For the sake of our health, or more likely because we had nothing better to do, I thought up a morning exercise routine on the beach. I was the teacher, Epsilon was the slow, reluctant student. But sometimes I think he had fun doing it. “It’s like riding a horse,” he told me when I forced him to do knee bends. He could be an oddball. “That’s a clever image, Epsilon,” I said. “Thank you.”
In the evenings, I tried to talk him into skinny-dipping with me because it sounded romantic, but he refused to follow me into the water after an unfortunate episode with a jellyfish. They can bite, you know, and even though we were far away from both salt water and jellyfish, he didn’t want to risk anything. I could only talk him into wading in the nude, and so that’s what we did.
Before we went to sleep, Epsilon read to me about standard deviations and confidence intervals and I held the flashlight. Soon both I and the flashlight were out, but I’m sure Epsilon kept reading by the light of the moon, and it feels nice to have someone awake while you’re falling asleep.
Epsilon woke me one Sunday morning by saying, “Orienteering. You’d be a natural.” I pinched myself in the arm. “But aren’t you afraid I’ll get hurt?” I asked. In a daze, I sat up against the headboard. “This isn’t about me anymore,” he said. But it was all about him.
The local athletic club had put up fliers saying that on Midsummer’s Day they were going to hold an orienteering race for amateurs. When the day arrived, I stood at the starting line and Epsilon stood on the sidelines with his thumb up, he always did tend to exaggerate. They fired the starting shot and I ran in a near panic from the crowd. I flew over rocks and grass, and checkpoints leaped out at me like distress signals in a fog. Before I knew it, I saw the finishing line and the spectators — waiting there to cheer on the winner. I stopped, turned around, and went home.
“I stood there forever,” Epsilon said when he came in the door, it was pretty late. “What happened?” He didn’t sound the least bit worried. Instead, he sounded irritated. “You tell me,” I said from the chair in the living room.
He went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. “Hey!” he shouted. “Who put my toothbrush on the foot scrubber?”
I try to stand up straight and stare while I ponder the conundrum of a tree falling in the forest. If no one hears it, does the tree make a sound, or does it even really fall in the first place? Maybe it would be better for me to be felled with no witnesses. While I chew that thought over, I discover that what I thought was a brown twig next to my foot isn’t a twig at all. It’s a frog. It sits next to me, motionless, as if it belongs to the plant kingdom, and I’m sure that it, like me, does this because of its fear of death, it’s probably trying to keep from being eaten. That’s a clever trick: cheat death by becoming invisible.
After the night, the morning, bidding all darkness cease, after life’s care and sorrows, the comfort and sweetness of peace.
It’s getting dark, but I see light above the city and stars in the sky. I’m thinking about Stein, but mostly I’m thinking about Laika. They called her Little Curly and Little Bug and Little Lemon, and stuck her in a spaceship that wasn’t made to come back. Now it’s all so easy, all you have to do to get launched into space is come up with a good slogan for chocolate, and I’ve read that traveling in space means you’ll be younger when you return than you would’ve been had you stayed on earth, because time is relative. A day with Epsilon, for example, isn’t the same as a day without.
~ ~ ~
I’VE KNITTED MYSELF A HAT, it’s plum red with an appealing lace pattern, I figured that a few air holes would be nice now that it’s spring. I put it on and feel like a cranberry in the snow, and I wonder if they can see me from the moon. Me and the Great Wall.
Our first meeting with the new neighbors surpassed our expectations. But then I ran into June’s mother alone, and there was something awkward about it, even though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what. I figured I should say hello, since I wanted to seem friendly. We were going to be living side by side, after all, with only a thin wall between us. I expected her to say hello back, and then we’d each go our own way, and I got nervous when it looked like she had something else to say. I watched her patiently for what seemed an eternity, until she finally asked about my sprain, though I’d told her the day before that it was a chronic pain. That rhymes. So I put my hand on the thigh opposite the one she’d pointed to and leaned forward. I thought it would be good to whisper the secret in her ear, because that would forge a bond between us. I stopped in mid-motion, so she could lean forward and meet me halfway. She seemed a little reluctant, but I tried not to take it personally. I lowered my voice in case anyone was listening. “I think maybe it might be something. ” Shy, I paused a second before I whispered as low as I could: “Psychological.” She didn’t say anything, just looked at me like I’d told a lewd joke. Her odd smile felt like a trap. I tried to think of some way out, to come up with something else to talk about, and I looked around. I didn’t have to look far. “On the subject of the psyche,” I said, relieved at having managed such a painless transition to this new and safer topic. I nodded toward the neighbor’s door across the halclass="underline" “Did you know he’s schizophrenic?” “No he’s not,” she said. “Oh, but he is,” I said, “I’ve heard several different voices coming from his apartment.”
In the store, I look long and hard before I find jam in a tube, I just saw a commercial for it on TV. No one asks me if I need assistance. Being visible from the moon probably wouldn’t make a difference in situations like this. When I finally find the right shelf, I think I might as well get two tubes at once. Then I look over my shoulder before putting one under each arm. On my way to the cashier, I think, My God, where will this end?
Without thinking about it, I walk up to the register where the girl is sitting, she licks a finger and turns a page in her magazine. My pulse pounds in my temples, my shoes creak on the floor, and a timid old voice whispers in Swedish, “Good morning.” I realize it’s me.
The girl doesn’t answer, and before I know it I’ve walked right by her. No alarms go off, everything’s normal outside, everyone acts like nothing happened. On my way across the parking lot, I can’t help but look down on the mothers with strollers, and I snub the doves right to their little bird faces.
Åge B. is in position in the woods, and the banana is back as well. The man is a mystery. It would’ve made more sense if he was a flasher. Why is he always standing there on the side of the path? It’s not completely safe out here, it’s infested with ticks, not to mention all the lonely people. But maybe he knows something I don’t. He doesn’t notice me before I say, “Here I am,” and even then he has to look around before he finally sees me. I wait for him to compliment me on my hat, but he just asks for the time. So, I don’t get to say any of the things I could’ve said. I feel incredibly tired. But it’s not Åge B.’s fault, and so I give him the time of day.
When I get home, I end up eating slices of bread and strawberry jam without strawberries, since all that squirts out of the tube is a runny, ugly stream. But I try to be content. If you’re content with yourself, God and man have no choice but to be content with you. I realize I don’t need a trip around the world or a big career, and suddenly I’m not heavy as lead anymore. Now I’m more like silver. And silver is quite valuable.
“You’re a winner,” I said to Epsilon, he just looked so depressed. “And they know it.” I dropped the last sheet in the laundry basket and fastened a clothespin to one of his shirtsleeves. “They know you’re way too smart for the position. The work wouldn’t challenge you, you’d get bored, you’d probably quit, and then they couldn’t offer you an even better position than the one that’s free now.” “I’m not that sharp anymore,” Epsilon said. “My memory’s going.” I straightened the part in his hair. “Remember, you taught me everything I know,” I said. But Epsilon looked just as sad as ever. “Who do I ask every time I wonder how many sides a right-angled triangle has?” I said. Epsilon smiled a little and picked up the basket. “It’s you I ask,” I said and threaded my arms through his, although his were full of clothespins. “By the way, you’re very handsome.” And I wasn’t just being nice. I meant it.