Lydia Millet - Ghost Lights

Then someone came out of the trees, a man zipping his fly. A dark, lean man with a full beard, shirtless and half-emaciated, his ribs showing over a concave stomach. A mountain man or hippie. His white painter pants were filthy.

“Who the hell?” said Hal, not meaning to. Then it struck him: this was the man on the boat, the bearded man on the boat he had seen from the scuba island.

“Wait,” said the man. He was American. Small mercies. “God! I know you .”

Hal gazed at him. His eyes were a startling blue against the brown of his face. The beard was brown but blond strands were woven through it; the nose was straight and peeling across the bridge from the sun.

He heard himself laugh nervously. He clutched his arms around himself, then let go.

Yes: he had seen this man standing up in a boat, the day of the scuba dive. It was him.

“T.,” said the man, stating the obvious, and stuck out a brown hand. “You’re Casey’s father, aren’t you? The tax man!”

Hal hesitated to take the hand, recalling how it had recently zipped the fly, and was startled when Stern clasped him into a warm embrace.

He felt a tinge of hysteria, then confusion.

“I’m tired,” he said, drawing back. “But I’m really thirsty. Do you have some water?”

“Sure, come with me,” said the newly brown, bearded Stern.

Wary of where he put his feet — there were rusty nails in the disintegrating Sheetrock — Hal followed droopily over the piles of debris, back through the trees. A sandy trail had been cleared, just wide enough for single file. Thin trees on each side, shiny miniature leaves. A minute later they were in a small clearing. Ahead of them was an unfinished structure of wood built around a tree; Hal saw a camp stove, a tent, a dark-green metal tank. PROPANE, read a red label on the side. There was a folding chair and he sank down into it. Stern was already handing him a cup.

He drank it down, all of it, with closed eyes. His blood was rushing in his ears.

“Have more,” said Stern. He took the cup from Hal, filled it and handed it back.

Hal drank the second cup and realized his head was aching again but that he felt better. It was water he had needed, water and sleep.

“Is your head hurting? Your eyes?” asked Stern.

“Yes,” nodded Hal. “Yes.”

“You’re dehydrated. It’s a dangerous condition. Just keep drinking, small sips but steadily.”

“They’re afraid you’re dead,” said Hal, after a few seconds sitting there nodding and dazed, stroking the near-empty cup with a thumb.

“Dead? Oh,” said Stern. “I kept planning to call. I needed someone to look after my dog for a while. I was just about to call.”

“We picked her up. She’s OK,” said Hal.

“I knew the kennel would take good care of her. Place costs a king’s ransom.”

“She’s at my house,” said Hal.

“Oh, good,” said Stern. “That’s great.”

“But they’ve been really worried,” said Hal.

It was a letdown after everything to be sitting with Stern, the plastic water cup in his hand. Stern took it to fill it again, leaned over to a jug, a five-gallon plastic jug with a spout. Water gurgled as Stern tipped it forward.

Hal sipped and felt himself shiver and then laughed, a bit wildly. He could hear it but not stop it.

“We had the armed forces looking for you,” he said. “It was a search-and-rescue. Organized by Germans.”

Stern looked surprised and then barked out a laugh of his own. Hal laughed harder. They were fools, laughing. Uncontrollable, stupid laughter. Hal bent forward, tears running from his eyes. He shook his head to stop himself laughing. Eventually it petered out.

“I miss them. I miss Casey,” said Stern, nodding to himself. “Susan too.”

“She’s having an affair,” said Hal. It slipped out.

“Casey?” asked Stern.

“Susan!”

“I see,” said Stern, and glanced at him sidelong.

“With that paralegal who works in your office. That young, preppy guy named Robert.”

“Robert? Huh,” said Stern, shifting in his seat and turning his face upward. He squinted a little at the sky. “Well. I never liked him.”

Hal felt a surge of gratitude.

“You know, it wasn’t so long ago that your daughter told me,” said Stern, “that I should avoid wearing those shirts with the blue pinstripes on them and the solid white collars. You know the kind I mean?”

“Those are bad,” agreed Hal. “She was right about that.”

They sat quietly, Stern gazing into the distance with a kind of enraptured tenderness.

“And here you are,” said Hal. “You’re not wearing one. Are you.”

They smiled at each other again. A bird squawked.

“I do need a shirt, though,” said Stern, musing. “I ran out of them.”

“I see that.”

“I’ve been working,” said Stern, almost apologetic.

“But,” said Hal, “I mean — what happened to you?”

“I’ll tell you,” said Stern. “You should rest first, though. I’m serious, I think you’re pretty dehydrated. Come with me.”

He got up, gesturing for Hal to follow him. At the wooden hut built on the tree — a kind of tree-house, Hal guessed — he lifted a piece of coarse cloth that was serving as a door and put his hand on Hal’s shoulder, guiding him through. Hal saw a sleeping bag on the rough floor.

“Lie down there for a while,” said Stern. “You need to be out of the sun. It’s cooler than the tent. I’ll get you something for the headache.”

Hal did what he said, lay down on the sleeping bag, which smelled a little of mildew but not bad, exactly. A few seconds later Stern was back with two small pills in his dark hand. Hal took them.

“Thank you,” he said, and slowly crumpled sideways.

• • • • •

When he woke it was dark out again. He had slept through the morning, slept through the afternoon. He could barely believe it. Time was wrong for him now, out of kilter since the invasion of the armed forces.

He scrambled to his feet. He felt better, almost normal, though there was still a dull throb at his temples. The ache was less urgent. Through a window in the tree-house, if you could call it that — a gap between the planks — he saw the glow of a campfire in the dark and the silhouetted figure of Stern standing a few feet off, back turned.

He lifted the cloth and went out.

“Thomas,” he said. “Did the boat go? Marlo?”

“Call me T.,” said Stern, turning. He was standing in front of his camp stove, a two-burner thing, Hal noticed, connected to the propane tank by a thin tube that snaked out of it, curling. . it was balanced on an empty crate. T. held a large spoon, with which he was stirring something in a saucepan.

“T. OK then,” said Hal, reluctant. “I didn’t mean to sleep the whole day. I can’t believe it.”

“You needed it,” said T.

“So where’s my, uh — Marlo?”

“Marlo left.”

“He left? He stranded me?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” said T. “You’re with me. He had to get back to work. We thought you needed the rest. Dehydration, if it lasts long enough, you know — it can have serious consequences. How’d you get that far gone?”

“I don’t know,” said Hal. “I think — I wasn’t paying attention. Basically.”

“Making chili,” said T. “From a can, but it’ll do. Got a kick to it. Want any?”

“Sure. Thank you,” said Hal, and made his way around the fire to the folding chair. He was starving, he realized. Also thirsty again. He looked for his plastic cup. It was back in the tree-house, so he went to get it.

“Make yourself comfortable. There’s a bottle of wine sitting on the cooler,” called T. as Hal came out again. “Cheap and red. Probably not the best idea if you’re still feeling the dehydration, though.”