Eating the Moon Read online

  By late morning, we have filled our baskets with yellow jack, and we return to the bay along with the other canoes of men who have also been fishing out on the reef. Kizo beaches the canoe, and while he and Luca spread out the nets along the sand and carefully check for and repair any tears, Pico and I haul the baskets of fish up to a shady spot under a coconut tree. We plunk down on the sand and with our fishing knives, which are really obsidian blades hafted into a wooden grip, gut and scale the fish. By now the sun is sitting high in the sky and the air is heavy and humid. The men wander away from the beach back to their cottages a few at a time, carrying their baskets filled with cleaned fish.

  Once we have secured our boat, hung our nets up to dry, and cleaned all our fish, Pico and Kizo cart the baskets to the village. Meanwhile, Luca and I steal off to a little spot on top of the cliff overlooking the bay where the fishing boats are beached, to enjoy the breeze from the sea.

  Luca is my only connection to the outside world, and I’m his. Actually, he’s more than that. He’s the first man in my life with whom I feel I can share my secrets, fears, and desires. In a sense, he’s the first man I’ve ever talked to, I mean really talked to. And once I get started, I can’t stop. I talk his ear off like a born-again Christian who has discovered the path to paradise and wants to share the map, and I tell him every mundane detail of my boring life.

  “You know, one Sunday when I was thirteen, I told my folks I had too much homework to do so I couldn’t go to church. I stayed home and spent the whole morning wanking.”

  “Back at St. Mike’s Boy’s School, I held the wanking record, ten times in six hours.”

  “Wow.” I look out at the thin white line where waves break against the barrier reef and think of how far away Canada is. Then I lie back on the flat rock next to where Luca is sprawled. “I never imagined there could be a place like this,” I say as I stare up at the cloudless powder blue sky. “A place where sex is so free and open. It’s like paradise.”

  Luca’s expression becomes somber. “Let me tell you a little secret about how the world works, Kiddo. Long time ago, back at St. Mike’s, I quickly figured out that I needed something from them and they wanted something from me. So I played along as best as I could and put out when they wanted me to. In exchange, I got a roof over my head, food in my belly, and an education. Maybe this place feels like paradise, but underneath it all it’s no different than any other place.”

  “Luca,” I say in a serious tone, “what really happened at St. Mike’s?”

  “Not a lot I want to remember and less I want to tell you about. I walked out of that hellhole and never looked back,” Luca says sternly. Then his voice softens. “I miss the other boys. They were all the family I’ve ever had.” He props himself up on his elbows and looks at the horizon as if he is studying it.

  I run my eyes along his body. He looks just like a superhero without a costume.

  He turns his head, smiles, and rolls over, resting his chin on my chest. “Hey, but now I’ve got you, Kiddo. Right?”

  I lift my head and look at him. “Just like Batman and Robin?”

  “As long as I get to be Batman.” Luca laughs.

  Everyone in the village assumes Luca and I are brothers—the brother I’ve never had. Right now, I need a brother more than I need a lover. Maybe Luca does too. But my feelings for him are something more than brotherly.

  “Where do you think we are?” I say, tossing a stone off the edge of the cliff and watching it arc downward and plunk into the sea below.

  “Marooned on a tropical island, assumed dead,” Luca says as he sits up and leans backward on his outstretched arms.

  “No, no I mean, where do you think this island is?”

  “Don’t have the slightest idea. Somewhere off the coast of Cuba, I think. I’ve asked Kizo and the others, but nobody’s talking.” Luca’s voice and face indicate he’s read too many detective stories as a boy.

  “You don’t think they’re hiding something, trying to keep us here, do you?” The idea both frightens and excites me.

  “We come across all these people living here on this island and nobody knows about them and they don’t seem to know about anyone else. You’ve got to admit, that’s a little strange.”

  “They certainly seem honest and open.” Now I sound like one of those naive women in the detective comics who are just about to fall prey to the evil villain. “They don’t act like they’re trying to hide anything.”

  “Did you notice the amount of gold these boys wear? They even use it for fishing lures and net sinkers. Where do you suppose they got all that gold from?” Luca says, almost whispering.

  “How would I know? Maybe they brought it with them or found it or something.” Now I sound like a country bumpkin who wouldn’t know gold from tin, and it’s true.

  “Or something. Try to find out and let me know. We might be able to go back rich.” Luca’s tone slips from detective to scheming villain.

  “What? You’re planning to rip them off?”

  “Come on.” Luca cops a dirty grin. “Maybe we can trade for some of it.”

  “With what, sex?” Now I have the rare chance to belittle Luca, and I plunge in my dagger. “Your tongue has already been over every square inch of this island.”

  Luca looks at me with an exaggerated expression of tedium. “Thanks for bringing our conversation back to sex. Maybe we could focus on our big problem: how to get off this rock.” He swings around on his butt and faces me cross-legged. “We’ve got to do something to get back home,” he says, almost pleading.

  “Home? We just got here,” I say with a touch of whine in my voice.

  “Yes, home,” he says sternly.

  “Neither one of us has much of a home to go back to. Remember, there’ll be a court hearing about the Crescent Moon, and you’ll probably face charges. Have you thought about that?”

  “How bad can prison be? No worse than St. Mike’s. But right now I don’t care. We can’t stay here.”

  I stare out beyond the reef to the empty horizon. I feel no melancholy for what I’ve left behind.

  “Look, Kiddo,” Luca says, “you’ve got to finish your little adventure, go back, and start your life. Get married, have children, buy a home. We certainly can’t spend the rest of our lives here playing hide the weenie on the beach.”

  “I don’t want a wife or children or any of that shit, and I don’t believe you do either. For the first time in my life, here on this island, I’m happy.” I clear my throat loudly and spit over the edge.

  Luca is silent for a few minutes. Then he begins in a slow and persuasive tone. “Listen, all the boys played with each other at St. Mike’s. It doesn’t mean anything—really.”

  I wonder who Luca is trying to convince—me or himself. “Well it means something to me, and I think it does to you too.”

  Luca leans forward, puts his hands on my shoulders, and looks directly into my eyes. “When they find us, you can stay if you want. What about Nando? You two seem to be getting awfully cozy together.”

  I break his stare and blush. “Ha! Nando thinks I’m a house pet, not a man. Every time I try to touch him, he slides away. Maybe the guy’s frigid or something? No, forget I just said that.”

  “Maybe he’s just shy.” Luca grins at me.

  “Yeah, right. I don’t even think they have a word for shy!”

  “Well, maybe he doesn’t want to do it with the biggest whore on the island.” He hangs his mouth open and beams one of his superb smiles straight into my heart. I hate it that he can manipulate me however he wants, but I crave it all the same.

  “Oh, look who’s calling who a whore!” I say, trying to protect myself with a vain show of ambivalence. “How many did you do in the hammock last night?”

  “Four, but you’re only a whore if you take it up the ass, and unlike you, I never take it up the ass!” He sticks out the tip of his tongue at me.

  “Who told you that shit?” I spit out with as much contempt as
I can feign.

  Luca, as always, knows he has me and goes in for the kill. “Everybody knows that, and that makes you a whore. Me, I’m just a pig. Hey! Most men are pigs.” Luca swivels back around and stretches out the full length of the rock with his hands serving as a pillow behind his head.

  I think about how he saved my life on the Crescent Moon. I picture him lying in the lifeboat when we were at sea—the first time I touched him. I lap up his beauty and confidence and wish I were more like him. “Enough, enough.” I wave my hands. “What do I have to do?”

  Luca gets up on his haunches. “We’ve got to keep a constant watch out for a ship or plane or smoke on the horizon. This spot’s a good one.” He sweeps his hand in an arc. “Build a signal fire and always keep it smoldering. You’re going to have to build a lean-to to protect it from the wind and rain. Get some of the boys to help you if you can stop fucking long enough.”

  “Come on.”

  “No, I’m serious. You’ve got to keep regular lookouts and be prepared. You understand me, right?” He continues to gesture emphatically.

  “I understand you.” I hunch submissively. “I said I would help. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve already explored this side of the island, and I haven’t seen a damn thing. I’m going to head off to the far side. Maybe I can see something from there. At least we’ll know if this really is an island or not. I’ll be gone about three weeks.”

  “What happens if you get into trouble or something?”

  “Kizo will tag along.”

  “That’s ’cause he’s in love with you.”

  Luca looks away and speaks, almost whispering. “I’m not the sort of man anyone should fall in love with.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Luca is silent for a moment, and then he turns and faces me. His face is hard. “Don’t worry about me. Just make sure you’re prepared.” He gets to his feet and starts down the little path. “See you in a few, Kiddo,” he says, but he doesn’t make eye contact.

  I turn and stare out to sea. My whole life, from my little village to university, I’ve been searching for somewhere I belonged. And finally, I might have found just such a place. I don’t know what the future will bring, but for now if my luck holds, we won’t see a ship or plane anytime soon. Then I think about Luca and the gold and shiver. I didn’t need to study anthropology to know what happens to a native population after they have been “discovered,” especially if they have anything of value. If these people do, in fact, have a stash of gold, our rescue might very well be their demise. And I would be responsible—their angel of death.

  GUY SPREAD his arms wide, stretched them over his head, and yawned loudly. Still yawning, he said, “In the Garden of Eden, it takes a little more work to feed yourself than just reaching up and picking an apple off a tree. Besides, apples don’t grow in the tropics, and who wants to eat apples all the time, anyway?”

  Richard nodded. “And so you found your gay paradise, but you’re faced with a dilemma. Luca wants to leave, even though he knows he will pay a price if he does—maybe go to prison. And then there’s Guy, the weaker of the two, who wants to stay within the fantasy where he feels safe and not return to reality.”

  “Yep,” Guy said. “That pretty much sums up the story so far.”

  “Apart from the story line, I’m more concerned about how this describes you. Part of you is unwilling to leave the safety of this fantasy, and part of you recognizes that even though reality has consequences, at some point you must leave the fantasy behind.”

  “The island feels like it’s drifting farther away and time is running out.”

  “And you’re afraid of living without it?”

  “Precisely.” Guy chewed his lip. “Without it, what would I call home? Where would I be safe?” Guy pushed himself forward and planted his feet to stand.

  “We still have a few minutes left. And you haven’t told me what the other two principles of lying are.”

  “That’s easy.” Guy rose to his feet. “Number three, space is your easiest alibi, but time will always give you away.”

  Richard swiveled around in his chair and watched as Guy moved toward the door. “And the fourth principle?”

  “It doesn’t really matter if other people believe your lie. It’s only important that you do.” Guy paused for a moment in the doorway and glanced back at Richard. “Ask yourself, Doc, how many of those principles apply to you.” Guy walked down the corridor half whispering, half singing the words to the song.

  Chapter 8: Where is this Place?

  GUY SAT down on the sofa and stretched out his legs. “A while back, almost twenty years ago, I guess, I did a psychological assessment. It was part of one of my rehab programs.”

  “And how were you assessed?” Richard said as he got up from his desk and moved over to the swivel chair.

  “Well, I did all kinds of little tasks and answered questionnaires. I don’t really remember the details except for one task they asked me to do.”

  “What was that?” Richard took a sip of his cappuccino.

  “They gave me a pile of magazines. I was told to imagine what my life was about, then quickly leaf through the magazines and tear out any pictures that I thought were representative and arrange and paste them on a large sheet of paper. It was supposed to be my personal story.”

  Richard nodded. “And did this technique help you to visualize your story a little better?”

  “That’s the thing, Doc. I still have the stupid collage. Here, I brought it for you to look at.” Guy dug in his pocket and pulled out a large, crinkly sheet of paper. He unfolded and smoothed it on his lap, then passed it to Richard. “What do you think?”

  “Fish?” Richard said with a tone of surprise. “Pictures of fish?”

  “Yeah, and don’t miss the can of tuna down here. That represents me. You know, canned fish.”

  Richard studied the collage carefully. “And why did you choose fish?”

  “Because I like fish.”

  “Obviously you do.” Richard smiled. “And what was your story?”

  “Fish are swimming all around me, but I’m trapped in a can.”

  Richard examined the picture again and furrowed his brow. “That’s it?”

  “Yep, that’s it.”

  “Curious.” Richard continued to study the collage.

  Guy gazed at the wall and began to tell his story.

  I KEEP my promise to Luca. First thing each morning and last thing each evening, I climb the trail up the cliff with some heavy logs from the beach and throw them onto the smoldering coals of the signal fire. So far we haven’t had much nasty weather, but Nando, Pico, and I construct a thatch lean-to to protect the fire from wind and rain, just in case. I pass each long lonely evening sitting at the signal fire, staring out to sea looking for a passing ship or airplane, and praying for Luca’s safe return.

  When I’m not tending the signal fire, I’m either down at the seaside with Pico, who is teaching me how to catch crabs, or up in the village with Nando, who is trying to teach me their language. It’s nothing like English, French, or Spanish, and I don’t have the benefit of a textbook, so I struggle through the best I can. Overall, my progress is slow and painful for me and everyone around me. Luckily Nando, who speaks English quite well, is a very patient teacher, and quite a few people seem to know some Spanish, which leads me to believe they must have some contact with the outside world. Pico, on the other hand, never says more than one or two words at a time, but he always listens.

  “Yes, if you say it that way, with the long sound, it means a woman fish with eggs.” Nando splays open the fish he is cleaning for dinner and scoops out the red roe in its belly. “But if you make the sound short, it means all fish in general, because it is a man’s word.”

  “How can fish be masculine then change to feminine when they have eggs?”

  “Not the fish. The word!”

  “I’m never going to get it.” I reach over an
d steal a bit of roe and pop it into my mouth.

  On my second pass, Nando slaps my hand away. “Sure, just remember, men do the fishing, so fish is a man’s word, and women grow the potatoes, so potato is a woman’s word.”

  “Okay, now, if I understand you correctly, there are only two time periods.” I try to clean some fish roe out from between my cheek and teeth with my tongue.

  “Right. It is the same for something yesterday or today because they are both real.”

  “So if I say today is a nice day or yesterday is a nice day, I use the same form.” I glance over at the fish.

  “Yes, you just tell when it happens.” Nando waves his bamboo knife. “Stay away from my fish until I have cooked it.”

  “And if I want to say tomorrow will be a nice day, I use the other form—the imaginary one—because it hasn’t happened yet, right?”

  “Now you understand.” He scoops some roe with his index and middle finger and holds it up to my mouth.

  “I guess that makes sense if you think about it.” I open wide and lick his fingers clean like a dog.

  “Of course it does. It’s very easy.”

  “And if I want to tell someone that I think I’m falling in love with him?” I stare deeply into Nando’s eyes.

  He pauses for a moment, then turns his head away. “It depends if that love is real or a fantasy.”

  I drop my head. “I’m never going to get it.”

  That evening as I sit alone tending the signal fire on the cliff, strange sounds and words float around inside my head. As anyone who has endured a language immersion program can testify, speaking in your own tongue with a fellow native speaker is like the cigarette you sneak out for when you know you are supposed to be at your desk studying or the beer you and your best friend share when you cut class and hide out down at the railway tracks. Luca is my cigarette and my stolen beer. It’s been almost a moon now since Luca has been away with Kizo exploring the far side of the island. I dearly miss talking good old American slang with him, but mostly I miss just being with him. I stare up at the stars and whisper, “Come home soon, Boy Scout.”