A. Homes - This Book Will Save Your Life

"It's nonalcoholic beer." Ben shows him the label.

"Never heard of such a thing."

"It's for people who have a drinking problem."

"Why not just have apple juice?"

"That's real beer." Richard points to the surfer, who's randomly finishing off other people's beers, pretending he's cleaning up — he picks up a bottle, tilts it to his lips, and then puts it in his trash bag.

"That is not stationary," Anhil says, meaning "sanitary."

"No, it's not."

They light a sage torch and pass it in a circle. Drums begin to bang. The air is filled with scent.

"This is the wow-wow part," Anhil says.

"Breathe deeply, listen to the beating of the drums, the crashing of the seas, and know that we are alone and we are together," Nic says.

Richard leans over and whispers in Ben's ear, "We can go anytime you want."

"I'm fine," Ben says. "And Barth is really enjoying it."

Richard continues whispering in Ben's ear. "I just want to apologize, I had no idea what it would be."

The talking stick is being passed. "You are an eagle, a tiger walking in the forest; speak to the talking stick," Nic says, handing the stick to the man next to him, who holds it, head bowed.

It's corny, but the hair on the back of Richard's neck is standing up.

"This goes out to my dad, who is long gone," the man says. "A message of forgiveness and release. In letting go of my anger, I am losing my feelings for you, but I am getting something too — freedom. For that I thank you." He passes the stick.

"Fuck you, Frank; you know who you are, and you know what I mean."

"Jenny, I love you."

"Don't feel like you have to say anything," Richard whispers.

"Thank you for having me," Ben says when he gets the stick.

Barth is too busy filming to take the stick.

When the stick comes to Richard, he passes it on like a hot potato.

"To the great white shark who lives in the sea," says the guy after Richard. "I honor you, I am in awe of you. We are in a contest to see who lives the longest, but tonight I am the sea."

The drums continue to beat; some of the men break off and go into the center of the circle and dance around the fire. Nic does it — he dances like a wild animal, throws his head back and screams. "This is the bear in me, the wild man, the angry ass." He rushes towards the fire and back and towards the fire and back, fanning the flames with his body.

"It's better than bowling," Anhil says, going in to dance. He dances like he's walking on hot coals.

With a maniacal, terrifying laugh, Tenzi, the surfer, grabs a torch, runs towards the water and disappears.

Reflexively, his body acting before his brain, Richard takes off after him. He doesn't see where the water starts, just focuses on the spot where he last saw Tenzi, where he saw the flame extinguished. As soon as his feet are wet, he draws his arms long and hurls himself forward into the sea. The plunge snaps him into extreme consciousness for the second it takes to ask, What am I doing? He thinks of Tenzi, he thinks of a man hurling himself into dark waters.

He feels for the man, catches his leg, loses it, pushes up off the ocean floor, arcing out of the water like a fish, and grabs the surfer — ankle and wrist. Tenzi fights Richard. Richard loses the wrist, but hangs on to the ankle. Onshore he see white dots, flashlights, like cartoon eyeballs peering out of the black. Men are in the water, wading out; they bring Richard and Tenzi back to shore.

Ben is on the beach, screaming: "You fuck, you fuck! You jump in to save a drunk fucking stranger and you don't give a fuck about me standing here wondering if you're drowning. What if you died? That would fucking suck. I didn't drive all the way out here to watch you die!"

"I didn't die. I'm fine. I'm wet, but I'm OK, and I helped a guy out."

"You're not some fucking superhero, you fuck."

"Look at me," Richard says. "I'm fine."

Richard doesn't know what to do; he holds Ben against his wet body. Ben is six inches taller than Richard, more muscular — Richard holds him as tight as he can.

"Let go," Ben says. "You can let go now, I'm done."

BACK AT THE HOUSE, no one says more.

In the morning, Ben comes out in a dark suit, looking like an undertaker.

"You look great — serious, formidable."

"Mom bought me three suits," Ben says.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Richard shakes the bag of Sylvia's special flakes. "It's custom-made, good stuff." He puts a little in a bowl.

"Got milk?" Ben asks.

NIC IS FAST ASLEEP. Richard slips into his house, takes the keys, and drives Ben into town. The Agency has its own building, a miniaturized marble Pentagon that flies its own flag.

"Very military," Richard says.

"It was started by two ex-CIA guys who wanted to make action-adventure films."

"When you're ready to come home, call me on the cell; I'll hover starting at about five-thirty."

He drives to Anhil's; the lights are off, the door still has the "Closed for Private Party" sign on it. He waits. Customers come and go, leaving empty-handed. At quarter of nine, Anhil shows up.

"People have been looking for you."

"I partied all night around the fire. You missed the best parts. Someone had a guitar: 'Kumbaya my lord, kumbaya,' 'Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer.' I saw the sun come up, I learned to make my penis into a pancake."

"What?"

"The Ron is a comic — he can make his Johnstone into a hot dog on a bun. It was very much fun. When I got home, I showed Lipi. She screamed, but she was screaming anyway. I have never been gone so long. And your brother's son?"

"Barth?"

"Yes, I invited him to come and stay with Lipi and me — did he tell you? He is going to make a movie about me, and then I will be famous."

"He's going to stay with you?"

"Yes," Anhil says. "Maybe I should not have told you, maybe he was saving it as a surprise."

"No, it's fine, it's good. You would make a good movie."

"I thought so too: I am a movie."

RICHARD DRIVES to Lusardi's office, pulls into the parking lot, and waits. He watches the receptionist arrive, park her bronze Nissan, and go inside. Minutes later, Lusardi pulls up in an old Jag.

Richard buzzes the office.

"You're early," the receptionist says.

"Do you think you can squeeze me in?"

"He's got a very tight schedule," she says, and then waves him in. "Hurry," she says.

Lusardi is behind his desk eating bricks of shredded wheat out of the box.

"I think maybe I tried to kill myself," Richard says, and then explains running into the sea, the whole idea of the pow-wow, the talking stick, and how he found all of it intensely annoying.

"Why would you want to kill yourself?"

"I don't know. I'm a good swimmer — I swam in high school, I was a summer lifeguard, I used to swim in the ocean. I remember as a boy my family going to the beach — my mother sitting onshore, not wanting to get her hair wet; my father going in only up to his knees, he never learned to swim. My son, Ben, is here — visiting. Did I already say that? I came out of the water and he was yelling. He's so angry, but doesn't say anything."

"Maybe he's afraid to."

Silence. Richard is all the more annoyed with himself, for being so self-centered. It hadn't occurred to him that Ben would feel he was risking something.

"Does it seem strange that I was a swimmer but forgot?"

"We forget what we need to forget. Maybe you weren't trying to kill yourself, maybe you were really trying to save someone — maybe you were saving yourself."

"My stomach is killing me," Richard says.

"I'm sure it is; have you eaten anything this morning?" Lusardi asks, sweeping crumbs off his desk.

Richard shakes his head. "I gave Ben some cereal but I forgot to eat."