Dead Man Read Online Free Page B

poems.
    “’Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing,’” he quoted,“ ‘For every tatter in its mortal dress…’”
    “Except these tatters are on purpose,” she said. “They split under the force of the waves so the holdfasts won’t be pulled
     off the rocks down below. But these were anyway.”
    Eddie put his arms around her. “Let’s always hold fast,” he said to her in sudden inexplicable fierceness.
    She laughed up at him. “Okay, big boy—forever.”
    “That’s okay, then,” he grinned, in imitation of Albie talking about the assassin hawk’s activities.
    Soaked in Bullfrog-36 to counteract depleted ozone, they sunbathed on a tiny wedge of sand available only at low tide, with
     occasional forays into the frigid surf. Albie wanted to be carried in each time also, game to their last icy dash back out
     of the water shrieking with frozen laughter.
    Wrapped in towels, they watched a flock of sandpipers run seaward at the foot of each retreating wave, run back up at the
     lip of each advancing wave, moving almost in close-order drill as they pattered about stabbing sharp slightly up-curved bills
     into the sand for tiny living things.
    Finally, they ate sandwiches and drank hot tea from a thermos, were waked from their nap by raucous western gulls squabbling
     with two crows over a dead striped bass without any eyes. Sun-dried and salt-crusty, they explored a tidal pool in slanting
     late-afternoon sunshine, moving down to it gingerly through the so-called black zone caused by lichens and blue-green algae.
     The gelatinous coat that kept the algae moist between their twice-monthly spring tide soakings made for treacherous footing.
    Albie was in his glory here, being a touchie-feelie sort of guy, totally unsqueamish, as usual finding the tidal pools the
     high point of his day along the water.
    “Mommy, what’s this?”
    He was squatting on the algae, holding up a tiny, spiral-shelled creature for Marie’s inspection. He had long since learned
     that Eddie was next to useless in identifying either living or dead things on the beach.
    “That’s a periwinkle snail,” she told him. She squatted beside him. “They eat the algae by scraping it off the rocks.” She
     turned the shell over, pointed. “See? Rows of teeth.”
    “Lots
of rows of teeth,” said Albie solemnly.
    “Thousands of them,” agreed Marie. “When the rocks wear the teeth down, the snail just rolls up a new set, sort of like the
     teeth are on a conveyer belt.”
    The barnacle zone was mostly acorn barnacles, their close-packed flinty white cones making the rocks also look white.
    “But when a barnacle dies his shell gets taken over by periwinkles, or little bitty shrimp, or limpets…”
    Back at the cabin at dusk, Eddie put briquets on the hibachi and grilled the steaks while foil-wrapped potatoes baked in the
     coals and sweet corn roasted in its own husks. To Albie’s delight, no crucifers. But there was ice cream and a chocolate Sara
     Lee with a single candle in it, and the cards and little presents they had picked out for Marie.
    Finally, plates scraped and washed and leftovers in the fridge, Eddie started the fire laid in the stone fireplace. Albie
     was suddenly asleep, tipped over on his side. Marie carried his small sleeping form into his bedroom as Eddie went outside
     to bury the garbage in the mulch heap. Tree frogs trilled, branches rustled, something of consequence moved through the brush
     flanking the sandy track leading in from the main road.
    He looked back at the cabin under the cold pale blue light of a waning moon. Smoke swirled from the chimney with the night
     breeze. Light shone from the windows. He shivered, somehow felt lonely even though everyone he truly valued—except for Shenzie—was
     just inside.
    Watchman, what of the night?
    He went back into the cabin, hungry for Marie. She held out fisted hands with chess pieces hidden in them.
    “Left,” said Eddie.
    She opened her hand. “You