Edward gave a curse before getting up. He felt his way into the kitchen, and a drawer filled with miscellaneous items. There he felt out four candles, a flashlight, and lighter he knew were there. Using the lighter he lit one candle and returned to his bedroom before lighting the other three, setting two on the TV and two on the desk. He returned to the kitchen and the telephone next to the fridge. He lifted the receiver and put it to his ear. Silence. Whatever had blown out the electricity had taken the telephone line with it. He hung up the phone and returned to his place on the bed.
With the TV off, the howl of the storm was immense, the branches slapping against the roof more apparent. Then something outside began knocking. It sounded like someone slowly hammering on a piece of wood. He laid back and tried to ignore the unnatural sound, but the beating was constant without any sign of letting up. He kneeled below the window and looked out. He could see nothing except the reflection of two candle flames behind him, blotting out the darkness.
He lay back, putting his head on his pillow while the hammering continued.
“What is that?” He took his pillow and pressed it over his ears.
Five minutes later, he got up, picked up the flashlight, and clicked it on. He opened the door and aimed the beam into the rain. The gust coming in from the sea pressed into him as he stepped out. The rain stung his face, forcing him to turn away and shoulder his way through it. It reminded him of the nor’easters but without the chill – even the rain soaking him was warm.
The darkness was absolute. Without house and streetlights, it was like nothing he’d ever seen. The flashlight’s narrow beam became his universe. He aimed it into the wind for two seconds and watched the rain falling at him from the void. Then he turned toward the knocking and following the beam just in front of him as it crossed dips and mounds of the yard, his bare feet crunching into wet sand.
The knocking came from the main house. He put the beam up and located the source of the noise, a loose shutter. The gale was catching it at just the right angle to whip it against the siding. He stood up on his haunches to reach the latch as the water poured over his face from the eave. Repeatedly he tried to reattach the slippery shutter. After what seemed like ten minutes he got it to stick and dropped onto the flat of his feet, turning in time to see lightning strike behind the small island just outside the bay. Its shape outlined in a shaky yellow glow, for a moment it looked like it was floating on the surface. Another flash went off a second later, a thin jagged finger reached down and touched open ocean to the right of the island. In the blackness, the powerful spark reflected in the wet shards of the rain, creating a smoky vortex.
He ran back to his house, found a towel and dried off. The rain’s strength grew and at its strongest sounded like a mountainside collapsing.
~~9~~
Breakfast was from a pot of leftover Hamburger Helper that was too cold and lemonade that was too warm. He ate this while sitting on his bed and staring at the dead TV.
Afterwards, wearing cargo pants and an unbuttoned long sleeve cotton shirt, he staggered out into the blinding brightness of everything – sand, water, sky. He shaded his eyes with a hand for a minute while they adjusted. There wasn’t a trace of the previous night’s storm in the endless blue above. Not even one wisp of cloud. The bay had settled and now lay before him mirror-like, only small ripples washing up on the sand. All the evidence that there had been a storm at all lay on the grounds around him. Leaves and fronds littered the area. Branches of driftwood and seaweed lay in a neat line along the base of the berm. He walked around the other two houses, surveying their roofs and cisterns for damage. Everything appeared in good shape. He followed the power line strung across the three houses up to where it disappeared over a jungle hillside at the back of the property. He could not see anything wrong with the wire.
Edward spent an hour picking up leaves and dragging branches to a pile he had formed behind his house. Under the high sun, sweat soon ran freely down his face and soaked through the underarms and back of his shirt, but he worked on, completely clearing the area of all debris bigger than small leaves. When he couldn’t stand the heat anymore, he walked over to the water, rolled up his arms and pants and, for the first time since arriving on the island, waded in up to his knees.
The clear water, clouded by only the gauzy web of refection on its surface, was nothing like the murky Long Island Sound or Virginia Beach’s gritty shore. The first thought that came to his mind was that it looked pure enough to drink. Then something darted near his foot and he jumped. Then he laughed. It was nothing but a school of minnows. Dozens of silver and orange aquarium fish circled his feet. A few steps out he found a small conch shell with a crab inside. When he lifted it out of the water, the hermit crab pulled itself inside. He could still see the legs there. The creature blew two bubbles and became still. Edward turned the shell over, running his fingers over the surface, feeling the smoothness and shape of its material, before returning it to the water.
He curled his toes in the sand below, and twisted his feet to push them in deep, enjoying the sensation. He stepped out farther, the water quickly rising to his waist. He waited there until a heavy swell flopped into him and soaked the bottom half of his shirt. He cupped his hands and brought some of the water to his mouth to taste its saltiness before spitting it out. He looked out, studying the rippling green flame around him. This continued out for twenty feet to where the bay deepened and the water turned dark teal. Just past the mouth of the bay, the surface became choppy and the waves capped in foamy white.
Edward waded along the beach to where it turned north. There bushes of frangipani grew wild beyond the berm in the shade of palm trees. He ran out of the water and up to these flowers, grabbing at them, pressing their silky petals against his nostrils to breathe in the fragrances. He held handfuls of mixed yellow, white and pink five-petal blooms that grew like ornaments. Farther up the beach he found orange hibiscus and red crab claw flowers that hung like firecrackers on a string.
With his clothes stuck against his body, he ran down the beach back inside his house. He pulled out his suitcase from under the bed and picked out a sketch pad and pencil. Just before he walked out, he stopped and looked down at his long sleeve and pants, dripping water onto the floor.
“Ridiculous.”
He dropped the pad and pencil on the bed and threw open his armoire. There were pants, long sleeve shirts and even a jacket inside. Edward ran into the kitchen, opened the miscellaneous drawer, and retrieved a pair of scissors. Then he undressed.
He amputated the cargo pant legs just below the knees. Next, he snipped into the shirt along the shoulder seam, taking off the sleeves. He put on his new shorts and vest, picked up his drawing tools, and ran out the door.
First, he sketched the crab claw flowers because they were so exotic. The tourist channel had a show about the local flora, but it was nothing like seeing them up close – touching the petals and inhaling the fragrance. Next, he drew the far side of the bay, adding some enlarged palm trees as a sort of border. One page held a dozen frangipani blooms drawn with the pad on his knees as he sat in the shade. The next page contained outlines of seashells and palm branches, insects and the shoreline. He sketched at a furious pace as if the fantastic things around him might disappear at any moment.