Chapter 32
October 11
Beyond the Firelight Lies Endless Darkness
WHILE CIRCUMAMBULATING the island in the morning, I came upon Ray Pedrera. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at the wavelets lapping at his feet. To my eye, he looked uninspired.
“Morning,” I said, as I approached. This is my favorite greeting in the morning, nothing more than an announcement that I am aware of the presence of another human being at a time when I am also aware that the light of the sun has returned. Then, in an uncharacteristic gesture of matutinal camaraderie, I asked, “How’s it going?”
“Not well,” he said.
“How come?”
“I spent the whole night discovering that I have nothing to say.”
“That’s one of the reasons I try to sleep at night and write in the morning,” I said.
He kicked at the sand.
“You can’t have explored your past very thoroughly in one night,” I suggested.
“That’s all it took,” he said. “Nothing exciting has ever happened to me. I haven’t done anything, and I haven’t amounted to anything. I’m nothing. Nobody.”
“Look,” I said. “If you’re going to write an honest memoir, I think you’re going to have to drop the mask.”
He looked at me as if he were puzzled.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect that there is more to you than the little man I see standing here in front of me.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. I think you are a master of the art of concealment. And I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“Huh?”
Shaking my head in admiration, I said, “You never let it rest for a minute, do you? Never let your guard down. How long did it take you to erect this seamless front of conventional behavior?”
“Thirty-nine years,” he grumbled.
“Well it’s a hell of a piece of work,” I said, and I paused for a moment before adding, “but I’m not interested in ‘Manuel Pedrera.’”
“Neither am I,” he said, and he kicked at the sand again.
I poked his chest and said, “I want to know who you’re hiding in there. Work on that.”
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