The Art of Floating (15 page)

Hoping to give the world its first glimpse of Toad, or as she called him, the Silent Man, Melissa Cho, a reporter for a local TV station, knocked on Sia's door at 1:30. Her head, round through the bottom and sides like a perfectly formed pumpkin, was flat on top as if someone had set a pot there and left it too long to cool. Her mouth, a gaping crater, was nearly as wide as her head, and when she smiled, which was most of the time because the prospect of being on camera made her downright giddy, the bottom half of her face was a smear of gleaming white teeth and shiny wet gums.

“Odyssia Dane?” she said when Sia opened the door.

Her rictus, Sia noted, was as shocking as it was during the 6:00 news.

“Yes?” Sia said.

“I'm Melissa Cho.”

“I see that.”

When she heard the familiar voice, Jilly squeezed between Sia and the door frame. “Oh, my God!” she hollered. “It's Melissa Cho! Come on in! Sia, look!”

Sia elbowed Jilly out of the way and body-blocked Melissa's attempt to follow them into the house.

“Can I help you?” Sia said.

“I'm here to film the man you found on the beach . . . the Silent Man,” Melissa said. When she said “the Silent Man,” it was as if the world froze on its axis. Silence fell. And then this crazy-deep voice from the cosmos—God? James Earl Jones?—boomed and thundered:

THE SILENT MAN

 

Though Melissa had a mind-numbing collection of bright pink and black suits that she alternated between when reporting on the evening news—ones that Jackson often said looked like a toxic spill of Good & Plenty—she'd traded in her normal color blast for a pale yellow suit with stockings and yellow pumps. Daytime attire.

“The Silent Man?” Sia said. She rolled her eyes. The Silent Man. One day and the poor guy had been reduced to a sensational news slogan.

“Yes, the Silent Man is big news, you know,” Melissa said. “All the stations will have reporters on your doorstep by the end of the day. Tomorrow morning at the latest. They're on their way.”

“Here? Why here? The man is not even here anymore.”

“He's not? Where is he?”

“The police station.”

“Oh, but he was here?” Her disappointment was palpable.

“He was here all right,” Jilly said.

Sia shot her a look.

“Well, word is making its way around the world fast,” Melissa said, “and people want to know more.”

“Around the world?” Sia said.

“Yep, folks are talking about you two all the way from here to Finland.”

Jillian poked Sia in the back. “Finland? Sia, let the woman in, for God's sake. Show a little hospitality.”

“Fine,” Sia said. “Come in, Melissa.”

Melissa nearly leapt through the open door. “Can we film?” She gestured to her cameraman to follow.

“Absolutely not,” Sia said, and she closed the door in the cameraman's face. Then she asked, “What do you mean, the two of us?”

“Well, you're already famous in your own right. All that stuff about your husband last year. People are fascinated that you of all people found the Silent Man.”

“Ah,” Sia said, “so the fact that I—the woman who mysteriously lost her husband—have now mysteriously found another man is news?”

Melissa smiled. “Something like that.”

Sensing that Sia was close to tossing Melissa out on her size ten banana-boat slingbacks, Jillian stepped in. “Okay,” she said to Melissa, “here's what we know about Toad.”

“Toad?” Melissa said. “Who's Toad?”

“Toad is the Silent Man,” Jilly said. “That's
our
name for him.” She looked over at Sia and smiled.

“Toad,” Melissa said as she scratched a note onto her pad of paper. “You're calling him Toad?” She said it as if someone had slipped a drop of bitters onto her tongue.

Jilly nodded.

Melissa sniffed. “I prefer the Silent Man,” she said, and then she leaned forward on her chair and eyed Jillian. “Ready.”

Jillian opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, Sia interrupted. “Listen, Melissa, since Toad's not here anymore, you're not going to get footage of him. Instead, why don't we go to the beach? I'll show you where I found him, tell you what I know, and let you ask any questions that might help get him home. Then you'll be all done with me and you can move on to the police station. Does that work for you?”

Melissa nearly tripped over the ottoman trying to get to the door. “That sounds perfect,” she said. She hollered for the cameraman to get his ass in gear.

“Hmmmm . . . you're being unusually helpful, Odyssia,” Jillian whispered as she moved behind Sia.

“Like I said, I have to help Toad get home.”

“Not so fast, you don't,” Jillian said. “There's no harm in taking your time and enjoying the man for a while. He is, you know, a very enjoyable man.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Jilly, he's not an enjoyable man. He's a sad man. A very-far-from-home man. And a very-alone man.”

“He's got you and Gumper now.”

“He does not have me. He does not have Gumper. He has Richard.”

“Besides, you shouldn't worry so much, Sia,” Jilly said. “Aliens have their own ways of finding one another. Tracking systems and whatnot.” She giggled and poked Sia in the back.

Melissa stopped and turned. She'd heard every word. “Aliens?” she said. “Did you say aliens?”

“Yes,” Sia said, “but she's kidding. Toad is not an alien, Melissa.” She glared at Jillian. “Quit perpetuating this nutball theory and tell Melissa Cho you're kidding.”

Jillian grinned and turned to Melissa. “I am only kidding. Can you imagine an alien being such a looker?”

Melissa smiled. “I haven't seen him yet, but for now I'll take your word for it.” She still looked suspicious. “Any UFO sightings around here lately?”

“No,” Sia said, “and if you really want to see the spot where I found him, you'll hush up and move on.”

Melissa snapped her mouth closed and headed around the back of the house to the beach.

“Sorry,” Jillian said. “I'll stop. At least in front of her.”

Sia walked away. “Come on, Gumper,” she hollered, and in seconds, he barreled out of the house and up the beach.

•  •  •

The Dogcatcher knew Melissa Cho from the television at the hospital cafeteria where she sometimes ate. But she didn't follow them along the beach. Too much color. Too much noise. Too many teeth.

•  •  •

It took a while to get to the spot where Sia had found Toad because Wingnut, as Sia began calling Melissa Cho, was afraid to snag her stockings. Instead of taking off her shoes and barefooting it like any other sane person, she tried to hobble her way down the beach on her heels.

After the third entertaining tumble that landed her mouthdown in the sand, Sia said, “Take off your shoes.”

“I'm fine,” Wingnut insisted, wiping sand from her cheeks.

“Take them off or I'm going home.”

Wingnut took them off.

When they finally arrived, Jillian danced in and around the marsh grass looking for anything Sia might have missed while Melissa and her cameraman set up the equipment for the best shot.

“Well?” Jillian said as they waited.

“Well, what?” Sia said.

“Is anything different?”

Sia looked out at the horizon. It was dotted with boats—big ones, little ones, sailboats, and motorboats. Dozens of people were playing on the beach; three portable CD players pumped out three different beats; and Gumper was romping with three golden retrievers.

“Yep,” Sia said, “everything's different.” As she spoke, the fish flip-flopped in her belly and lashed its tail. She flinched. “Melissa, let's get on with it.”

Melissa and her cameraman centered Sia with the marsh grass behind her, and when she got the signal, Sia looked at the camera and explained how she'd found Toad the day before just as the sun was coming up.

“He was standing with his back to the sea and he was soaking wet.”

“Soaking wet?” Melissa asked.

“That's what I said,” Sia responded. “It was obvious he'd just been swimming or lounging in the ocean. I don't know anything more than that.”

When Sia stopped talking, Melissa asked a few more questions, smiling the entire time. Where was the Silent Man now? Would Sia see him again? Did he speak English?

“It's in the authorities' hands now,” Sia said. “An officer picked him up from my house this morning. That's all I know.”

She left out the fact that she'd already visited him once at the station and was checking her watch to see how close it was to 4:30.

Melissa closed the spot with a plea. “If anyone knows anything about the Silent Man, please call our station immediately. We'll have footage of him tomorrow so you can see him for yourself.”

“You will?” Jillian said when the camera clicked off.

“I hope so,” Melissa said, turning her best and brightest smile on Sia. “How about an exclusive in the morning?”

Sia walked away. “You'll have to ask Richard, Melissa. Toad is out of my hands.”

•  •  •

“Richard!” Jilly squeaked into the phone. “Melissa Cho was just here!”

Sia couldn't hear Richard's end of the conversation, but at the rate Jilly was talking, she was pretty sure he was doing what most people did whenever Jilly started riffing:
mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm
.

“Oh, my God, Richard, she's EXACTLY like she is on television. Big head, big teeth, weird clothes, and that giant mouth. It looks like a crater on the moon. We took her to the spot where Sia found Toad and they filmed it and it's going to be on the news . . . and . . . What?” Jilly actually paused. “Okay, I'll come there and tell you all about it. I'd love to tell you in person.” She hung up without saying good-bye.

“Richard is very interested in hearing this story,” she told Sia.

“Richard is very interested in you,” Sia said.

“Oh, shut up. He is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

Jilly pulled a lipstick from her bag. “Is not. Toodles.” And she was off.

“Odyssia?”

“Yes, Mom?”

“You okay?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, Mom.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Mom. I wish there were.”

“Okay, sweetie. Where is Snail?”

“Toad?”

“Yes, yes. The man you found.”

“Toad.”

“Yes, where is he?”

“Richard took him to the station.”

“So he's out of your house?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don't know, Mom.”

“Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Thanks, Mom.”

•  •  •

“Sia?”

“Hey, Dad.”

“How's my girl?”

“Okay.”

“Your mom told me you found something.”

Sia laughed. “Yeah, I guess you can put it like that.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“So-so.”

“A man is a strange thing to find.”

“And to lose.”

Silence.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Just talking to you helps.”

“Good. I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too, Pops.”

•  •  •

“Yes, Jil?”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Nothing much.”

“Writing?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“Don't you have work to do, Jil?”

“I'm doing it.”

“You can talk and edit at the same time?”

“I'm having a phone conference with one of my authors.”

“Well, then you should get off the phone with me.”

“It is you, dork.”

“Oh.”

“Are you writing?”

“Gotta go, Jil. See you later.”

Click.

Next [click]

•  •  •

At www.sermondiary.com, Sia discovered that many men truly live in darkness and was reminded that Jesus was very interested in saving them.

“Amen to that,” she said out loud.

•  •  •

As expected, hundreds of men—boys really—disappeared in places like Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Chechnya. There they were swallowed up by the tens and twenties, but given the circumstances, such events were to be expected. Only their mothers were surprised.

•  •  •

Many men disappeared in coal mines, especially those who ventured into the deepest, blackest veins of Mother Earth.

•  •  •

One man, Sia read, was missing from Toledo, Ohio. Another from Tallahassee, Florida. The one missing from North Carolina had disappeared numerous times before. He was a bit slow in the noggin, on some unnamed medication, and in danger of once again being found in Tijuana, where he liked to bugger young girls.

•  •  •

The man missing in Texas was the father of twin boys who'd just celebrated their third birthdays. The photo showed the boys hiding behind their mother's legs, their tiny hands pinching her bare calves.

•  •  •

The man who had escaped from an Illinois hospital was suspected of a heinous crime—the rape and murder of a pregnant woman who had trusted in the validity of his official ID and allowed him into her home to reconnect the cable on her television. His card, the one she'd obviously asked to see, was lying in a pool of blood not far from her body.

•  •  •

Gerald Langely, innocent of any crime except perhaps poor judgment, had fallen off a boat near the coast of Florida during a storm and a great wave had washed him out to sea. In her sorrow, his wife told reporters he had been taken by Poseidon, God of the Sea, for a higher purpose.

•  •  •

Next [click]

•  •  •

Theodore Criddle, Sia discovered, was driven to climb. When he was a baby, his mother told the paper, it was all she could do to keep him from scaling the refrigerator or even the roof of the house. At eighteen, after he'd climbed all the peaks in the eastern part of the country, he headed west. When he arrived in Colorado, he didn't allow his body time to adjust to the change in altitude; he simply started climbing. A group of young hikers saw him on a path to Mt. Beirstadt at about twelve thousand feet. They tried to greet him, as was the custom on wooded trails—camaraderie and such—but he waved them off. He was weaving, one girl said, like a drunk, and she offered him a pouch of trail mix. He refused it.

“Did he have water?” the reporter asked.

The girl didn't know. She hadn't seen water bottles tucked in his pack.

“He disappeared so quickly around a bend,” the girl told the reporter, “it was as if he hadn't been there at all. We talked about following him, but we were tired. We figured he'd be okay. He wasn't.”

The reporter said the girl looked sad here, as if she might have been able to affect the outcome of things. People always think that. Sia thought that. But officials in Colorado speculated that altitude sickness played a major role in Theodore's disappearance. “It happens every year,” the game warden said.

Theodore's body hadn't been found.

Whenever Sia saw a story on the news or in the paper like this about someone who had disappeared, the loved ones left behind were always quoted as saying they would not consider the possibility of the lost one being dead, but Sia knew that was a lie.

“Liar,” she said when she read that Theodore's mother said she would go to her grave believing her boy was alive. “Big, ugly liar.”

That's all you can consider
, she thought. Images of your wife or husband or child or mother lying in a puddle of broken bones, blood and spirit seeping out. The images—the possibility—sit on your chest like the miserable, fat boy in elementary school. It's the worst, most helpless feeling in the world, and Sia would have much rather known the truth than have been left wondering.

•  •  •

“Enough,” Sia said out loud. To the teakettle. The curtain. The sponge in the sink. “Enough.”