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 The
waves rolled in; and as I lay there, I knew I was becoming
an
island. All around me, I could hear the advance of breaking
water. I was
going to get up, but I wasn’t sure where the rocky
cliffs were. My mind
had already convinced me that I was farther out, in the
deep, dark
waters. I waited, like an idiot, for the cold to seep in
under my blanket. It
never happened, I don’t think, because I fell asleep.
Needless
to say, I dreamt I was an island.
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Once,
I made it all the way onto the deck of a ferry boat. I smuggled
myself aboard like a gypsy. And then the sea found me out.
She rocked
the ferry from side to side, trying to shake my grip loose
from the railing.
I hung on as long as I could, but then I became very ill.
I could hear the
children laughing. I could see them, their little shapes steady
on deck as
I dry-heaved over the side. When I finished, I tried telling
them that I
hadn’t really puked. Look for yourselves! I pointed at
the sea lapping up
against the rusted hulk and they became hysterical. Many people
came
and I jumped overboard because I couldn’t trust them—what
they would
do to me if they caught me and looked into my eyes.
At
least the pigs were happy to see me upon my return. They
squealed with delight when I approached the house. I could
see the old
woman was at the kitchen window. I waved, but all she did
was glare at
her hands, and then her jowls started to tremble. But I’m
back, I thought
to myself, and I called out to tell her so. She began yelling,
cursing me,
pointing at my wet clothes. I got angry, maybe because the
pigs were
still squealingin my head, or maybe because I knew I had come
home. I
was going to jump into the pit then, to spoil it forever,
but she stopped
yelling and started sobbing.
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