Circus of the Grand Design
He sat at the desk and opened his journal to begin a letter to one of his sisters–didn’t matter which, he would say the same thing to both, but after a few sentences, Are No’s guidebook distracted him. He picked it up. A red tab marked the section referring to Point Elizabeth.
The coastal area near Point Elizabeth is a maze of saltwater marsh and narrow inlet. Farther out on the island, of course, one can find the flashy summer homes of the Hamptons, where old and new money clash, fighting for ascendancy in stores selling designer clothes and foods, but in Point Elizabeth, life moves at a different pace, the pace of scallop and lobster fishers and their traditions.
Point Elizabeth was first settled in 1649 by the Dutch (though England was already in control of the former New Amsterdam, it still drew settlers from The Netherlands). Hendrik Hemmen, a minister who came to the area in 1731 left this record, “Game and Wildlife abound, as well as Mosquitoes in even greater numbers, but the good soil and fine weather will likely draw many. I can see this settlement expanding far beyond the size of Boston and other meager cities of the mainland.”
Despite the failure of Hemmen’s prediction, the population did expand over the centuries, and in addition to the fishing industry, the town boasts several antique shops and a restaurant.
The scent of wood smoke relaxed Lewis, and he forgave Are No for his inadequate lighting and nonexistent heat. Swiveling the chair around, he watched the flames, letting their dance and crackling laughter mesmerize him. It wasn’t so bad here, though having Martha with him would have been better. They could have kept each other warm.
But no, good little Martha had to stay in the city and work. He slapped the guidebook closed and went into the bathroom to prepare for bed. Martha was too much like his sisters, too responsible, too much of a rule-follower. She worked as an editor for a large glossy magazine and always boasted about the actors and artists and other important people she met. He hated his publicist job at the engineering company. Next week he would turn thirty. He had always thought if you didn’t establish yourself before thirty, the struggle grew harder, but he still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to establish himself in.
He woke shivering. The fire had subsided, and the cold seemed worse, even under the comforter. He added more logs and went back to sleep. A few hours later the cold air forced him outside for the remaining wood. He piled it on the embers until the flames blasted up the chimney. As the heat grew, he wandered around the room examining the tacky furnishings–the stuffed catfish attached to the mop handle so that the mop hung from the fish’s mouth, the folded patch of iridescent hardened foam on a pedestal, and the blue and yellow painting near the door with slogans inside road sign shapes, such as
Under the road sign painting was a pine cabinet, about chest high. He tried the door, locked.
Despite his annoyance with Are No’s ridiculous house, one of the artworks intrigued him, an etching showing a scene of pyramids, a volcano, and a three-headed sphinx. The faces on the sphinx’s heads were all of the same woman. Her sad beauty thrilled him. The title, Cybele Enchants the Magma, was written at the bottom beside the artist’s signature. Are No’s contribution had probably been the tacky red plastic frame.
He went back to the locked cabinet, tugging on the door and playing with the latch. He even tried to pick the lock with a paperclip.
