Read Online Envious Moon by Thomas Christopher Greene - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas Christopher Greene
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decided things. I started to walk again.
I followed the road until it turned to the left and began to trace the other side of the island. In front of me was a lighthouse, another marker I knew from sea. It was a brick building turned a deep rust color from a century of exposure. A parking lot in front of it was full of cars. And on the wide-sloping lawn that surrounded it were hundreds of tourists, sitting on blankets, all here for the dramatic view.
I joined them and sat on the lawn. Far below two strong currents came together on the rocks. The waves moved not toward shore but toward each other, meeting some fifty yards from the rocky beach. Where the waters converged cormorantsand gulls dove over and over. The fishing must be good here. Where there were birds there were fish. Though to tell you the truth, this was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to blend in, as much as that was possible. Stay off the road. Figure out what to do next.
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I made camp on a private beach west of the lighthouse. I had spent most of the afternoon on the lawn and by early evening I left and found a general store on the road heading in the other direction from the way I came. It was a small gray clapboard building and it housed a post office. Inside I cracked one of the hundred-dollar bills and splurged on a nine-dollar steak from behind the case. It had been a long time since I had had a steak. I also bought a can of baked beans and then I returned to the lighthouse. I followed a path through high sea grasses and down to the beach where families had gathered to watch the sunset. I walked through them and then rounded the point and followed the coastline back toward the cliffs and the great house. I stopped when I found a beach that looked like it had not been used for a long time. Above me was a house but there were no pathways or stairs down to the beach. There was a rock promontory that hung over the beach and this provided me some shelter. I had good sight lines in either direction.
After the sunset, I gathered driftwood and with the newspaper from my bag as kindling, I started a fire. Fires were no doubt illegal but I kept it small. The sun-dried driftwoodburned hot and I only needed it to cook the steak.
I pierced the flesh of the meat with a long stick and when the fire had some coals I held the steak over the flames and I let them lick up the sides of it. I cooked it until it was good and charred on the outside. Then I let it cool by sticking the stick into the sand and letting the meat dangle from it. I opened the can of beans and warmed them in the coals. I uncorked a bottle of Bertaâs wine. I ate the steak right off the stick and I spooned the warm beans out of the can and into my mouth. I wished I had brought salt and pepper but after a long day of walking I can say that that was one of the best steaks I have ever had. I smoked. After a while I stood and stripped off my clothes. I waded into the surf. The water was shallow and sandy-bottomed and warm. I walked until it was thigh high and then I dove. I slid underneath and closed my eyes and when I came up I floated on my back. The salt water rinsed off all the grit of the day. All around me the color was leaving the world and the darkness rolled in.
Â
I followed the coastline and stayed as close as I could to the cliff. I had no idea how far it was in this direction. I had finished three-quarters of the bottle of wine and I was not drunk but I was starting to feel it, not foggy exactly, or euphoric, but somewhere in between. I did know that I wanted to come to the house differently. Not from the cove. It had been a couple of months since Victor and I had gone that way and no doubt it would have been fine but I didnât want to chance it.
The sand was hard-packed beneath my boots and I made good time. At one point the cliff face jutted out into the water and I took off my boots and tied the laces together and rolled up my pants and slung the boots around my neck.
I followed the road until it turned to the left and began to trace the other side of the island. In front of me was a lighthouse, another marker I knew from sea. It was a brick building turned a deep rust color from a century of exposure. A parking lot in front of it was full of cars. And on the wide-sloping lawn that surrounded it were hundreds of tourists, sitting on blankets, all here for the dramatic view.
I joined them and sat on the lawn. Far below two strong currents came together on the rocks. The waves moved not toward shore but toward each other, meeting some fifty yards from the rocky beach. Where the waters converged cormorantsand gulls dove over and over. The fishing must be good here. Where there were birds there were fish. Though to tell you the truth, this was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to blend in, as much as that was possible. Stay off the road. Figure out what to do next.
Â
I made camp on a private beach west of the lighthouse. I had spent most of the afternoon on the lawn and by early evening I left and found a general store on the road heading in the other direction from the way I came. It was a small gray clapboard building and it housed a post office. Inside I cracked one of the hundred-dollar bills and splurged on a nine-dollar steak from behind the case. It had been a long time since I had had a steak. I also bought a can of baked beans and then I returned to the lighthouse. I followed a path through high sea grasses and down to the beach where families had gathered to watch the sunset. I walked through them and then rounded the point and followed the coastline back toward the cliffs and the great house. I stopped when I found a beach that looked like it had not been used for a long time. Above me was a house but there were no pathways or stairs down to the beach. There was a rock promontory that hung over the beach and this provided me some shelter. I had good sight lines in either direction.
After the sunset, I gathered driftwood and with the newspaper from my bag as kindling, I started a fire. Fires were no doubt illegal but I kept it small. The sun-dried driftwoodburned hot and I only needed it to cook the steak.
I pierced the flesh of the meat with a long stick and when the fire had some coals I held the steak over the flames and I let them lick up the sides of it. I cooked it until it was good and charred on the outside. Then I let it cool by sticking the stick into the sand and letting the meat dangle from it. I opened the can of beans and warmed them in the coals. I uncorked a bottle of Bertaâs wine. I ate the steak right off the stick and I spooned the warm beans out of the can and into my mouth. I wished I had brought salt and pepper but after a long day of walking I can say that that was one of the best steaks I have ever had. I smoked. After a while I stood and stripped off my clothes. I waded into the surf. The water was shallow and sandy-bottomed and warm. I walked until it was thigh high and then I dove. I slid underneath and closed my eyes and when I came up I floated on my back. The salt water rinsed off all the grit of the day. All around me the color was leaving the world and the darkness rolled in.
Â
I followed the coastline and stayed as close as I could to the cliff. I had no idea how far it was in this direction. I had finished three-quarters of the bottle of wine and I was not drunk but I was starting to feel it, not foggy exactly, or euphoric, but somewhere in between. I did know that I wanted to come to the house differently. Not from the cove. It had been a couple of months since Victor and I had gone that way and no doubt it would have been fine but I didnât want to chance it.
The sand was hard-packed beneath my boots and I made good time. At one point the cliff face jutted out into the water and I took off my boots and tied the laces together and rolled up my pants and slung the boots around my neck.
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