After-Music

Finding the Way

111 F i n D i n G T H e W a Y Plenty of palmy avenues labeled Peninsula or Lakeside Circle, but no sign of the lake— unless that patch of water through the redwood fence . . . ? and wasn’t it the ocean we were looking for? spanish tiled roofs, spanish moss dripping from what they call oak trees, bromeliads in fancy planters, hard little grapefruit dropped in the grass. a gardener shinnies up a palm and chops dry fronds so they won’t clutter up the pool. no landmarks. Just miles of tidy selfcongratulation . at the end of some no-outlet boulevard, there must be water, but i’ve even lost the Tamiami Trail. q 112 They’ve moved the tuna fish. and why isn’t olive oil here with the canola? The vegetable man says he hides the Fordhook lima beans in that freezer just beyond the pillar—so that, for customers who really want them, they’ll be there. That’s me. Maze of alleys, desert of pop and pretzels, artificial dog bones. Looking for black-olive hummus, i stray off into Top Job, Vanish, and The Works. Maybe some thighs or gizzards and then i’ll find my check-out girl, the one who’s fast and sullen. We speak only of the winter day or the missing price tag from the tangerines, but handing the pen over and back, we sign a kind of pact. When the first blizzard blows, we’ll ask each other’s name, pull jackets up, and duck into those aisles of twisting snow. q in our rented jeep, we leave the hard road south of kambi, slope down past a whitewashed chapel with its arch and bell, past two windmills like old salt cellars with splintered roofs 11 and huge wheels, just wooden spokes now wingless and unturning. Then boulders, pines—we take it slow, wondering if this is road or riverbed. over a rise: the sea, deeply aegean. We angle down, drawn over shifty rocks by that magnetic blue. The beach is almost empty, we are late and lost. a solitary sunbather looks up, comes over to the jeep, bare breasted, leans her tan hands on the door, looks us over, points to a rutted trail that might take us back. if going back was what we wanted. ...