Far Afield

VI

40 VI For a day, I enjoyed myself. After my release from jail, I made plodding visits to the several negligible sights that made for the tourist’s agenda in Momo-Jima. In one afternoon, I visited an ancient fish processing plant (still capable of churning out two tons of fish emulsion per day even though it was built in 1923); the island’s tallest structure, a thirteen-story television tower that was topped by an enormous replica of the island’s native bird, the Guanche; and then the rather subdued Orozco de Basca memorial, which featured a life-size figure of him made from carved cork. Later that evening, I hired a moko-moko driver to take me on a long coastal trip to survey the rest of the island’s shoreline while I downed bottle after bottle of the native beer. Perhaps I surmised that this day might be my last run of freedom for awhile and I wanted to take advantage. But to my surprise, when I got back late to my hotel there were no messages or communiqués waiting for me. Stripping off my dirty clothes, and rummaging for aspirins to circumvent any incipient hangovers, I allowed myself to briefly wonder if I simply had been a passing fancy that was thought better of and thus was released from duty. Perhaps I had even been forgotten altogether. These were pleasant thoughts to indulge in even though I knew they were highly unlikely given Trevor’s levels of desperation and need. Moreover, the longer I entertained them, the more depressing they became since they confirmed that I now bore the perspec- Scott Brown 41 tive of an indentured employee, one always mindful of my employer ’s demands. Even a bout of unworried sleep—which I had been envisioning on the dark silent ride back to the hotel—technically was not mine to freely enjoy. This realization was my final demoralization of the day and it left me feeling fully dispirited. Flopping down on the bed, I turned off the light and buried my head in the pillow to get what rest I could before what I presumed was to be a long and early day. But it was quite awhile before I could convince myself to fall asleep and the sleep I did get seemed hardly worth the effort. R The telephone rang at six a.m. just as the early sunlight was peering into my room. I picked up the receiver and Trevor immediately began speaking in my ear as if we already were deep in conversation. “Ben, I’ve had many new thoughts since we spoke. Did you read the notices of my speeches? The piece in the News Review was practically a raver. The Morning Gleaner has been kind, too.” I replied as best I could despite now feeling the effects of the many beers I’d had, as well as having so far avoided any of the island ’s newspapers, several of which I’d cursorily examined and found to be filled mostly with cheap ads, wire stories on celebrities, and astrology columns. Thus, I not only had missed both the Review and Gleaner pieces but, as Trevor went on, equally adulatory stories in the Avoucher, the Sun and Stars, and the Eastern Edifier. “I think we’ve found our way,” he exulted. “I’ve called a session at eight to capitalize. It’s also a chance to introduce you. How about ‘Take a Stand for the Other Brother’ or ‘Pull the Lever for Trevor’ as slogans? I’ll send Wilkie to pick you up. We’re usually informal but perhaps you might want to dress up at first.” I began another reply but before I could get out the words, Trevor had rung off, gone already to other worlds and oblivious to the one he had just left behind. Glumly, it occurred to me that the inexorable personality I’d been witnessing might only be a glim- 42 Far Afield mer of an even more overabundant willfulness. So far, his sense of himself had not abated for a moment in my presence. Shakily, I made my way to the shower, turned it on full-force and lay steaming for several minutes, trying to comprehend and alleviate my dread. This was not typical trouble, I thought, both in its complexity and location. Usually I have found that the smaller the...