William Vollmann - The Atlas

He looked into the distance, where his wife basked almost at the water's edge, reading the self-help book that promised to save their marriage.

The Japanese girl sat watching her husband with the utmost attention. Whenever he turned or stretched, she padded down to his claim of sand and knelt beside him, gazing into his face. Then she'd return to her chair in the grass by the rental boats and sit again, watching him patiendy.

The long black locks of her hair twisted down her back and shoulders like beautiful roots. Later he would remember the sharp pelvic bone straining to break through her thigh-flesh, but for the moment he saw only her hair.

Her face was blurred as if in a dream. The way she sat, he could see only her profile, and the dark hair spun itself about her cheek like steam.

He waited for her to turn her head. He said to himself: If she turns her head, that means that she and I were born for each other. But if my wife turns her head, that means that my wife and I belong together.

He waited. Any moment now the girl would turn, and he'd see her face.

But without ever looking at him, she got up and went to her husband once more. Then she returned, slipped on her sundress and went away. Her husband lay still.

He looked at his wife, who at precisely that instant turned her head and smiled at him. He ached with dismay.

Fish-scales of light spread rapidly across the river. Trees shivered in their pots. The Japanese girl, shivering, tossed up her eyes in impatience, arms crossed as she stamped her feet. It was night at the lion-headed bench. Lanterns illuminated statues. Palm-fronds creaked like bedsprings. Glancing up at them, he forgot the girl at once, transfixed by the nodding of those sad and crazy shagheads, those spider-legs of darkness scutding limp and sick, impaled on their own swaying trunks, caressing themselves evilly while curtains licked each other from lighted balconies.

Are you finished staring or do I have to go inside by myself? the girl said.

He saw a big coconut like a skull. High on a palm-pole, fronds blew back from the skull's forehead like hair or warfeathers.

I'm going inside, the girl said. I'm going in to my husband.

His gaze wandered down.

I thought you wanted me, the girl said, swallowing her tears. You followed me; you sneaked off from your wife—

But I never expected this wind! he cried. This wind blows everything away—

She had taken off her wedding ring and was squeezing it in her hand. Suddenly it escaped to the tiles by her feet, meeting them with a musical sound. Startled, he looked into her face. At once her expression changed. She glowed with a greedy ecstasy.

So you love me, she whispered. Now I know you love me. Just keep looking at me. That's all I need.

Sit back! Achilles, sit back! We're gittin' ready to go bubeye. I said jist wait a minute. Look around! Those are LIGHTS. That's fer the night time when people's readin'. Now sit back an' enjoy it! I said enjoy it! Isis, gimme the bag. Isis, I'm not playing. Isis, stop. Now eat your crunchies. That's it. That's a good girl.

When's the light gonna come on?

In a minute, okay? You don't want no more? Now eat 'em! Bus driver gonna come in a minute. Sit back in yer seat. He'll be there; now jist sit down. The man who took the ticket, the same one, he's the driver .

Can you smoke up here?

No.

Why?

'Cause it says don't smoke.

The bus driver didn't scare me, Mama. He didn't scare me.

Here we go. i

How come the light don't come on?

They don't put the lights on.

Why?

That's at nighttime, hon.

Is this the freeway, Mama?

Uh huh.

Good morning, ladies and gendemen, and welcome aboard Greyhound's Oakland-San Francisco service. I'd like to thank you for travelling Greyhound. Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. Thank you.

Is this where we went before?

Shut up and eat. That's right. Have some more, hon.

What's this?

Just leave it. Leave it alone.

Why?

'Cause I said so.

Mama, what's that?

I assed you to sit back!

What's that boy and girl doing over there?

Sit back! Sit back and act like you don't see things!

Is he helping her go to the bafroom?

Shut up! Don't talk dirty.

That boy and girl sure are fidgety. How come they don't sit back? How come that boy keeps pulling up that girl's dress?

Uh huh.

I'm hot. I'm gonna pull up my dress, too.

You can't.

Why?

'Cause you're not supposed to. Pull down your dress. No more, now.

Mama, is they going to the bafroom?

Sit back! I'll whack you! Now REMEMBER that. Sit back. Just move yourself back. That's a boy. Sit back. I'm not telling you again. I'll knock you down.

Ow!

Leave 'em alone. That's a girl. There you go. What you got your hands up Achilles's pants for? Stop it right now.

They was doin' it over there.

I said take your hand out!

Ow! Ow!

You gonna remember now? Now shut up! I told you not to see things. What's over there?

They's. . He's helping her go to the bafroom. — Ow!

Now you know what happens when you try to see things. What's over there?

I dunno, Mama. Nothing.

That's right. That's right. Don't you ever try to see things.

An old man in old grayish kamiks set out to hunt walrus on a morning of fresh sea-clouds. He owned a Peterhead which he had purchased down in Halifax many yean before. He'd sailed her up through the Strait of Belle Isle and then northwest along the inclined coast of Labrador, careful of the treacherous Labrador Sea, and by degrees he'd come back into the country that is called Nunavik, which means The Great Land . Rounding the tip of the spearheaded peninsula, he sailed through the strait called Nuvummiut Tariunga until he made the town whose name means Floating Ice . He still had some distance left to go, but he was not tired. He went westward out of Nunavik, crossing Hudson Bay, whose mouth is narrow like the neck of a flask, and when he was almost entirely across he reached the large island that was his home.

This island we ourselves call Southampton, after the third Earl after that name who was Shakespeare's patron. The old man in old grayish kamiks had never read Shakespeare and never would. His was a low flat world of green, blue, yellow and gray, with blue sky and white ice-horizons. He owned a great deal of knowledge about ice, clouds, the Bible, motors and animals. On this island at certain seasons the people stand with their hands over their eyes and scan for polar bears before they sit down. The old man in old grayish kamiks still had very good vision, or maybe it was just that he never stopped paying attention, but he often saw polar bears before his grandchildren did. Perhaps it was because they did not get to hunt very much. First of all, many of the new generation worked at desk jobs in other towns; and secondly, fuel for the Peterhead was very expensive. The younger ones had never been walrus hunting. He was the one who told them how, when and where.

Two evenings before, the ice had been coming in and people were out shooting narwhals — rare to see any in Coral Harbour; the last time had been seven years ago. Now a whole pod of narwhals was here, which was strange with pleasing and ordinary strangeness, like the adventures of the three children who squatted, catching bigheaded green minnows in the puddles at low tide, exulting over each: Little big big one! — Their fingertips went cold. It had been overcast, but at around nine that night the sun came out and gilded the boats where a crowd was winding a net with fish in it. The sky tanged with salt like a single harpsichord string, a taut clean note of smell, sea-smell, no chord of rot or musk. Mosquitoes jumped and crouched. And the grandson who always got in trouble went to the old man and asked if they would be going out for walrus tomorrow, but the old man looked at the sky and shook his head.