Then he began to change. At first it was a change in perception. He ceased to feel his body. It was sad, like bidding an old friend goodbye. But there came a consolation. He felt new things, things bigger than himself. He felt the atmosphere like a blanket. The roll of a passing freighter. The tickle of kelp. The whizz of commuting sardines. The nuzzle of sharks. The stiff brush of cormorant wings. He heard new things, too. He eavesdropped on whales. He discerned the secrets of flatfish fathoms deep. It was as though he had become a tuning fork keyed to life itself. He gave himself over. He unfurled his limbs and beckoned life to him. First came algae. Then barnacles took up residence on his back and legs. They were joined there by limpets. He grew a moustache of mussels. He donned a crown of driftwood and trash. The tips of his fingers trailed delicate threads of seagrass. Coral cities were erected on his back and shoulders, attracting worms and crustaceans, anemones and clownfish, wrasses and triggerfish and tangs. Crabs hatched in his bellybutton. Eels curled up in his armpits. He was subsumed. He became a substrate. Mineral deposits grouted the gaps between his fingers and his toes. They spread up his shins. They locked his legs together. He calcified and collected. He was accommodating. He made room. He grew. His expanding shape created coves and inlets. The pilots of low-flying planes began to take him for a sandbar. He began to affect the tides. Organic matter composted atop his chest, creating a fertile soil. A coconut washed up onto his abdomen, cracked open, and germinated into a palm tree. An albatross dropped a mouthful of seeds. He bore wildflowers.
Later the wind shifted and he appeared off the coast, a vibrant and thriving assemblage, tilting like a giant hand in greeting. He was first noticed by fishermen. His natural beauty was taken note of. Word spread. The geological survey was divided over how to designate him. He seemed comfortable with his place, floating there in the just-beyond. An enterprising company began running tours out to see him. To prevent erosion, they limited the number of people onshore to twenty at a time. He was no longer visible except for his eyes, which peered out from the land around them, an invented land composed of many layers, some living, some dead. The people looked at his eyes and asked, Is it him? And the answer came: It is. Then they put out blankets and picnicked. They sunbathed on his shores. Children built castles and played in his waves. Pods of dolphins swam past, doing tricks. A good time was had by all.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you: Stephen King, Lee Child, Robert Crais, Chris Pepe and everyone at Putnam, Amy Brosey, Zach Shrier, Norman Lasca, John Keefe, Alec Nevala-Lee, Amanda Dewey, Liza Dawson, Chandler Crawford, Nina Salter and everyone at Les Deux Terres, Julie Sibony, David Shelley and everyone at Little, Brown UK.
My gratitude to my wife is even greater than usual, as she made to me a gift of her idea for a casino within a casino.
ALSO BY JESSE KELLERMAN
The Executor
The Genius
Trouble
Sunstroke
Potboiler Page 28