Angelica Lost and Found (19 page)

‘I think mine might go away without the knock on the head. Some nights I’m afraid to go to sleep for fear that I’ll disappear altogether.’

‘You won’t though. Who are you in your dreams?’

‘Me, Angelica Greenberg.’

‘There, you see?’

‘I know that what you’re saying is meant to reassure me but it doesn’t.’

‘It really doesn’t?’

‘Yes, it really doesn’t.’

‘Perhaps I should take up another line of work.’

‘What else can you do?’

‘Maybe I’ll run away to sea.’

‘Doc, you’re being frivolous on my time.’

‘Actually, what you need is a frivolous day and a change of air. A little sea voyage on the bay might be just the thing.’

‘In what? Have you got a boat other than
Dos Arbolitos
?’

‘I do, and I provisioned it this morning.’

‘What kind of boat is it?’

‘A yawl. It’s a replica of Joshua Slocum’s
Spray
in which he was the first man to sail alone around the world.’

‘Have you sailed alone around the world?’

‘Only the world in my head.’

‘What’s your boat called?’

‘
Mariposa
.’

‘Butterfly.’ I sang two lines of Dolly Parton’s song about the butterfly character of love.

‘This butterfly,’ said Dr Long, ‘is from way back. There was a Chinese philosopher called Chuang Tzu. While pondering the meaning of life he dozed off under a tree and dreamt that he was a butterfly. It was a beautiful dream and the flying was a special delight. When he woke up he said to a friend, “I am puzzled.” And he told his dream.

‘
“So what’s puzzling?” said the friend. “You had a nice dream and that’s that.”

‘
“But it was so real,” said Chuang Tzu, “just as real as this conversation we’re having. I thought I was Chuang Tzu dreaming of being a butterfly. But what if, at this very moment, I am a butterfly dreaming of being Chuang Tzu?”
 
’

Here Dr Long paused and looked at me expectantly.

‘Does it matter which he was?’ I said.

‘Very good, Angelica. You think the same as Chuang Tzu. He said that all things are united by the life force within them, that
all are one
.’

‘There you go,’ I said. ‘Great minds.’

We got into Dr Long’s old Citroën 2CV and it rattled into life.

‘Please call me Jim now that we’re out of the office,’ he said.

‘OK, Jim. Where are we going?’

‘Schoonmaker Point Marina.’

‘Now that we’re outdoors, can I ask you some personal questions?’

‘Shoot.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Forty-one.’

‘Married?’

‘Was.’

‘She was one of the
dos arbolitos
?’

He nodded.

‘We’re divorced now. She left me for a happiness guru.’

‘Then she couldn’t have been right for you in the first place.’

‘Now you tell me.’

‘Children?’

‘No.’

‘Thank you. It’s always a comfort to know what’s what.’

‘Good, I want you to be comfortable. I think I already know most of the personal facts about you.’

‘All the pertinent ones, I don’t think ephemera need to come into it.’

‘What kind of ephemera?’

‘The kind that don’t last as long as it takes to tell about them.’

‘Then don’t tell about them – I don’t want anything to interfere with this outing.’

‘I won’t let anything do that, Jim, I like being out with you; you’re a comfortable man to be with.’

‘Thank you, all encouragement gratefully received. In my office I’m reasonably confident, but out of doors with a beautiful woman I revert to my default position which is pretty shaky.’

‘I don’t believe a word of that but thank you for the handsome compliment.’ We had turned into a parking area and I saw a lot of water and a lot of boats. The salt breeze was full of promise. ‘Are we there?’

‘Yup, this is Schoonmaker Point.’ After parking the car he took an insulated bag out of the boot. ‘I thought we might have a picnic,’ he said. ‘Do you like burritos?’

‘Love ’em.’

‘
Carne asada
and Jerry’s burritos from Balazo?’

‘My favourites.’

‘That’s the food. The drink is on board.’

‘
Mariposa
has a fridge?’

‘Yes. Can you guess what’s in it?’

‘Bollinger?’

‘Right! How did you do that?’

‘I thought, if I were Jim and wanted to give Angelica a really great picnic, I’d get Bollinger and burritos for the occasion.’

‘What a mind! Beautiful! And the rest of you’s not bad either.’

‘You’re very kind. But we’d better go aboard before your compliments go to my head.’

‘And what happens then?’

‘Who knows? I’m a creature of impulse.’

‘Is that a promise?’

‘Every day is a winding road, Jim.’

‘Then let’s not delay.
Mariposa
’s berthed over there, past the beach.’

There she was. When you get up close to any boat, even a rowing boat, you see that it’s a serious thing, the self of it bigger than the size of it. Because the sea is a serious thing and all water leads to it.
Mariposa
was thirty-six feet long, a proper seagoing vessel whose original had sailed around the world in all weathers. ‘Let’s do it,’ she whispered brazenly. ‘Let’s just do it.’

‘She’s very forthright,’ I said to Jim as we stepped aboard.

‘Only way to be,’ he said, and pointed out the mainmast, mizzenmast, and the halyards for mainsail, jib and spanker as well as those for main gaff. Also the topping lifts. Under his guidance we hoisted sail and eased out of the dock trailing the dinghy. The prevailing wind in the bay is from the west, and
Mariposa
heeled to it a little as the sails filled.

‘We’re going to Angel Island,’ he said. ‘It’s a beat all the way there, sailing as close to the wind as we can. Coming back we reach with the wind on the beam or we run with the wind behind us. The lines that control the sails are called sheets, so if I tell you to go forward and haul in the jib sheet you’ll know what to do, yes?’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

‘When we tack, I put the tiller down and I say, “Ready about!” so you’ll know that the boom is going to swing to the other side and you’ll get out of its way.’

‘Can I jump into your lap to be safe?’

‘Later, when we anchor. Ready about! Lee oh!’ The boom swung around with no danger to us in the cockpit.

‘Who’s Leo?’ I said.

‘That’s just an extra bit I read in a book. I learned my sailing from books. I started out with a twelve-and-a-half-foot Beetle Cat and worked my way up through a Chuckles 18 before I made the jump to
Mariposa
. I’ve always favoured gaff-rigged boats. They look more like boats to me, though I also like luggers.’

‘Albert Pinkham Ryder painted luggers, some of them on cigar-box lids.’

‘Probably not a lot of people know that. I’ll google for him when I have time.’

Alternately on starboard and port tacks we beat our way to Angel Island. I mentally rehearsed various conversational gambits, rejected them all, and sat there like a sixteen-year-old on her first date, watching Jim’s easy handling of the tiller and the mainsheet. His hands were large and strong but they did everything gently. The sunlight on the water was dazzling; I saw Jim through veils of brightness, and I had lapsed into a reverie when he startled me out of it.

‘What’s that?’ he said sharply.

‘What? Where?’ I responded dozily.

‘Three points off the port bow,’ he said nautically. ‘There!’ he pointed.

‘Walk on by,’ I said when I saw what it was. ‘Let it be.’

‘I can’t, it’s a hazard to navigation.’ He reached for the boat hook. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s what Volatore Three paid a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for.’

‘Wow! That’s a lot of money.’

‘It’s a lot of tiny, tiny dancing bad luck too. I think we’ll both be sorry if you pick it up.’

‘Why? What could happen?’ He was lifting it aboard.

‘I don’t know but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.’

‘How’d it get here?’

‘Jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge, I should think. Possibly an assisted suicide.’

‘You’ve got some history with this painting, right?’

‘Right, but let’s save that for another time, OK?’

‘OK. I’d like to take it home, though, to have a proper look at it. Take the tiller for a moment, will you – I want to tie it down so it won’t blow away.’

The tiller was in my hand as he laid the painting on the cabin roof. I don’t know what I did wrong then but the boom suddenly swung across to the other side and knocked Jim into the water.

‘Jim!’ I screamed.

I let go of the tiller and the boat came up into the wind, losing most of its forward motion as the jib fluttered indecisively and the spanker spilled its wind. The current was very strong but it carried him towards me instead of away and he was able to grab the dinghy that was trailing astern. He clambered aboard it, hauled himself up to
Mariposa
and was in my arms.

‘Oh Jim!’ I sobbed with relief.

The tiny, tiny dancing giants smirked in the dim red caverns of sleep on the cabin roof. Jim dropped anchor and tied down the painting. Then we took off our wet clothes and went below, where we found ourselves naked and holding on to each other.

‘We are in danger of endangering the therapeutic relationship, I think,’ said Jim.

‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,’ I murmured into his neck.

Chapter 53

Hopefulness of Volatore

Is she near? I think I feel her presence! Ah! Be near, my Angelica! Soon, perhaps, no longer apart?

Chapter 54

42nd Street Buck-and-Wing

Well, it was what it was, wasn’t it! I mean, sleeping with Jim was all that I wanted it to be but it didn’t resolve all my problems and it didn’t wrap up the story of me and Jim and tie it with a pink ribbon.

Confusion is the medium in which I live, like a fish in water. If clarity suddenly happened I don’t think I could breathe. There we were with our sun-dried clothes back on.
WHAT NOW?
flashed on and off in the air like an invisible neon sign, seen perhaps by the tiny, tiny giants dancing on the cabin roof.

Why had the painting floated out to meet us? Had Volatore Three jumped off the bridge with it? He hadn’t seemed a suicidal type. I was sniffing the air. No smell but maybe … No, nothing.

‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ said Jim, ‘to Cyd Charisse who died yesterday. One more beauty gone from the world. Here’s to you, Cyd. We’ll stay danced with.’