Turning Idolator
Chapter Six: Borrowed Light
The moon lit the sea like a firefly in the night. Distant music was silenced by the wave's aria, metered well, as regulated as the false lit moon. Quiet fishes in the deep knew no sense of day or night. They fed or became food each to their destiny. Even the sea mammals stirred beneath the pulsing currents. Breezes were banished this evening. Even on the wharf or on the far-back dunes, night mammals had there way under the dim light appropriated for such purpose. On the balcony of the Pink Swallow Inn emerged a naked soul with nothing more than an old book to squint at in the threadbare light.
"Look at it," thought Phil sighing to the Midnight Sea. "It still holds its mystery. I came to see Whales; but all I could do was puke my guts out on the deck. How can something so wonderful be so extraordinarily painful? Yet, even as I concentrated on the waves, looking for the great gray flukes, I could swear, they were just below the surface. I wanted so to see them."
He opened the book and began to read:
"I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong well to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass."
Quietly, and quit unbidden, Tom stood beside him, quit as naked and mysterious. He took the book from Phil's reluctant hands and read aloud:
"Yonder, by the ever-brimming goblet's rim, the warm waves blush like wine. The gold brow plumbs the blue. The diver sun - slow dived from noon, - goes down; my soul mounts up! She wearies with her endless hill."
The book closed. Tom gazed into Phil's beacon eyes. The gaze penetrated far beyond the mere convenience of balconies in the night. Phil had to avert his eyes.
"Is he still asleep?" said Phil.
"Arthur . . . ?"
"Alan."
"Yes," said Tom, "and let's not wake him. Did you like it?"
"Alan?" said Phil. "It was a nice gesture on your part and quite enjoyable. You surprise me. Why this sudden change?"
"No need to analyze it - or discuss it at all. I just acted on instincts."
"Your instincts were correct," said Phil. "But, sex is not the answer. It doesn't solve stuff."
"I know," said Tom. "Phil, I am really sorry about what I said."
"I know you are," said Phil. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me; but, I know there must be some truth in what you said. For the first time I am wondering whether your age is a factor in my attraction to you."
"Is that so bad?"
"Well, let's not look at right or wrong," said Phil. "I still think we need to change some things. I think I need to move back with Sprakie and get my old job back."
Tom was visibly shaken, but recovered.
"You must do what you must do; but why Sprakie? I'll help you into your own place."
"Sprakie understands me," said Phil.
"I understand you," said Tom. "I really do. Wait here."
Tom disappeared into the room and returned with a poem.
"Look, I've been writing again. And I think some of this is among my best. Let me read this to you."
Tom glanced at the page and saw the word "BULLSHIT" scratched on it. He hesitated, then let the page down.
"Well," said Tom, "you know what's here."
"Something in praise of me."
"Something like that. No matter. It's really bullshit."
"If you say so," said Phil. "I'll listen, but right now I think we need to . . ."
Phil was agitated. He jumped up on the railing.
"Wow. Do you see him," he said.
"See what?"
"The whale," said Phil. "I thought I saw its tail come up and splash the waves."
"They don't come in this close," said Tom.
"But I saw it," said Phil. "I really saw it."
Tom looked at him lovingly.
"And so you did," he said. "And so you did."
Tom turned away, quite moved by Phil’s vibrance. There was a tear.
"I will miss you," said Tom. " I will miss your wonderful infectious smile, your love of new things and wonder at all things. I will feel so old when you are gone."
"Don't be so depressing," said Phil. "I'm still here. There are still the memories - the great times."
"Can we live and feed on them forever?" said Tom. "Time will wave its waning wand over them and they will brush away in the morning mist."
"I will miss your gift for phrase," said Phil. "You don't speak, you . . . "
"Diarrhea."
"No, it's elegant and . . oh wow!!"
"I saw it this time," said Tom. "It is the whale. Look at that. You were right."
They fell into each other’s arms and kissed.
"I love you," said Tom.
Phil could not answer. He broke away and stared out at the blackness of the moonlit sea.
"We still have a few days," said Phil. "And look at that moon. Have you ever seen such a moon?"
"It is glory itself," said Tom. "This is a magical place. I've never seen such a brilliant halo about the moon. And look to the horizon, that margin of heaven and earth that swallowed up the blaze into the cool, dark quiet of the sea's most shimmering chasm."
They watched the moon and sea together now, lovers reconciling their differences in an uncompromising separation. They had not noticed Green Shorts Guy sans Green Shorts join them on the balcony. He stretched and gave a loud yawn; then belched.
"Holy shit!" he said. "Look at that sky. What a fucking beautiful moon! That's one for the record. Now, are you guys up for another round of fun?"
He returned to the sanctity of the bedroom.
"We still have tonight . . ." said Tom.
"And our memories," said Phil. "So, let's go make some more memories."
They retreated to the shallows of the bedroom, the shoals of pleasure and barren humidity. On the dunes, the conies played, scurrying between cattail and long grass. The kettles boiled in the kitchens preparing the morning gruel. The first light on the horizon broke the pierce of night. Charlotte trotted out to his place on the porch, slumping at the top of the stairs. It was then, and only then that the air was crisp with the distant sound of whale-song calling to the wayfarer to follow; calling to those growing grim about the mouth or feeling a damp, drizzly November in their soul, that it was high time to get to sea.
