The Thirty-Sixth Night

 

Well, the debris left behind by the storm had been cleared, and Nick’s sister had finally arrived. He told me that the news of the tempest greatly hastened her decision to come see her brother — to be with him before some giant wave might carry him away forever.

That thought made me profoundly happy for him.

He hadn’t visited me over the past week — he was on holiday — but we spoke often over the phone. He wanted his sister to meet me, but it seemed she was avoiding the encounter. To that, I told him:

“Listen: let your sister be by your side. All she wants is to kill the longing she’s carried for you. Your friends don’t matter to her right now. Perhaps they will someday, but not yet. And besides, perhaps there’s a faint echo in the back of her mind, a fear that I might be deeply loved by you, but in the end, just as hurtful as so many others in your past. Let her fill herself with you first — then, if she wishes, you can think about introducing us.”

He agreed my advice made sense and kept her close for the entire week. They wandered the island, cooked meals together, tended to each other’s wounds.

Then came a day, in her second week there, when he announced the long-awaited meeting between me and his sister.

I was nervous, yes. I wanted to make a good impression. The house was cleaned, tastefully decorated, and I planned a fine dinner menu for Saturday night.

The dog sat, one eye on me, the other on the visitor — ready for an attack.

And then I met a beautiful lady, her face unmistakably revealing kinship with Nick. She introduced herself with the polish of an English lady, a veneer that barely concealed an exuberant, joyful spirit — a lover of life’s brightness.

Nick has a remarkable debonair quality, though somewhat tempered by the scars he carries. Rose does not bear as many as he does.

As for me, I used every ounce of empathy I had: I acted as an English gentleman who sees no shame in a hearty laugh. I wanted her approval — for me, and for Nick. In my humble understanding, whatever good she saw in me would reflect upon her brother — as if to affirm his renewal, his freedom from old influences.

As they were about to leave, Rose said to me:

“I’m glad my brother found you.”

“And I’m glad to have found you,” I replied. “I was quite anxious about this meeting.”

“It wouldn’t have happened without your help. Nick told me how much you helped him reconnect with his family. Thank you so much for that.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. Family is the most important thing, isn’t it?”

“It is, isn’t it, my dear little brother?” she said, embracing him with her arms and a wide smile.

Nick answered with a smile full of joy. Then she turned to me again:

“I was afraid to meet you too, you know? But not anymore — I’m convinced you’re the best thing that could have happened to my brother. More than a gentleman, you’re a man of honour. My brother needs and deserves that kind of company.”

“He helps me too, you know,” I replied.

And we laughed together.

Outside, the moon cast its light over a silvery sea.

 

The Thirty-Fifth Night.

 

They say that “after the storm comes the calm,” but here on the island, what comes after the storm… is work.

And that, in itself, is a good thing. Everyone affected, everyone involved in the repairs—differences are set aside, even among racists—and yes, they exist here too, as they do anywhere. Every paradise has its serpent.

We clear the land of leaves, branches, fallen trees; patch up roofs, sometimes rebuild entire homes. If someone has lost their belongings, if they’re left without food, if they’re injured—well, I know almost everyone who lives nearby, and before tending to my own needs, I made sure to help my neighbors, knowing they’re poorer and more vulnerable than I.

When the storm passed, there were fish scattered across my yard, carried inland by the waves and the surging tide.

Nick, tired of calling me every hour to check if I was still alive, pulled off some crazy maneuver to reach my home, and we ended up spending nearly the whole week together.

Nick has the advantage over me of living in an urban center, in a comfortable two-bedroom apartment. But to get to me, he had to drive as far as the road would allow—part of it had collapsed into the sea. Leaving his car somewhere inland, he hiked through the jungle to bypass the destroyed section, and once he could, called an Uber to take him the rest of the way.

Well, we spent a couple of days helping the neighborhood.

It’s always heartbreaking to see poverty met with the misery of disaster.

Nick was more rational than I was—must be something about our backgrounds: me, Latino; him, Anglo. I wanted to offer more than just material help. I wanted to give emotional support to those living in the houses—talk, listen, console. Nick, on the other hand, preferred to leap from one roof to another, from one wall to the next.

“Guess I’m just scared of getting involved,” he told me. “Afraid of being taken advantage of. You help too much, and then someone you helped ends up treating you like crap.”

“Those are all real risks,” I replied. “Perfectly understandable. But there’s something in me that compels me to go beyond the material.”

“Yeah, it’s that motto of yours, right? You’re loyal to it. My motto’s more like—lift someone up, give ’em a pat on the back, and peace out forever.”

“So your dog’s living with you now?”

“Yeah. The storm took his little house straight into the ocean, I think. The annoying part is, he insists on sleeping with me at night, and I hate that. But he’s getting used to the little spot I made for him.”

“Didn’t lose any chickens?”

“Not a single one,” I replied. “Their coop’s just as solid as my house. They were a bit dazed by the wind and rain, and the forced confinement, but they made it.”

“Man, I was seriously worried about you!” said Nick. “All alone, right by the ocean!”

“I survived several riots in the prisons where I worked. No way a noisy gust of wind was gonna scare me.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a tough guy, I get it!” said Nick, laughing. “But one day a gust might blow a little harder and take you away!”

“Sure,” I said, laughing too. “Like in the story of the Little Ant.”

“The what now?”

“The little ant who, one day, got her tiny foot stuck in the snow. She couldn’t pull it free, so she looked up at the sun and pleaded:

‘O Sun, you who are so strong—can you melt the snow that holds my foot?’

And the Sun replied: ‘Yes, little one, I am strong—but stronger than I is the Cloud that covers me.’

So the little ant turned to the Cloud:

‘O Cloud, you who are strong enough to cover the Sun who melts the snow—please free my foot!’

And the Cloud replied: ‘I am strong, yes—but stronger than I is the Wind who carries me.’

So the ant cried to the Wind:

‘O Wind, stronger than the Cloud who covers the Sun who melts the snow—please, have pity on me!’

The Wind answered: ‘I am strong, little ant—but stronger than I is the Wall that stops me!’

So she turned to the Wall:

‘O Wall, mightier than the Wind who carries the Cloud that covers the Sun who melts the snow—free my foot, please!’

And the Wall replied: ‘Yes, I am strong—but stronger than I is Man, who can tear me down.’

To Man, the little ant cried: ‘O Man, who tears down the Wall that blocks the Wind who carries the Cloud that covers the Sun who melts the snow—please, have mercy and help me!’

But Man said: ‘I am strong, little ant—but stronger than I is Death, who takes me.’

And the little ant, desperate, whispered: ‘O Death, mightiest of all—who takes Man who tears down the Wall that blocks the Wind that carries the Cloud that covers the Sun that melts the snow—please, have pity and free me!’

And Death… killed the little ant.”

“Dude! That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard!” exclaimed Nick.

 

 

The Thirty-Fourth Night

We had a great storm last night, and Nick called to say he might arrive late at my house for our weekly dinner.

I told him that if he came, with the wind and rain lashing the island, I wouldn’t open the door for him. I had already heard on the radio that the sea had overrun parts of the island’s only road.

- Exactlly! I am really worry with you alone in your house facing the sea! 

- I am fine. The reef gives me a good defense, you know.

He said he didn’t want to miss our meeting, and I told him I didn’t want to lose him. Nick always softens when affection is shown to him. Scars from old wounds, I imagine.

We tried to talk a little longer, but the phone signal was terrible due to the storm. We hung up, and I went to tend to dinner.

Dog, my dog, watched me with a mixture of humility and barely concealed delight at being inside my house. I had never allowed him in before, but with the storm, I let him enter, and now, I believe, he was living a dream.

— Dog, I said to him, I won’t hide that I’m very fond of you, but I’d rather Nick were here. I’m used to him, you know? We cross paths at work during the week, at the hotel, and then come Saturdays, I cook for him, we play games, we talk. We share our troubles, you see? Perhaps more him with me than I with him, but there is a true exchange. You and I can’t quite do that, can we? Nor can you and I, right, Georges?

Hearing his name, Georges spread his green wings and let out a shrill, spirited cry.

— I’m sure it doesn’t keep you up at night, but it’s a pity you can’t know what love is. And I suppose I must admit it, mustn’t I? Admit that I’m in love with this Nick. Loving him with my soul, not my body. So often I have to be the adult in the room with him, it seems God gave me a son, in the end.

I sat at the table, and Dog came to me, resting his head on my leg, tail gently wagging. As I scratched behind his ear, I continued my soliloquy:

— He’s changed me, you know? He’s made me more serious, more turned toward someone besides myself. I think I place beacons in Nick’s life, bringing order to his sometimes wounded, confused feelings. But those same beacons have brought a different kind of order to mine. And perhaps this is what love is: loving the same things and contributing to one another’s life. Did you hear him say he’s reading Socrates? And because of me?!

When he said that, I found it deliciously vain, but now I’m almost afraid — do you see the weight of responsibility on my shoulders? If I have this kind of influence over him, I must strive to be ever better, for his sake. That’s love, isn’t it? Yes, I suppose I can’t help but say I love this man. What do you think of that, Dog?

Meeting his gaze, I saw his tail wag more joyfully.

— Silly big mutt! I said with a broad smile, bringing my head closer to his and holding his face in both hands.

Georges flew to my shoulder, jealous, nipping at my ear.

— Yes, yes, you silly great parrot! I said, reaching for his head to give him a little scratch. Feeling abandoned, Dog got up and barked, and Georges screeched aggressively at him — and I was greatly amused by my companions’ jealousy.

I returned Georges to his perch and told them:

— Now I’m going to dine, and I trust I can count on your cooperation to do so in peace, yes?

Outside, the wind whipped the sea, and the rain was pouring down upon the earth.