Read Online The Last Good Paradise by Tatjana Soli - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tatjana Soli
Ads: Link
time of day back home, insulated by at least three levels of assistants—but stick an oxygen tank on his back and drop him in shark-infested waters, and he’d become as docile and compliant as a puppy.
Couples were trickier. Other than lust-besotted honeymooners, one either had two partners who were sick to death of each other or two strangers who hardly knew each other, suddenly thrown together with no distractions. Always a volatile mix.
Droves of Westerners flew to the islands with some variation of castaway fantasy. He got a high percentage of honeymooners, who were the best because they stayed in their fares most of the time, only coming out for food and alcohol, and they rarely complained. The second biggest group was the retireds—wrinkled, tired, unsure, bewildered by their sudden release into leisure. They would stare at the overpriced menus in the tourist hotels, wondering if this was what they had worked so hard for, saved for so parsimoniously, to waste money like this. An existential question for sure. They complained about everything because nothing could measure up to their impossible longings. He was sympathetic, but these weren’t his bread and butter. The last group—the unhappys—these had been Loren’s specialty.
* * *
The sun rode hard and yellow against the thin green sea. Richard and Ann got into the boat with their two small bags while Loren was still carrying on supplies of groceries and gasoline. After a few boxes, he stopped, exhausted, to wipe his face and light up a cigarette. After ten minutes of inaction, Richard got out and began to load boxes himself. Loren idly watched with neither thanks nor a request to stop. Finally he stubbed out his cigarette and helped. By the time they were finished, every square inch was packed, with barely enough room to sit. It was disconcerting to see everything they would be eating for the next week or so loaded around them in the hot sun. In true third-world style, the can of gasoline nestled next to the grapes, mangoes, and pineapples they would be eating; bottles of bleach cozied up to the meat and bread; plastic cartons of milk sat unrefrigerated.
“Make sure you have gone to make pee-pee. The boat trip is an hour and a half, with lots of bouncy-bouncy,” Loren said. He enjoyed the grimace on Ann’s face as she turned away. He found it amusing how squeamish Americans were at the mention of bodily functions. Didn’t they understand that all humankind was mere flesh, animated by spirit, if one were so inclined to believe? “We are riding the pass into the lagoon. Twice a day a big tide comes in and out, bringing many animals: the sharks, the porpoises, turtles. We will come back for diving.”
“I took my first dive yesterday,” Richard volunteered.
This was another of Richard’s traits that irked her—how he tried to befriend everyone he met, even this condescending Frenchman.
“Yes?” Loren said.
“Did you say sharks?” Ann asked.
“I loved it,” Richard said.
“Many, many sharks,” Loren said. “The sharks in Polynesia outnumber the people. Mostly safe to swim in the lagoon in the daytime. They have so much food. Unless they are hungry. I will take you to feed them—give you the thrill of the deep.” Loren looked at Ann. “Never swim at nighttime, though. That’s when they feed. It’s very dangerous.”
Ann turned a shade whiter under her zinc oxide. The memory of the dark shape underneath her, taking her measure, proving that it was master, that it chose the time and place of mortality before swimming away, spooked her.
The ride, as promised, was long and bumpy. Loren rode at a fast clip, carelessly plowing the nose of the boat into each wave crest, dousing them with spray. Wind whipped the water from blue to green and back to blue. In every direction, the world spread out—a horizontal, watery desert.
Under the roar of the engine, Ann whispered into Richard’s ear: “I think this is a
Couples were trickier. Other than lust-besotted honeymooners, one either had two partners who were sick to death of each other or two strangers who hardly knew each other, suddenly thrown together with no distractions. Always a volatile mix.
Droves of Westerners flew to the islands with some variation of castaway fantasy. He got a high percentage of honeymooners, who were the best because they stayed in their fares most of the time, only coming out for food and alcohol, and they rarely complained. The second biggest group was the retireds—wrinkled, tired, unsure, bewildered by their sudden release into leisure. They would stare at the overpriced menus in the tourist hotels, wondering if this was what they had worked so hard for, saved for so parsimoniously, to waste money like this. An existential question for sure. They complained about everything because nothing could measure up to their impossible longings. He was sympathetic, but these weren’t his bread and butter. The last group—the unhappys—these had been Loren’s specialty.
* * *
The sun rode hard and yellow against the thin green sea. Richard and Ann got into the boat with their two small bags while Loren was still carrying on supplies of groceries and gasoline. After a few boxes, he stopped, exhausted, to wipe his face and light up a cigarette. After ten minutes of inaction, Richard got out and began to load boxes himself. Loren idly watched with neither thanks nor a request to stop. Finally he stubbed out his cigarette and helped. By the time they were finished, every square inch was packed, with barely enough room to sit. It was disconcerting to see everything they would be eating for the next week or so loaded around them in the hot sun. In true third-world style, the can of gasoline nestled next to the grapes, mangoes, and pineapples they would be eating; bottles of bleach cozied up to the meat and bread; plastic cartons of milk sat unrefrigerated.
“Make sure you have gone to make pee-pee. The boat trip is an hour and a half, with lots of bouncy-bouncy,” Loren said. He enjoyed the grimace on Ann’s face as she turned away. He found it amusing how squeamish Americans were at the mention of bodily functions. Didn’t they understand that all humankind was mere flesh, animated by spirit, if one were so inclined to believe? “We are riding the pass into the lagoon. Twice a day a big tide comes in and out, bringing many animals: the sharks, the porpoises, turtles. We will come back for diving.”
“I took my first dive yesterday,” Richard volunteered.
This was another of Richard’s traits that irked her—how he tried to befriend everyone he met, even this condescending Frenchman.
“Yes?” Loren said.
“Did you say sharks?” Ann asked.
“I loved it,” Richard said.
“Many, many sharks,” Loren said. “The sharks in Polynesia outnumber the people. Mostly safe to swim in the lagoon in the daytime. They have so much food. Unless they are hungry. I will take you to feed them—give you the thrill of the deep.” Loren looked at Ann. “Never swim at nighttime, though. That’s when they feed. It’s very dangerous.”
Ann turned a shade whiter under her zinc oxide. The memory of the dark shape underneath her, taking her measure, proving that it was master, that it chose the time and place of mortality before swimming away, spooked her.
The ride, as promised, was long and bumpy. Loren rode at a fast clip, carelessly plowing the nose of the boat into each wave crest, dousing them with spray. Wind whipped the water from blue to green and back to blue. In every direction, the world spread out—a horizontal, watery desert.
Under the roar of the engine, Ann whispered into Richard’s ear: “I think this is a
Similar Books
