this morning. I found a dead body.
Well, me and this girl and this old
professor-type guy, we found it together. It was a girl, a naked girl, and she
was way up on the sand, way beyond the weed-line.’
Carefully, with very little
embellishment, he told Santos all about the girl’s body, and the eels, and what
had happened to the policeman. Then he told him about Paulette Springer,
especially the way that Paulette Springer seemed to know everything about him.
‘Do you know something?, he said.
‘I’ve been thinking about this on the way out here: she was exactly my type. Can you believe that?
The more I think about her, the more it hits me. She was my dream girl, my
fantasy girl, come true. I loved her face and I loved her body and I loved the
way she dressed. I loved the way she talked and I loved the way she laughed.
Jesus – if I met a girl like that and she really liked me, I’d marry her
tomorrow. I’d marry her this evening.’
Santos listened to this carefully.
Then he reached into his pocket and took out a key.
He unlocked his closet, and from one
of the shelves near the top, he brought down a tin box, with a plaid pattern
printed on it. Originally, it had contained Genuine Scottish Petticoat Tails.
Santos opened it up and inspected its contents. About a half-ounce of
marijuana, a packet of cigarette-papers, and some shag tobacco.
‘We should smoke,’ he said. ‘Then
maybe we can find out what’s going on here.’
‘I’m not sure I want to.’
‘I can’t help you if you don’t,’
Santos told him, matter-of-factly.
Gil glanced up at the crucifix, and
then said, ‘Okay. But I’m not getting totally stoned.
I want to get back and meet this
girl this evening.’
‘You’ll get back,’ Santos assured
him.
Gil watched silently as Santos rolled
a joint. Then he closed the tin box and reached into his shirt pocket for
matches. He lit up unhurriedly, and blew smoke across the room. ‘This is good
stuff. I got it from Benes. You remember Benes, who used to come down to the
college sometimes?’
‘Sure,’ said Gil. He waited while
Santos drew in a deep, sharp breath of marijuana.
Then he said, ‘You must miss college
pretty bad.’
Santos shrugged, his mouth leaking
smoke. ‘What’s to miss? Look what I got here. A tractor that won’t go, a mother
who never stops complaining, grapevines, heat, dust, and fucking chickens.’
He passed over the joint. Gil
hesitated, and then inhaled, dragging the aromatic smoke deep down into his
lungs. He closed his eyes and waited, then he slowly allowed the smoke to roll
out of him. He took another drag, and then passed the joint back to Santos.
Gradually, as they smoked, the room
seemed to Gil to open out, to expand. Before he knew it, the tiny adobe cell
was like a vast cathedral, echoing and empty. He could see Santos, but Santos
appeared to be very far away, and shrunken, as if he were nothing more than a
half-developed embryo with a checkered shirt and a pompadour.
Santos said, slowly and loudly, ‘You
have to tell me what she said... exactly what she said.’
Gil tried to think of Paulette. For
a moment, he couldn’t assemble any kind of picture of her in his mind, but then
he forced himself to remember the very first moment he had seen her, standing
against the sunlight that irradiated the street outside the Mini-Market door.
In a blurry voice, he told Santos, ‘She said... Gil Miller. She spoke my name.’
‘Then what did she say?’
‘She said... I’m sorry to surprise
you... she said, I’ve had a cup of coffee and I’ve bought a book... She told me
the name of the book. She seemed to think that I would know what it meant, like
it was a secret message or something.’
‘What was the name of the book?’
asked Santos. He sounded distant and metallic.
‘It was foreign, I didn’t understand
it. I can’t remember it now. Day something.’
‘Remember,’ Santos urged him. ‘It
could be important.’
Gil closed his eyes and
Well, me and this girl and this old
professor-type guy, we found it together. It was a girl, a naked girl, and she
was way up on the sand, way beyond the weed-line.’
Carefully, with very little
embellishment, he told Santos all about the girl’s body, and the eels, and what
had happened to the policeman. Then he told him about Paulette Springer,
especially the way that Paulette Springer seemed to know everything about him.
‘Do you know something?, he said.
‘I’ve been thinking about this on the way out here: she was exactly my type. Can you believe that?
The more I think about her, the more it hits me. She was my dream girl, my
fantasy girl, come true. I loved her face and I loved her body and I loved the
way she dressed. I loved the way she talked and I loved the way she laughed.
Jesus – if I met a girl like that and she really liked me, I’d marry her
tomorrow. I’d marry her this evening.’
Santos listened to this carefully.
Then he reached into his pocket and took out a key.
He unlocked his closet, and from one
of the shelves near the top, he brought down a tin box, with a plaid pattern
printed on it. Originally, it had contained Genuine Scottish Petticoat Tails.
Santos opened it up and inspected its contents. About a half-ounce of
marijuana, a packet of cigarette-papers, and some shag tobacco.
‘We should smoke,’ he said. ‘Then
maybe we can find out what’s going on here.’
‘I’m not sure I want to.’
‘I can’t help you if you don’t,’
Santos told him, matter-of-factly.
Gil glanced up at the crucifix, and
then said, ‘Okay. But I’m not getting totally stoned.
I want to get back and meet this
girl this evening.’
‘You’ll get back,’ Santos assured
him.
Gil watched silently as Santos rolled
a joint. Then he closed the tin box and reached into his shirt pocket for
matches. He lit up unhurriedly, and blew smoke across the room. ‘This is good
stuff. I got it from Benes. You remember Benes, who used to come down to the
college sometimes?’
‘Sure,’ said Gil. He waited while
Santos drew in a deep, sharp breath of marijuana.
Then he said, ‘You must miss college
pretty bad.’
Santos shrugged, his mouth leaking
smoke. ‘What’s to miss? Look what I got here. A tractor that won’t go, a mother
who never stops complaining, grapevines, heat, dust, and fucking chickens.’
He passed over the joint. Gil
hesitated, and then inhaled, dragging the aromatic smoke deep down into his
lungs. He closed his eyes and waited, then he slowly allowed the smoke to roll
out of him. He took another drag, and then passed the joint back to Santos.
Gradually, as they smoked, the room
seemed to Gil to open out, to expand. Before he knew it, the tiny adobe cell
was like a vast cathedral, echoing and empty. He could see Santos, but Santos
appeared to be very far away, and shrunken, as if he were nothing more than a
half-developed embryo with a checkered shirt and a pompadour.
Santos said, slowly and loudly, ‘You
have to tell me what she said... exactly what she said.’
Gil tried to think of Paulette. For
a moment, he couldn’t assemble any kind of picture of her in his mind, but then
he forced himself to remember the very first moment he had seen her, standing
against the sunlight that irradiated the street outside the Mini-Market door.
In a blurry voice, he told Santos, ‘She said... Gil Miller. She spoke my name.’
‘Then what did she say?’
‘She said... I’m sorry to surprise
you... she said, I’ve had a cup of coffee and I’ve bought a book... She told me
the name of the book. She seemed to think that I would know what it meant, like
it was a secret message or something.’
‘What was the name of the book?’
asked Santos. He sounded distant and metallic.
‘It was foreign, I didn’t understand
it. I can’t remember it now. Day something.’
‘Remember,’ Santos urged him. ‘It
could be important.’
Gil closed his eyes and
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