Thin Slice of Life

Chapter 22

Charlie hitched a ride back to Fulton on one of the Vietnamese shrimp boatsandRaulremainedontheisland—butonlyaftermakingCharlie swear to two saints, the Mother Mary and El Santo (the silver-masked wrestler) that he would come back for him the next day. In Fulton, the afternoon light that lay on the land had a crystalline , preternatural clarity. In the aftermath of the storm, it was a beautiful day. Down by the breakwater, the Viet hands at the Sea-Tex Fish Company wandered around the rambling, steel-sided building wondering what to do and where to start. On a vacant lot next to Sea-Tex, a Vietnamese family had rigged a lean-to, and cooked what looked like noodles and fish soup, ladling it out to the Sea-Tex workers and their Fulton Harbor friends. Charlie’s stomach went into overdrive as he smelled the aromas drifting from the makeshift kitchen. He bee-lined over, miraculously discovered a soggy dollar bill in his torn, stained shorts, and got a quart-sized tin can of soup redolent of lemongrass, broth, shrimp, lime, sesame oil, and some Oriental spices he couldn’t guess at. He slurped it all down without benefit of a spoon, and went back for more. CHAPTER 22 144 22| Half a dozen Vietnamese kids ran around the vacant lot, playing grab-ass, splashing through puddles and rooting around in the detritus the storm had tossed up. They seemed to be having a marvelous time. One boy, the approximate size and shape of a fireplug, scrounged up a waterlogged Nerf football and was tossing it to anyone who looked his way. As Charlie wandered by, the kid hauled off and drilled it at Charlie’s torso. Not expecting the toss, he didn’t get his hands up in time, and the ball hit him in the chest with a thump and a squish of seawater. “Dat!” a woman called the boy from the soup kitchen. The boy grinned merrily, picked up his ball and trotted away. “Nice catch.” Charlie turned around, and there was Marisol, straddling a brand new bicycle, looking at him and shaking her head. She wore one of Johnny’s flannel shirts, faded jeans and a pair of huarache sandals. Her dark hair was tucked up under a red bandana. A woven net grocery sack hung across her shoulder like a bandolier, bulging with unidentified goodies. She looked impossibly romantic, like she was on her way to join the rest of the rebels up in the hills above the capital. “You’re okay?” said Charlie. He was relieved to see her safe and sound. “Yes, I’m okay,” she replied, smiling. Marisol pointed at the cut on Charlie’s forehead, the blood stains on his shirt and then the bandage around his thigh, just visible under his khaki shorts. “What about you?” she asked. “Ready for the scratch and dent sale…but okay,” he replied. “And Raul?” “He’s fine, too. He and Johnny’s dog are staying with my aunt and uncle over on Ransom Island.” Charlie realized his ears were humming. His over-amped nervous system was trying to process seeing this vibrant, smiling girl in the midst of the wreckage and devastation. Seeing his goofy Loony Tunes-style grin, Marisol responded with an inner smile of her own. She’d seen that same grin on Johnny’s face before. “I was afraid you two were caught out at sea,” she said. 145 |22 Charlie made a dismissive gesture. “Well, yeah, we were. It was interesting, but no big deal.” “Ay, que hombre eres!” she clapped in feigned admiration. “No big deal, huh? Then where’s the boat? I didn’t see it in the harbor.” His spirits sagged noticeably. “I dunno. I hope that when I find it, I find it semi-intact. What about you?” asked Charlie. “I see you didn’t have the good sense to evacuate either.” “No, I guess I didn’t. I spent the night at the Marina on Key Allegro. Somehow that rickety old building didn’t fly apart during the storm. A few times it almost did. Miguel did a good job keeping the holes plugged and the fires out. Last night I stayed at Johnny’s place. I hope you don’t mind.” An uncomfortable silence followed. Charlie concentrated on a Caracara hawk soaring on the updrafts, searching for meat, live or dead. Strangely, he did mind...