Mile Zero by Sanchez Thomas

Author:Sanchez, Thomas [Sanchez, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307766083
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2011-08-03T06:00:00+00:00

15

OCHO dreamed of conch fritters and slick oyster bellies in the backseat of Justo’s car. Coming dawn pushed a swell of temperature before it, steam streamed heavenward from slick asphalt streets and steep slanted tin roofs of crowded houses, instigating a humid haze as Justo drove through damp heat ascending. The island wavered before him uncertain as an underwater vision, a glimpse of sun above glittered as if striking a vast watery surface, reminding of a far different universe. Rosella Rosella Rosella, ojos que no ven, corazon que no siente. Rosella, what you don’t see won’t break your heart. The anejo in Justo’s veins filled him with a leaded weariness, he was too tired to concentrate. He forced his eyes open to the crack of sunlight breaking through morning mist. It seemed in these modern times everyone was too tired to concentrate, especially on the consistency of their lives. It was a time when even five-year marriages were a big deal, not like Justo’s grandparents’ time, when people married for life, for better or for worse. It was for their own good, kept them from making the same mistake over and over. Rosella Rosella Rosella. Quien peces quiere, mojarse tiene. He who wants to catch the fish must not mind a wetting. Yesterday Justo had set out to catch a fish in a sea of fishermen, now he was headed for Angelica’s house, headed for a wetting.

Everything was confused with weariness. Who was the big fish? Who was the little fish? Pez grande come al chico. Big fish eats little fish. Angelica and Justo were two anglers in search of a sucker mouth. Maybe he was the sucker, but he had to follow his lead. The first thing he had noticed when he walked into the Wreck Room, even before noticing Angelica’s shorts, was the day’s daily witticism chalked on the blackboard behind the bar. Justo knew he could not ask Angelica who had authored the scrawled message. To ask Angelica would have made her the she-shark and him the bonita. Angelica had something Rosella did not, and she was not about to sell short. Justo had tried to sit quietly at the bar and order his anejo, not wanting Angelica to seize upon the expression he felt covered his face, not wanting her to inquire, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” There was always the possibility Angelica authored the message. If so Justo was swimming with someone capable of putting a harpoon through his neck as well as his heart. No one was above suspicion. Bubba-Bob had a detour in mind for him, he wanted to let Bubba-Bob run his mouth off, talk himself out of what little common sense he had, give up what information he might hold. Bubba-Bob had pushed Justo along the detour of most resistance, forcing him to rise to the occasion. So now Bubba-Bob as a possible source of information was closed. Only Angelica’s path of softest resistance was left open.

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