by David Athey
Jig was totally serious. "I had a ring made out of my lucky hook. With the barb removed."
I said, "Lovely," and Angelo bellowed again.
We hoisted the king into the trunk of the high-rider and then drove back to Palm Beach in silence, except for when Angelo shouted insults at my excellent barefooted driving. "Slow down! Stay away from that Jaguar! Here's the exit! Don't hit the bridge! Watch out for Jimmy Buffet!"
Eventually, I screeched to a stop in front of the Dream Tower. The shadows of the swaying palm trees were growing long in the late afternoon, snaking their way toward the ocean.
Angelo and I climbed out of the Cadillac, our muscles stiff and our skin sunburned. The giant stretched. "That was a good day of work."
His deep voice reminded me again of my father. I felt like a little boy as I helped Angelo retrieve the cooler from the trunk of the car. We lowered the king to the ground and Angelo nodded with pride. "Well done, Danny." Then he gave me a big sweaty hug soaked in fish blood, sweat, and brine. I was feeling very emotional, probably on the verge of blubbering, when Angelo stepped back and poked me in the ribs with three fingers. "Ha! We're gonna eat your king tonight."
"You mean our king."
"That's right, Danny. It was amazing teamwork."
After I'd shaved off my beard, showered, and gotten dressed, Gloria invited me to her kitchen to prepare the fish. Angelo had already cleaned the king and carved out two huge fillets. I cut the meat into single-portion chunks, spiced them, and dipped them in a golden wash of eggs, cream, and honey. Gloria had a sack of flour in the kitchen, but no bread crumbs. I said, "Well, that's all right. My grandmother would love you anyway."
"Your grandmother?"
"She always used bread crumbs."
"We could run to the store real quick."
I kissed Gloria lightly on the cheek. "This will be our special recipe. What else should we add?"
She smiled. "I sometimes make an almond crust for fish. Angelo loves that."
"Perfect."
We fried the fish chunks in olive oil for a few minutes, let them cool off, and then added more of the wash and the almond crust. Then we baked the fish for a secret amount of time at a secret temperature. It smelled heavenly.
Gloria and I stood near the stove, talking quietly about simple things, and then I felt a twinge of panic. "What about side dishes? Should we make mashed potatoes or something?"
"Don't worry, Danny. The others will bring rice and beans. And they'll have the grill going with wonderful skewers of veggies."
"And drinks?"
Gloria laughed. "Nobody ever thirsts up there. That's for sure."
We stood reveling in the sweet scent of the kingfish. And we just kept looking into each other's eyes, and looking away, and talking quietly about simple things, even though it seemed certain that important things were happening.
"Danny, are you ready to sing tonight?"
I leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I'm almost ready. A song's been swimming in my head. I just need a few more lines to finish it."
Gloria reached out and took my hand. "You better figure it out soon."
Our fingers intertwined. "I know."
"And Danny, my-"
She almost said "love."
"Yes?"
Gloria looked far away into my eyes. "I hope it ends happily."
I squeezed her hand. "Me too."
It was time for a really good kiss, but Angelo appeared from his bedroom, which must have doubled as a prop room. He was dressed up in fish skin, seashells, and wings. "I'm going up to the roof," he said. "Sounds like the restless natives have already started the festivities."
Sure enough, there was a tap, tap, tap of a peg-legged pirate.
Gloria let go of my hand and went over to hug her father, wrapping her arms around the feathers. "Papa, you don't wear these very often."
Angelo nodded. "It's a special night. Danny is going to feed us the king. And sing."
I shrugged. "It might be a short song."
"But sweet," Gloria said.
Angelo kissed his daughter on the forehead and then turned and strut-fluttered away, almost knocking a photograph from the living room wall. He immediately straightened the picture, which I'm sure was his wife, Marian, smiling down.
Gloria and I put the finishing touches on the kingfish, sprinkling fresh parsley over the golden morsels on the platter.
There was more tap, tap, tapping above our heads, and shuffling footsteps.
I said, "I can't believe they're dancing already."
Gloria looked up. "They're probably just rushing to the buffet line. We'll give them another few minutes or so to load up the side dishes. And then we'll wow them."
The roof eventually became quiet. The partiers were now seated at their respective tables, awaiting their gifts.
"Now," Gloria said, lifting the platter and placing it in my hands. "It's time to make your appearance."
We climbed the stairs and stepped out into moonlight, starlight, and the glow of candles. There were five tables full of people. The mermaids, the pirate, the flamingo, and another flamingo. The band. The surfers. Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus and some elves that were probably children. Angelo, Jig, and Mrs. Concher.
Gloria whirled away in her princess dress and took a seat next to her father. And I began to serve each table. Everyone was perfectly silent, except for the polite "Thanks" and "Thank you" and "Please" and "Good job, Danny" and words like that.
When every table had been served, Angelo stood, his wings reaching above the Dream Tower.
"Grace," he said.
And we ate. I sat next to Gloria and was very pleased when she said, "Danny, this is the best meal I've had in ages-the food and company combined."
The meal began quietly, and then the tables got louder and louder, the mermaids telling stories about pool parties they'd attended in local mansions, the pirate telling stories about adventures at sea, and the flamingos screeching with laughter.
The band ate quickly and rushed to their instruments, the surfers expressed their happiness with weird words and bizarre inflections, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus pulled on each other's red suspenders and made the elves giggle, Angelo cleaned his plate and grinned proudly, and jig whispered something into Mrs. Concher's ear that made her blush.
Suddenly the band struck up a melody that was impossible to place, sort of a Calypso-flamenco-Mediterranean free-for-all, and everyone got up and started dancing. Gloria and I started out with a formal embrace and a one-twothree, one-two-three pattern, and then started whirling and twirling all over the roof. She was all joy, and so was I, and we danced together most of the night, with just a few interruptions. Gloria danced a number with the pirate and one with her father. I found myself for a while in the arms of Mrs. Santa Claus, and then I did a jig with jig and Mrs. Concher, and we all blushed happily.
The band was relentless, never taking a break, playing the most amazing melodies while everyone tore up the roof like there was no tomorrow.
And then it was time for me to sing. Angelo stood in front of the band and said, "Excuse me. Listen up, everyone! Quiet! As you know, we have a visitor here, Danny, who is not so much a visitor anymore but a dear friend. One of us. He's a very talented young man, and we're going to ask him to join the band now and bless us with some gospel music."
There was a nice round of applause and cheering, and it suddenly occurred to me that I should finish the song I'd been working on. I needed another few minutes, so I went over to the surfer table and asked the boys if any of them had deep voices. Being boys, they each proclaimed, "YES, I HAVE A DEEP VOICE."
"Good," I said, and I whispered lyrics into their ears.
Then I asked the surfer girls, "Can any of you sing mid-range to high?"
Being girls, they each said, "I can sing a little."
I laughed. "You've probably had professional lessons."
Several of them nodded, and I whispered lyrics into their ears.
The people at the other tables were getting impatient, clamoring for my song. I hadn't quite finished writing it in my head yet, so I stalled for more time by saying to jig, "Does anyone have any announcements before we proceed?"
He nodded crazily and exclaimed, "Mrs. Concher and I are getting hitched to the ocean of love!"
She dropped her cigar. "Are you serious? Do you mean it? Marriage?"
Jig nodded crazily. And then Mrs. Concher kissed him a yes, and another yes.
The hearty laughter and congratulations that ensued gave me enough time to give the band their instructions, just as the last lyrics floated into my soul.
The tables hushed, and the a cappella song began with me:
If you sing your life, you pray it twice, through the dark days and the sun-filled nights.
(Boys:) ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
(Girls:) And everywhere there's a reverie.
(Boys:) ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
(Girls:) And everywhere there's a reverie.
Singing in the fields, shimmering seas. Beneath canyons and above the trees.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
Prairies, mountain tops, and deserts bare. Solar systems, molecules, and angels in the air.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
Everybody's family, everybody's friends. So many burdens and so many amends.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
Now the band started playing. A heartbeat of bongos rising into a fullness of music.
If you sing your life, you pray it twice, through the dark days and the sun-filled nights.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
0 JERUSALEM ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
0 FLORIDA ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
0 AFRICA ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
0 IOWA ... (laughter) ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
HOLY TOLEDO ... (laughter) ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
NEW JERSEY ... (some playful boos and more laughter) ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
NEW YORK CITY ... (respectful silence) ... and everywhere there's a reverie.
The band stopped playing. All eyes fell on me.
Sometimes out of time, sometimes out of place. Ring around the graveyard, Paradise through grace.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
ALL OF CREATION GROANS.
And everywhere there's a reverie.
If you sing your life, you pray it twice, through the dark days and the sun-filled nights.
When the song was finished, the only sound was a slight rustling of wind down in the palm trees. The revelers were motionless, just looking at me. It was difficult to interpret the expressions on their faces. I was worried that my song hadn't touched their hearts, because people had always applauded when I sang with the Gospel Family.
The silence continued, and then I realized that the revelers' hearts had been touched, and their glowing faces were like those you see in church during a candlelight service, reverent and prayerful.
"Amen!" Jig shouted.
And his fiancee, Mrs. Concher, said, "That was very beautiful, Danny. The most wonderful sound this old building has ever heard."
Winged Angelo agreed. "I loved it."
And then the mermaids, the flamingos, the pirate, Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, and the elves started talking all at once, and some of the surfers began singing again, trying to remember the whole song, while Gloria sat peacefully at the table, smiling at me.
That was a perfect moment in Paradise, and I was tempted to reach out and grasp with all my might and never let it go. But I wasn't about to fool myself. The little island of Palm Beach in the kingdom of Florida was not really Heaven. Not even close. And it would not last forever.
I walked over to Gloria and took her hand. "You have to trust me," I said. "And forgive me."
She nodded. "I knew you'd be heading back to Iowa tonight."
"You did?"
"Of course. All of your unfinished business is there."
I leaned toward her face and gave her a soft kiss. Then I whispered, "It's all up to God."
Gloria whispered, "Yes."
We kissed again, through the tears. Then I turned and hurried down the stairs, went into my apartment, and packed up my spiral notebooks and a few other things. I placed some folded pages on the table beside the lamp. Mrs. Concher received a gratuity of two-hundred soggy dollars. And two-hundred cents. "And a million THANK-YOUs for your hospitality. May you and jig always be dancing."
To Angelo I wrote, "Thanks for risking my life and saving it."
For Gloria, I left my address and phone number and the following words: "I hope our connection lasts forever. That's what I can offer you now. Love, Danny."
A few minutes later, with creation groans and reverie still ringing in my ears, I was speeding away in the highrider, looking askance at the moon. It hung low like a great circular promise over the edge of the Everglades.
I hoped I could make it home in time for my brother's wedding.
chap nine
CLIMBING THE CONTINENT toward home, my sense of distance seemed imaginary-with the miles flying by-and excruciatingly real, every moment feeling like a great failure to get to such a simple place. I remembered reading about saints who had the gift of bi-location, the ability to be in two places at the same time. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a heart in two places, with double the love, and twice the breaking. I would never pray for such a gift, and would only accept it as suffering.
Out of the kingdom of Florida, the high-rider passed through a cloudy Georgia, a misty Tennessee, a rainy Kentucky, and a snowy Illinois. The gas-guzzling, oil-burning chariot climbed higher and higher and crossed the border into Iowa on the morning of Christmas Eve.
The whitened cornfields were tinted ocean-blue, with a wind-swept crow reminding me of a seagull, disappearing into the southern horizon. Winter is always an in-between world in my mind, the landscape seemingly locked between few possibilities. The frozen ground and frigid sky whisper to the warm blood that keeps me awash in this life, in this world, where the bleakness of Iowa snowfields resonates with my longing for infinite earth ... and infinite heavens ....
The crow wheeled and returned into sight again, wings flashing brilliantly in the wintry air.
I whispered, "I got wings ... you got wings ..." and kept on flying between the fields.
The pink Cadillac attracted attention among the humble cars, pickups, and semis that crawled along 1-80. Upon seeing the speeding high-rider, several people began dialing their cell phones. I was worried that my arrest was imminent, and yet I just kept on going because I honestly believed that it wasn't my will that was being done.
Taking the exit into Iowa City, the Cadillac flew into town as if invisible and made it safely to the trailer park. Pulling into the driveway, I saw something I didn't want to see. Footprints all around my place. And a yellow CAUTION tape across the door. I jumped out of the car and climbed the stairs and ripped down the tape, wondering if any neighbors were watching. I whispered, "What's been going on here?" and I unlocked the door and hurried into the house. Like a thief, I crept through the kitchen and down the hallway and into the bedroom. I paused in front of my dresser and then reached out and opened the sock drawer in slow motion, as if my slowness could somehow change the past. But no. It had already happened. The evidence was taken, and my secret was out.
> The red light on my answering machine was blinking. With dread, I pressed the button.
"Danny, this is Esther Henderson on your mail route. Young man, I knew you were up to something when some of my mail went missing, but I had no idea how far you would go."
"Hey, it's Plain Jane. Give me a call."
"Danny. Listen. Marta and I and the partners can help you. We've already contacted the post office. Let's get this settled before the wedding. I hope you've decided to be my best man."
"Yes, this is Mr. Grime calling. Do you understand? Grime. Sort of like Grease, but it's not Grease. It's Grime. This call is to alert you to some interesting news regarding your car insurance or something. Please contact Mr. Grease-I mean Grime-at your earliest convenience. Or stop by the gas station. Umm, any old gas station will do."
"Yeah, okay, so listen to this. I wanted to apologize before I fly out to boot camp. My head is much better. It was just a concussion and a cut. Twelve stitches and a really cool scar. I'm ready for the Middle East, but is that sandbox ready for me? Anyway, it's all bygones between us. Later."
"Hey, it's Jane. Give me a call."
"Good day, sir. This is Mr. Grime returning the call that you haven't made yet. Please remember to change the oil in your Cadillac. That is, if you have a Cadillac. You probably don't, but you never know. This morning I changed the oil in a Chevy pickup. Not that anyone is hiding a Chevy for anyone."
"Jane again."
"Brother Paul here. I'm worried about you, Danny. Call me back. Where are you? I have a letter for you."
"Danny Gospel, you did strange things with the mail. But the new letter carrier is even worse. He never eats the brownies that I make. I would appreciate a return call. 555-6382."
"Call Jane."
"Hello? Is this thing on? Hello? Oh dear. This is Mrs. Lindgren. When the federal agent came to my house and explained what you had done and said that you might face prison, I told him to tell President Bush that you deserve a medal."
"Hey there, Iowa Boy, are you gonna kiss me again? Your kingfish was delicious. And I loved your song. See you soon, Danny. And that's not just a hint."