outstretched hand as I tried to thrust myself into the world of light and air. Yet I found I could float just beneath the luminous gel, hearing snatches of conversation from the air world…
“How long will he be here?”
“He’ll be gone soon.”
“What do we tell the others?”
“Who gives a shit?”
After the voices had floated away in the current, I again reached to the glimmer. My hand sunk in to the wrist, then elbow. Inch by inch, like climbing from a wet shroud, I wriggled from the sea, then lay for what seemed hours trying to catch my breath.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a pink balloon floating above my head. It bobbed back and forth. The balloon had a balloon face and the face was smiling. It was a happy balloon.
“Where am I?” I asked the balloon.
“You’re in heaven, mister,” the balloon answered.
Harry Nautilus stood at the threshold of Carson’s home, hand on the knob. He heard rain on the other side of the door. He turned to Clair Peltier, a question mark in his eyes.
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to wait right here.” She walked to the window yet again.
I missed something, Nautilus thought, studying the distraught woman from the corner of his eye. Or maybe it was so recent…There was always something between them. A subcurrent.
He said, “It’s a good idea, Doc. Waiting.”
“I read about people who’ve floated for days, hanging on to something. Remember last year, the guy whose boat went down? He got picked up by a freighter. But the freighter was heading to Galveston. It was two days before the guy got back to land.”
Nautilus saw Clair Peltier realize Carson’s rescue would trigger an immediate radio call advising of his safety.
“Shit,” she whispered.
“All sorts of things can happen,” Nautilus said. “Good things.”
Clair walked to the deck doors. The next line of storms gathered at the horizon, purple clouds dragging tendrils of lightning. Wind blew in hot bursts, the waves gray and ridged with foam.
Clair’s eyes went wide. “Someone’s at the door, Harry.”
She ran to the front door and yanked it open. Nothing but rain in rippling sheets.
“I know I heard it. Knocking.”
Nautilus said, “It’s the rain on the roof.”
Then Nautilus heard it. Faint, at the edge of hearing. Coming from outside. He followed the sound into the rain, down the steps, under the stilted house. Nothing. Then the wind gusted and Nautilus saw the red kayak, curved, scarred, rocking in its rack with the wind.
“Harry,” Clair yelled from the stoop.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “The wind.” He stared at the kayak.
A minute later he was standing in the rain, trying to push the boat as far into his old Volvo wagon as he could manage, binding it to the passenger seat with a rope. It protruded six feet from the rear gate, but was secure.
“Harry!” Clair called from the door. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure.”
He climbed into the car and drove into the whistling gray.
I had closed my eyes against the vision of the balloon and tumbled beneath the surface of the green water, deliriously happy. Down here, below the surface, was where I knew Clair. A world where everything would make sense had our minds the language to comprehend its logic and order. choonk…choonk…choonk
A rhythmic sound caught my attention. I kicked and spun in the depths, trying to localize the sound. No…not a sound. A sensation. Something tapping on my knuckles. I opened my eyes carefully, half-expecting them to flood with seawater. But they opened into air, dry and cool.
The tapping on my knuckles again.
My head seemed to rotate on an axis, and a round pink face floated into view. The eyes were blue and interested. There was a smile that seemed slightly off-kilter. It was the face of a child. My vision sharpened, saw a beard line; not a child, a grown man.
“Who are you?” I asked. My words seemed to come from somewhere beside me. From the edge of a pillow, its case white and crisp.
“Freddy. What’s your name?”
“Carson.” It was the only thing I could say with certainty.
“Want to meet my friend, Carson?”
“Give me a minute, Freddy. I’m just waking up.”
“Miss Holtkamp said a minute is sixty seconds. One…two…three…”
I took several deep breaths, noting my chest wouldn’t expand completely. With each breath my awareness seemed to rise, as if air drove out the dark. What is happening? Where am I? Think. Analyze. Survey.
“Fifteen…sixteen…”
A room. Blue walls and ceiling. Fifteen by fifteen or so. Wide door leading out to a hall. Green tile floor. A window to the side. Are those bars? Daylight. A smell of disinfectant…
“Thirty one…thirty-two…”
Chest restrained somehow. Belt? Rope? Hands, feet, no motion. Sense of pain at the wrists, compression at the ankles. Mouth dry. Oh God, there’s an IV shunt in my hand! Fight the fear…study, measure, analyze… Music in the air, low volume. Electric piano, sax. Heavy bass line. Then a blare of horns. Funk music, Bootsy Collins maybe.
“Fifty-nine and sixty! Want to meet my friend, Carson?”
Friend? I shot a puzzled eye toward the door; no one there.
“Uh, sure, Freddy.”
The guy pulled his arm from around his back. There was a cloth puppet on his hand, worn almost bare, a nondescript and cartoonish dog with floppy brown ears, plastic eyes with floating, black-button pupils, and a lolling felt tongue. Freddy made wet sounds, opening and closing his hand on my arm, like the puppet was gnawing or licking.
“Puppy likes you.”
“That’s great. Can you help me, Freddy? My arms are tied or something. Can you untie them?”
The puppet stopped licking and disappeared behind Freddy’s back. He frowned. “That’s not green. It’s red.”
“What?”
“When your arms are like that it’s because you’ve done something red. They don’t come loose until you’re green again.”
Red equals bad; green, good?
“Is it, uh, red to have a drink of water, Freddy? I’m very thirsty.”
He shook his head and giggled, like I’d just told a great joke.
“There’s no color in drinking, Carson; it’s just drinking.” He padded away, leaving me alone with the music, just at the edge of hearing. Freddy returned seconds later with a plastic cup held in the puppet’s mouth.
“Puppy brought you Kool-Aid. Purpleberry.”
I found I could wriggle a little bit higher, and the head of the bed was elevated several inches as well. I opened my mouth.
“It’s raining purpleberry,” Freddy said, dribbling sugared water into my mouth.
“Thanks, Freddy.”
“You’re welcome, Carson.”
“Freddy? Could you tell me where I am?”
He told me. It was the second time I’d heard that answer today.
