Michelangelos Shoulder | Page 8

that was that. Five years ago."
The waitress took a last drag and stubbed out her cigarette. "You want
something to eat?"
"I don't think so."
"You sure? Piece of toast?"
"Well--toast, maybe." Heidi's friends surrounded him. Their faces were
soft and excited, sure of themselves. They wore expensive sweaters and
sports jackets. They seemed to belong to a club where everything was
taken care of.
The waitress set a plate of toast in front of him. He took one bite and
then another. "Tastes good."
"You gotta eat," she said.
"I drank a lot of beer, after. Heidi had to go back to her dorm. I was on
this path near where the car was parked, and I just lay down in the path.
When I woke up, there was a roaring and a weird light in the trees. It
was a power plant or something that fired up in the middle of the night.
I couldn't sleep, so I found the car. I just wanted to get out of there."
"Get moving," she said. "I know it's easy to say--but it might be it's for
the best. People do go in different directions."
"Maybe," Will said. "Maybe she'll marry one of those rich guys and
live happily ever after."

The sky outside the window had turned from black to light gray.
"Getting light." He left a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Thanks for the
company."
"You stop in next time by, you hear?"
"O.K. What's your name?"
"Lee."
"O.K., Lee. I'll do that. I'm Will. Take it easy."
The car started right up, that was one good thing. He drove off,
adjusting the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of the diner before he
went around a curve. He and Heidi had made a whole, and now she was
gone. He drove, and, as the daylight grew stronger, he thought about
the diner--that little room of light in the dark, Lee, and the man talking
about his box. That was something you could hang on to.

Guayaquil
At the sound of wooden blocks struck together, Arthur adjusted his
sitting position and emptied his mind. The echo diminished to a
memory and changed to a tree. A palm tree. Not this again. An expanse
of empty beach curved to a familiar headland. Sometimes his
grandmother would appear, coming toward him on her fitness walk,
legs moving quickly, scarcely bending at the knees, like the birds that
chased and retreated at the water's edge. She never noticed him.
This morning Penn stepped from the water and approached, his long
thin body tanned ivory brown, his eyes blue-green, clear as a cat's.
Things came easy to Penn. Arthur exhaled the past and inhaled it again.
Not that way, he told himself. No struggle. Let it float away. He
straightened and followed his breathing. Penn disappeared as casually
as he had twenty years ago.
Arthur put his cheek against the palm tree. The bark was like cloth,
raspy and flexible, wrapped around and around the heart of the tree.
Someday, years of balmy weather would be violently interrupted. This
tree, which grew in sand, would have to bend horizontal or be uprooted.
Arthur exhaled the satisfaction that attended this insight. No
attachment.
When the blocks sounded again, he stood and walked with the others
around the zendo, careful not to look at Martin for approval. He wasn't
sure why Martin was hard on him. Martin was enlightened, but wisdom

hadn't erased narrow lines in his face, resentful lines. Arthur was
respected in the scientific community, well paid. Martin had been an
insurance adjuster or something before he found his vocation. He had
shaved his head, but the cheap haircut remained.
The blocks signalled and sitting resumed, the group settling into a
shared breathing. A quiet euphoria rose and faded, replaced by an edgy
pre-verbal clarity. Kwok! Over. Arthur rejoined the world of choice
and demand. He felt that he was making progress.
"Excuse me." The elderly woman who had been directly in front of him
as they walked around the room was blocking his way. "Are you Arthur
Wells? Dr. Arthur Wells?"
"Why, yes." He raised his eyebrows modestly.
"Forgive me for intruding," she said. "My niece insisted that I ask. She
saw you last week when she picked me up. She thinks she had a
seminar with you once."
"Oh dear. I hope I wasn't difficult. What is your niece's name?"
"Pookie."
Arthur's mouth filled with the taste of anchovies.
"Pookie," he said. "Really? Your niece. Some time ago, I think." The
woman waited. "Pookie, umm--her last name?"
"Willet, now. It was Kennecutt."
"Yes, of course! I remember now," Arthur said, falsely triumphant. "I
thought she had great promise." He tossed his hands. "But--life--who
knows?" He smiled acceptance.
"She married an