The Awakening
I could tell you what I know, but that wouldn’t take very long. Ed would say that to tell what you don’t know takes a whole lot longer…and I’m pretty sure he’s right. But I’m already getting ahead of myself. If he were standing here right now, he’d say, “Slow down, mon. Just tell your story, or tell my story whichever you think it is.”
That first day when I awoke, I was in a place I’d never been before. And yet everything looked familiar, smelled familiar, sounded familiar. I’ve heard of déjà vu. I know the concept. But déjà vu about an entire country? The question drifted like wood smoke in my mind and finally faded.
I was in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, I knew that much. Ocho Rios means Eight Rivers and I was walking around in a small country bazaar two hundred feet from the ocean. The smells weren’t like anything I’d experienced before, and yet I recognized them. They felt like old memories from a different life.
Someone up on the mountain was preparing jerk pork. Sweet smoke in small white clouds billowed through the trees a hundred yards up. And there were the sights and smells of the bazaar: cotton dresses freshly tie-dyed and propped-up on rickety card tables, stacks of brightly painted pottery, vivid paintings of the ocean and the jungle. The oil paint was still drying on the canvas. I smelled the turpentine. I inhaled the smell of plantain both fried and fresh and the complicated scent of the ocean, the essence of a million different fish and fishy things, seaweed, shells, fishermen, and sailing ships. The smell was clean, better than the best perfume. I inhaled again, feasting on the scents. There must have been a restroom close by. When the wind shifted, faint wafts crept up my nose, though even that was strangely comforting…grounding. I thought, This is a nice reality to be in. Am I really here?
And…there was Ed, whom I’d just met, though I felt I’ve known him forever. He’d laugh at this statement. He’d nod and say, “Yeah, mon, I think you’re right.” Then he’d laugh this deep wonderful belly laugh with eyes closed so he could soak up the sunlight without moving a muscle.
Ed is the strangest person I’ve ever met. He is a walking question mark. He’s black…brown actually, and his hair is in the style of a Rastafarian though he isn’t one. It doesn’t even look like hair. It is instead, a great twisted grey-black mountain growing upon his head, matted, braided in some places, and so large that it makes you wonder, How does he stand up? Balance? And why are there little green sprigs of clover and moss dotted about? It’s not some attempt at ornamentation. It’s just growing there naturally. In some places there are twigs and leaves tangled and woven into the mound and…it looks as if there are trails, worn places that some creatures have made from walking the same path so many times.
Ed explained that there were, indeed, creatures living in his hair. “Chipmunks, I think, though I rarely get a look at them. I feel them sometimes. I think there’s a family though I’m not certain about that. I feel them moving about, going to sleep, eating, playing, making love…all on top of my head.” Then he laughed. “Yesterday one of them crawled down the front and we looked at each other. I guess we were both upside down. He took one look at me and scurried back to safety on top of my head.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” I asked. “I mean…” I tried to imagine having some hamsters camped-out on my head. It would last as long as it took me to find a tennis racket or a gun or something.
His eyes opened and he shaded his eyes with massive hands that looked like some kind of exotic wood drying in the sun. His fingernails were thick and coarse, like old seashells. His teeth were ivory and there was a gap between his two front teeth when he smiled and laughed…which I was beginning to think was always. As I thought about it, I couldn’t remember seeing Ed angry. At his worst he’ll get patient with me usually when he’s tired and I’ve asked too many questions. “I think you think too much,” he’ll say.
I guess I do ask too many questions. But it’s frustrating because Ed always seems to have answers…answers to everything. I don’t always understand them but they always make sense. It’s just too tempting to not ask questions.
I asked him things, and I could see from his eyes not bothering to open, that he’d answered them a hundred times before.
“Do you bathe?” I asked, early-on though as soon as I’d said the words, I thought I might have insulted him. I know now that this would be impossible.
“Yes, mon, every day,” he said. “If it is hot, sometimes more often, sometimes three, four times a day. I walk down to the beach and into the water. I reach down and pick up the wet sand and I rub it on my skin…wherever I’m sweaty.”
“And your hair?”
His eyes opened half-way and he sat up and looked at me. “Not as much,” he said. “Only when it is necessary,” he added. “That is partly because my little friends don’t like it. I go in the ocean up to my neck and begin splashing around, and they know what’s coming. They run out of their home and perch high on top of my head. And when they do that, I dip into the water and slowly swish my head around…just a bit. The only problem is, when I come out, my hair is very heavy and I have to sit down and prop myself up against a tree. It takes a very long time to dry.”
“What about the chipmunks?”
“I don’t know, mon. You’ll have to ask them.”
“Here’s an easy one. How old are you?”
“How old are you?” he asked back.
“I’m forty-eight.”
He grinned. “Same as me. I am forty-eight as well. It is a good age to be, not too young, but not too old.”
“What do you do down here, I mean…for a living…to make money?”
Ed picked up a brown coconut from the sand and pierced the three dark holes on top with a stick. He did it with an economy of motion that told me he’d done it many times. After the third piercing he took a long drink and wiped his mouth. Then he handed it to me and I took a sip. It was sweet and milky though there was a thin aftertaste that I couldn’t put my finger on. “What do I do for a living,” he repeated, though the way he said, living, told me we weren’t speaking the same language. “I suppose my main job is…being Ed and I am very good at it,” he added. “The bathing part…I already explained. I sleep in the warm sand. The temperature is just right and I can shape the sand on the beach so that it is extremely comfortable. Food…food is everywhere. Clear water is everywhere. Let’s see, what else does it require to live? Oh— I poop sometimes. There is a restroom right behind the Chili Grille. It is very clean. They have paper towels and soap, and some sand on the floor, so that’s no problem.” He paused, trying to think if he’d missed anything. “Oh, sometimes people want to take their picture with me and that’s fine. They’ll give me some money and then I’ll spend it immediately, usually on Jamaican rum. It’s not good to have a lot of money on you. Better to use it while you have it.”
I tried to process this but it was hard. None of what he was saying matched-up with anything I’ve ever been taught. In fact, I’ve been taught the complete opposite. I knew that one of us must be wrong and decided to try an easy one. “Isn’t it better to save it? What if you want to buy a house, a car, something important? C’mon, you’ve gotta own something.”
He looked at me, sizing me up. He sucked on his teeth and took another sip of coconut milk. “Oh, mon,” he sighed and I wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for him, or for myself. “That way is insidious and there lies oblivion. Do you really think you own a house? Do you think you own land? Do you really believe that? Look around you. I am very, very rich.”
I was just trying to get my thoughts together, my defenses together, when a young woman passed by. She seemed to be glaring at both of us, though I thought it was a bit more toward me. I thought…maybe it’s because I am white and she isn’t, though as I looked at her I realized she’d been listening in on our conversation.
I said, “Hello,” and she wrinkled her nose and spread-out the wrinkles in her apron. Her hair was tied-back with a leather thong, severely so and she wore a pretty Jamaican dress. There were a hundred colors in the pattern but the overall effect was pumpkin and rust. She scowled at me again, just in case I had missed her message the first time.
“This is Tina,” Ed said. “She watches out for me…or at least she thinks she does,” and with that he leaned back and gave one of his laughs, though it sounded like he was doing it to make a point. “I fear the two of you will not get along very well.”
I said, “Hello,” to her again. It was meant to be an olive branch but it sounded stupid even to me. Then I said, “Why is that?”
“Oh, I don’t want to spoil the fun, mon. You will find out for yourself, soon enough.”
Tina finally drifted close enough to say something without raising her voice.
“I’ve seen a hundred men come here,” she said. Her voice sounded like vinegar. “And they are all like you. They all want answers. Why don’t you just move on? Why don’t you just go buy something with one of your credit cards? Have it sent to…America. That’s where you’re from isn’t it?”
I looked to Ed to see if there were any answers in his eyes. As usual, there were.
“Tina is angry,” he said, “very angry…possibly permanently angry, and that would be sad.”
I said, “I can move on if you like,” but it was a bluff.
“Then why don’t you?” Tina said. She was very close to me now. She was wearing some kind of perfume I think, or she had been handling a lot of sweet-smelling fruit. She smelled of mangos and limes and coconuts. Add vodka and she’d have been a great drink. Her tone was edgier than before and she peered at me to force me to move on just by the power of her eyes.
“Now you are being rude, Tina,” Ed said, “and that is beneath you. Please apologize.”
Tina didn’t apologize, but her body language changed fractionally. She leaned half-way over a wooden table with wooden plaques that had messages painted on them. They were mostly religious and Tina picked them up and stared at them one-by-one. Our battle was over for the moment. No one had won, though it was plain that Tina had lost no ground.
“And what do you do?” she asked finally. She caught my eyes, then looked away. I think the question was meant to be cannon fodder for her next attack.
It took me a long time to answer. It was something I was already beginning to pick up from Ed. He has a rich cadence to his voice that forces you to think about every word. I said, “I write,” but then I amended it to, “I’m a writer,” which was redundant.
She didn’t nail me for the redundancy. She just stood there sorting through the plaques. She looked like she was grading them for content. “What do you write about?”
“People,” I said, before I could even think what to say. I don’t even know why I said it because it wasn’t really true. I want to write about people, but mostly I do tech manuals, ghost-writing and how-to books. It’s a ghostly life…
“And you’ve come to the Jamaica to prey upon people who are actually living their lives. You are a literary vampire.”
“Tina,” Ed said and it was the closest I’d come to hearing him sound angry.
Tina smiled at me and did a pantomime of a vampire biting someone on the neck. Then she laughed. When she laughed she was prettier and younger and…she sounded a little like Ed. I wondered if she was his daughter…or in Jamaica, possibly his lover.
I nodded at her. “I like that term,” I said. “It’s good. It might even be accurate. Did you come up with it?”
She looked at me and then stared off into space. “I’m not sure. Yes… maybe… Or maybe not. I don’t know.”
“You have covered every conceivable base with that answer,” Ed said. Then he turned to me, his eyes becoming more serious. “Do you mean to suck my blood? My energy? My life?”
I looked back at him with equal seriousness. “I don’t think so. It might even be the opposite of that…but I’m not sure. It’s possible that I’m making you exist in my mind.”
Ed grinned from ear-to-ear. “Funny, I was just thinking the very same thing in my mind. You may be a figment of my imagination. Perhaps I am the writer and you are just one of my characters. It would make just as much sense, don’t you think?”
Sunrise
Sunrises all share one thing. They are, to some degree, beautiful. But sunrises in the Caribbean can be more than beautiful. They can be almost holy, and if you knew me better, you’d know I don’t use that term lightly. I’m not religious. When pushed on the subject I go immediately to necessary lies…partly to survive and partly not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I really don’t like hurting people. I usually say that I was raised Episcopal, which is true but misleading. I did go to an Episcopal church when I was young. And a couple times I think I tried to pray, when I really wanted someone to get better…or not die. But it never worked. It didn’t even come close. They still got sick. They still died. Worse than that, it didn’t seem to make any sense…the thought of trying to make a deal with God or nature or the universe…just to get what you want. It seemed arrogant, possibly crooked and I felt embarrassed doing it. Later on in college I discovered the words, deist and agnostic and I used them as tools, mostly to muddy the water. I guess I still do. No one really knows what I am. Truth is, I am nothing.
And yet…on a beach just at sunrise, or in a quiet forest I can become…deeply appreciative. The sky and the sand and the water are all shades of grey before the sun comes up and it seems deliberately so. It’s like the quiet in a concert hall just before the symphony begins. And then…the palest tinge of orange and lavender blossom against a faraway cloud. For me it’s the sound of a single violin in the orchestra, beginning the symphony. Then other clouds begin to transform from purple to pink to orange to dazzling gold as the sun slowly drifts up. Then the whole sky ignites and for a glorious handful of minutes the sky is alive in celebration. Grey clouds become pink dragons and pigs and bumpy cartoon alligators. There are faces and angels and everything you can think of. It was at this perfect moment that I glanced to my left, toward the beach in front of the bazaar, where I saw Ed sitting cross-legged in the sand, eyes closed, his hands resting on his legs in a position I recognized. His thumbs touched his forefingers and he seemed…balanced, centered. He was still part of the grayness. He was not pink quite yet.
I started to walk in his direction but as I approached, I saw someone sitting next to him and in the same position. It wasn’t Tina. It was a boy, a young child of…God knows what age. It was hard for me to tell. He was nine or twelve, possibly older and he was the color of chestnuts though in the low sunlight both of them suddenly appeared to be glowing. I held out my hand in front of me. I was glowing too so I knew it wasn’t something magical. It was only the low pink sunlight. Still…I was happy to be glowing.
I stopped after a handful of steps, feeling like an intruder. I thought there must be something special going on over there and I didn’t want to interrupt. But then the boy leaned to Ed and Ed’s eyes opened, he waved in my direction. “Writer!” he called out. “Good morning! Come join us.” He patted the sand next to him.
Strangely, a word came to mind. The word was, unworthy, and as nearly as I can remember I’ve never felt unworthy of anything…nothing at all…never. As a point of fact, I’ve bragged to people that if I ever met the pope or a president or a movie star, that I wouldn’t feel anything…certainly not unworthy. And yet there it was. The word was in the front of my mind and part of me wanted to turn and run. I walked over slowly thinking they must be watching me approach and finding even my walking to be suddenly awkward. It happens sometimes. Sometimes I get so self-aware it’s hard to walk, swallow, or even breathe. Thank God it goes away. As I got closer I saw that both of them were relaxed with eyes closed. I thought for a second, You’re missing a gorgeous sunrise, but then I thought again. I’m wrong. Ed has probably seen a thousand beautiful sunrises. Maybe that’s part of what makes him Ed. Maybe it takes a thousand sunrises to become what he’s become. Somehow the thought was appealing…watching a thousand sunsets.
“How did you sleep?” he asked with eyes closed as I came closer.
I looked at him and said, “I didn’t. When you left…I simply ceased to exist.”
The boy’s eyes flashed open. He looked at me and then at Ed…looking for confirmation…looking to see how he would react and he did. Ed laughed loud and hearty, the loudest I’d ever heard from him. “Very good,” he said. “In fact, excellent! You stole my joke. I was about to say the same thing to you.” Then he laughed again though this time I was certain it was for effect. He gazed around, hardly noticing the sky, the peculiar light, the amazing clouds. “This is Ethan,” he said. “Ethan is my friend. Sometimes he is my instructor. Sometimes I am his. Ethan is a rudder.”
For a second I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. I thought, maybe there was another definition I didn’t know about. A rudder?
“Truth is still an easy and clear thing to Ethan. He is not like us, all crusty and warped from too much knowledge. Ethan, this is our writer, or we are his writer. We are still pondering that one.”
“Nice to meet you, Ethan,” I said and held out my hand to shake. He stood…unfolded is a better word. He was taller than I expected, perhaps five-seven or eight and very skinny. He hadn’t reached puberty yet. His face still had that feminine quality that young boys have, though I could see from his hands and feet that he will be big. Big feet. Large hands, though still slender like a boy’s. When we shook, his grip was strong and I was glad of it.
“Nice to meet you,” he echoed in a soft voice and sat back down next to Ed.
The sun was still low and magical and somehow innocently pink, though high on the mountain, the colors were changing, washing out to normal sunshine. Everything on the mountain was tan and dull. We didn’t have much time before the light shifted and we too would become tan, though hopefully not dull.
Ed said, “Ethan and I have classes some mornings…and there are others who come as well. We are all students and we are all teachers. It depends on the topic. Today we are discussing a single word, a single concept. But it is elusive. Perhaps you will be our teacher today. Perhaps you must put your writing hat aside. Perhaps you can shed some light for us.”
“What’s the word?” I asked.
“The word is…belief. But be careful. Try to be accurate.”
“I’m not going to be a very good teacher on that subject,” I said too quickly. “I don’t have anything positive to say and…” I looked at Ethan. “I don’t want to…”
“You don’t want to screw with Ethan’s mind.” Ed looked at me. “Am I right?”
Even as he was saying it, I realized it was true. “Actually…yeah that’s it.”
I saw Ethan smiling and he looked at me as well. The look had changed. He looked older now.
“What?” I asked.
Ed was smiling, too. There was some in-joke I’d missed. “I’m sorry but…that was exactly the right thing for you to say. You are truly welcome here. And Ethan is not a china cup to be easily broken. Ethan is a silver sword to be heated and then quenched and with every quenching he will become stronger and smarter. Say what you want to say. It is all good here.”
I tried to collect my thoughts. I wanted to say something important, something eternal but nothing was coming to mind. “It’d be easier to tell you what I don’t believe in.”
Ed yawned. I’m not sure if it was the hour of the morning or the cautiousness of my reply. He picked up a mango and began cutting slices and handing them out. As with everything he did, he seemed to have a grace or economy to his motions, no wasted movements. One of the inhabitants of Ed’s hair peered out of the grey mountain and scurried down his blue work shirt. It stole a small piece of mango from his fingers and scurried back. “Okay then. What don’t you believe in? That is of equal importance.”
I really didn’t want to mess this up. I’ve done it before and so I took my time. “I don’t believe in a devil with horns and a pointy tail. I don’t believe in hell or heaven. I don’t believe in ghosts or witches…though I’d like to. I really would. The Easter bunny, tooth fairy.” I had to think. I was thinking I should have left heaven out of the list. Heaven’s a third-rail topic for some. I should have left it out.
“How ‘bout Santa Claus?” Ed asked and I wondered how he let heaven and hell slip by. I was certain I was about to get hammered.
“That’s in a different category.” I looked over at Ethan and tried to think of him as a sword to be tempered. At the moment he just looked like a kid and I didn’t want to spoil any of his magic. But we were talking truth now. “As a grownup, it’s hard for me to get my mind around some mystical person flying to every house on the planet in a tiny sleigh and managing to carry enough toys for… Hell, he couldn’t even handle the development I grew up in, in one night. There’s something a little off there.”
“But…” Ed said.
I opened my mouth to respond but Ethan was suddenly talking. “But…you believe in generosity,” he said. “You believe in the spirit of giving something to someone else.”
“Wow… Yeah.” I looked at Ed. “I see what you mean about that sword thing. How old are you?”
Ethan ignored my question. “What do you believe in?”
I looked at him and felt like I was being accused or something. I said, “I don’t know.” I was staring down at the sand now, like a kid in school accused of stealing someone’s lunch money. I saw a strand of sea weed and the tiniest track in the sand from some little creature. From my altitude it looked like a railroad track and for a moment I wished I were anywhere other than on that beach.
My mind flashed to an incident that had happened five years ago and I found myself relaying it…out loud, though I wasn’t sure why or where I was going to go with it. I was in free-fall. My mouth was moving and I had no idea what I was going to say…dangerous. “I got ambushed at a party one time,” I began, “and by a Catholic priest, no less. Everything was going pretty well. It was Christmas time, a Christmas party for god sakes. We were drinking eggnog and eating Christmas cookies. How bad could it be? But then the subject of believing came up. I didn’t think it would be controversial at all. And I really got hammered. Maybe that’s why I’m not doing so hot here. Sorry ‘bout that.”
Ed and Ethan stopped chewing mangos and their demeanor changed. Ed who usually kept the conversation moving just sat there staring at me and waiting. “Well?” he said finally.
“Well… Father-Whoevever-The-Hell-He–Was was very much of the opinion that you can decide what you believe in. Totally…completely…no need for discussion. What’s worse, my not agreeing with him was like that flag they wave at the beginning of a race. He was in battle mode. Did I mention that this was Saint Paul Church Christmas party? I was a guest, but at that moment not an honored one. I tried a line I use when I get backed into a corner. I said, ‘Ya know, we can agree to disagree.’”
Ed stood up in the sand. “And he said ‘No we can’t.’”
“Yeah, pretty much. I didn’t know that was some tenet of the church but I guess it is. I was stupid. I tried a lame example to prove my point. I said something like, “If that’s true, then you could pay me fifty bucks and I suddenly say, ‘I believe in purple striped cows.’ But everyone knows that just isn’t the way it works.”
“You lost that one,” a voice said. I was expecting to hear it from Ed, but it was Ethan who was talking.
“It didn’t change what I think, what I believe or don’t believe, but yeah I didn’t win that night.”
“You struck too close to home,” Ed said. “Try this statement out and see if it works: You don’t choose what you believe…it chooses you.”
I thought about it. “I wish I’d had that at the Christmas party.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Ethan said.
I looked at them. “You two… Father and son?”
“No…and yes,” Ed said. “Not in the way you are thinking.”
At that moment, three things happened at about the same time. The light which had been creeping down the beach began dulling everything, finally hitting the top of Ed’s head. It was no longer glowing orange. It was just dull, black and grey…and more grey than I’d remembered. Then, somewhere in the village of Ocho Rios a church bell began ringing as if on cue. For a second I thought Ed’s cue, but I realized that it was silly. Then one second later, one of Ed’s chipmunks peered out from Ed’s hair. I wasn’t sure whether it was the light or the church bells that made him peer out. My mind loves to find causality in everything. It had to be one of them. I was thinking it was the church bells. I don’t think the light could have penetrated all that hair.
Baptized
The next morning I was up early. I’d assumed the sunrise was going to be the same as it was yesterday and, of course, I was wrong. It was breezy, but the wind was warm. The sun came up uneventfully and I was disappointed. It sneaked up behind a small cloud and hid there for way too long. The clouds won this battle hands down and everything went from grey to light grey. Ed was nowhere to be seen and I was even more disappointed. It wasn’t what I was expecting.
I went to the bazaar but it was still early. A man was sweeping debris and palm fronds from the paths and stuffing them in plastic bags. It didn’t seem to go with the rest of what I was seeing. The card tables were all in the same place they’d been the day before. Most of the paintings, pots, and dresses were there as well, though somebody had thrown a plastic tarp over them.
I was surprised to see everything still there. Where I come from, the paintings, pots, and dresses would all be gone, maybe the tarps and tables, too. But here, I had the sense that the tarps were a gentle chiding. They said, “Okay mon, I know you can steal. The question is: Do you really want to?”
I thought of Tina’s piercing eyes watching me and I felt ashamed. I’d been there for all of thirty seconds and the thought of someone stealing something had already passed through my mind. Maybe Tina was right. Maybe she was the wise one and I was the Ugly American.
I bought a cup of coffee at a little shop close to the beach. It was decorated in pink and white and for a second I thought the owners must have been copying Dunkin Donuts, but then I looked around and realized it was silly. The donuts weren’t even donuts but something local with fruit inside and much lighter. I swear they’d float away in a breeze. I munched a papaya one as I sipped coffee. It was good, it even felt healthy. Maybe Dunkin Donuts should come down and take some notes.
The waitress refilled my cup with steaming Jamaican Blue Mountain. She said nothing to me and started walking back to the counter. On a hunch, I called after her, “By any chance, do you know Ed?”
She stopped in mid-stride and turned around. It was weird. She looked like she’d been caught in some kind of Star Trek tractor beam. Just in asking that question, I’d hit a nerve.
“Do I know Ed?” she repeated. She smiled oddly. “Yes, I know Ed.” Then she turned and started walking again.
I felt like I’d missed something. I’d missed some sort of important point. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what it was.
At the counter, she went back to reading her paperback. It was beat-to-hell, tattered, coverless, and the pages were yellow. I couldn’t make out the words. She seemed suddenly engrossed and I didn’t want to bother her…but I did.
“Does…everyone know Ed?” I called to her. I’m not even sure what the question meant.
She chuckled though. Maybe I was getting close to something. “Of course not. That’s silly. How could everyone know Ed?”
I sensed that I’d missed some important point again. It was becoming clear that Ed wasn’t who I thought he was and the day was turning inside itself at every turn. “Okay. Do you know where I might find him?” I tried to sound casual but I think the waitress sensed the desperation in my voice.
She chuckled. “Oh, now that one is easy.” She pointed out the window toward the ocean. I didn’t see anything at first. The ocean was choppy and grey-green that morning and coming to shore in large swells. “Silly mon, he is right in front of you!” Her voice was a beautiful lilt, very precise with each syllable perfectly articulated. She sounded British…and yet pure Jamaican. She chuckled again, at my silliness.
I finished my coffee and hurried outside. I didn’t want to miss him, though as I trotted toward the beach, I realized I probably didn’t have to hurry. He wasn’t going to disappear behind an elevator door, or inside a cab, or hop a bus and vanish forever. This wasn’t the insanity that is Manhattan. It was a very sleepy beach that was just waking up. I stopped trotting and forced myself to walk as if I were care free. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think…
From far away, he looked at first like a pelican sitting on a lone pier. There was just a dark blob a few inches above the water. He was sitting in the ocean, the water just up to his chin and each time a wave came in he floated up like a cork…though not quite fast enough. The water kept splashing his head and then…I saw something little move in his hair, a speck of brown and white.
I couldn’t tell which way he was facing, but then his arm unfolded in the surf and he waved at me like we hadn’t seen each other in twenty years.
“Hello, my friend!” he called and as he stood up, I worried for a second that he’d be naked and I’d have to contend with images of Ed I wasn’t prepared to see. Fortunately I was wrong. He wore old jeans that had been cut-off too short. The whites of his pockets stuck out below, and he sat back down in the water like he was sitting back down in a bathtub. “Come on in, mon. The water is fine and it is a beautiful morning!”
I looked around trying to see the still grey beach, grey sky, grey water through his eyes.
I thought, Now yesterday was really gorgeous. Today…not so much. I slipped-off my shoes stuffed my socks inside so they wouldn’t get wet or lost. I looked around for a place to put them where they wouldn’t get stolen.
I think Ed was reading my mind. He chided me. “C’mon, mon. You worry too much. You don’t have all day.” He stopped and laughed at his own words. “Oh… No, wait a minute… My mistake. You do have all day. You are here with me. Take your time, mon.”
I stopped and looked at him, not knowing whether he’d actually made a mistake, or whether this was to be my first lesson.
As I waded out, the waves pushed then pulled me and I thought of Scylla and Charybdis. The sand scurried away beneath my toes with each step as if it were alive and every so often something wiggled and made me jump. And then I’d step on something else that was wiggling. Ed watched…grinning at every step I took.
As I got near he reached up from the water and we shook hands Jamaican-style, not American. It felt good, though it didn’t feel natural. I had to think about what I was doing.
When I tried to sit, I realized how much taller Ed was. He could sit in the water and look at me. I had to hunker down on both knees and sit straight up. Finally we looked each other in the eyes.
He was smiling as always, though this morning he looked younger. I would have thought older in the morning. The chipmunks were awake and crawling around on top of his head. Whenever a big wave came, they squeaked and burrowed into his hair. I wondered what it must feel like to have things crawling around up there. I wondered what kind of philosophy would allow that.
The largest of the chipmunks crawled straight down the front of his hair and peered at him.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“Beats the hell out of me. Perhaps from his perspective, I am encroaching on his mountain, his domain and I am some giant troll or monster who lives beneath and must be reckoned with.”
Then the chipmunk lost its grip and plopped in the water. He swam madly and Ed’s arm came up from beneath to catch him. By the time the chipmunk touched his arm, his feet were going so fast that he did a chipmunk wheelie and rocketed up Ed’s arm squeaking and chiding. He disappeared in Ed’s hair.
Ed seemed to anticipate my question. “Not to worry, mon. This happens nearly every day. The daddy is a little pisser though…very noisy, always complaining.”
I realized I was beginning to love his voice. So precise in his pronunciation, like the waitress. I felt like he was perpetually reading to me from a storybook. The mon part…Well, I was getting used to…slowly.
He stared out at where the sun should be and then looked back. “Last night I was thinking about our conundrum.”
I had to think. “What?”
“…the conundrum of which one of us is really real.”
“Oh, that one. I was just…”
“I think I have an answer for you.”
“Oh? Cool.”
“Yes, mon. Though this is not my solution. It was the solution of an old philosopher, a man by the name of Renee Descartes. The solution is…”
“Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.”
“That’s right. Give that gentle-mon a cigar. I was thinking last night…and you weren’t there to make me exist. Therefore…I am. As far as you’re concerned, I think it might be impossible for me to figure out. I can only be sure of myself. Sorry, but you may just be a figment. Or to quote Jacob Marley, you may be nothing more than a bit of undigested beef.”
“Potato,” I said.
Ed squinted in thought. “Ahhh, yes. I stand corrected.”
“And what if I told you that I was thinking about you last night?”
Ed’s eyebrows knitted. They were very much like his hair, thick and tangled and when he frowned there was one long tangled nest across his face. “That could be. Or…maybe I’m just making you say that in my mind, so I can continue to talk to you.”
“Or vice versa.”
Ed nodded. “Yes. There is that possibility. Technically speaking you are correct…though I know what I know.” Then he changed the subject completely. “Have you ever been baptized, mon…Jamaican-style?”
“I haven’t been baptized…any style.”
“Good! Then I will baptize you.”
“That’s okay.”
“No mon. And if I don’t exist, will you not feel nothing. Yes? Is that not proof?”
“Now you’re playing games.”
“Exactly. Now close your eyes…and your mouth and feel free to baptize me right back.”
Before I had time to shut my mouth, Ed hit the water with the flat of his hand. A thin geyser jetted into my face. The water was really salty. It was like when I’d had a cold and had to gargle. I started to object but then the second one came and then the third and suddenly Ed was a machinegun that sprayed water. There was nothing to do but splash back. I guess I did a decent job of defending myself. I could see it in between glimpses of my eyes being closed. His hair was drenched and draining. All the chipmunks were huddled on top of his head, bickering, and so for their sake, I stopped.
Ed stopped. “Why’d you quit?” he asked.
I pointed to his head.
“Ahhh. Yes, I forgot. Good call.”
As we trudged back through the water flowing back to the ocean, Ed looked back. “How did you enjoy your Jamaican baptism?” He was smiling broadly. He was old Ed again.