, herbalists, and curandero.” Guy stopped, held open his mouth, pounded his chest, and belched. “Students come with their tofu bars and homeopathic remedies.” Guy shrugged, took another bite, and continued to talk and chew. “They want to hear that the chicken bone magic they buy in trendy alternative shops will instantly bring them peace, harmony, and understanding.” He waved his hands and fingers as if he were miming an Indian dance. “That’s not science, that’s religion.” He spread his arms, scattering crumbs on the sofa and floor.

  Richard sat back and held his chin. “But isn’t it your job to help them understand the difference?”

  “They only want to hear about noble savages and Don Juan mumbo jumbo. To make a long story short, I told them they were a bunch of muffin heads, and they went crying to the chairman.” Guy spotted a crumb sticking to his finger and licked it off.

  “Is o
ffending your students the most productive way to teach?”

  “Probably not.” Guy paused. “But the university no longer teaches students how to think critically. It’s a service provider interested only in consumer satisfaction.” Guy popped the last piece in his mouth, then proceeded to pick crumbs off his lap and eat them.

  “I’m sure that doesn’t apply to everything at the university.” Richard spoke slowly, elongating some of his vocals.

  “Hey, take psychiatry—why don’t we just resolve all our problems with an outpouring of fuzzy, warm emotions followed by a group hug?” Guy waved his hand as if he were shooing a fly. “But enough about this boring stuff. Can we return to the island, please?”

  IT’S A day like any other day in the village, sun shining, people smiling, birds singing, flowers blooming. I spend the morning fishing with Kizo and Pico while Nando remains in the village instructing the children, as usual.

  As Pico and I trot home with our catch, I have the distinct impression that people are looking at me and smiling the way that people do when they know something that you don’t know. I think, well maybe I just look particularly nice today, or maybe there is going to be some special festival and everyone is excited.

  When we arrive at our cottage, Nando’s sister is here. Pico bounds over and hugs her around the waist. She holds his head close to her breasts and strokes his hair. Since a man must always show humility in the presence of a woman, especially a woman as important as Kyle, I lay my catch of fish at her feet and stand against the wall. She greets me formally, bowing her head slightly, then uses the familiar greeting, patting her heart, which is usually reserved for close family members.

  I respond formally, saying, “It would honor me greatly for the respected sister of Nando to take as much of my miserable fish as she desires.”

  She clasps both her hands over her heart. “It is I who am honored that the one who is so loved by my little brother accepts these humble gifts from the soil which I tend.” She gestures to a cornucopia of corn, beans, squash, and fruit carefully arranged in the corner. It’s more than obvious that she has not just popped over for tea and a little gossip.