I shuddered—and berated myself. I didn’t believe in out-of-body experiences. I mean, I think something weird happened to me in the ER. I had a top-down view of my body while on the operating table after all. But I didn’t think this was my spirit stepping outside my body, preparing to travel to the other side. It was more along the lines of neurons in my brain dying, doing whatever weird shit they do when they die. Maybe even some sort of astral projection.

The day, I noticed, had become overcast, tinged with the scent of ozone. The clouds were unusually low and dark. I picked up the beer bottle before me but found it empty.

“Welcome back,” Elizaveta said to me, cocking her head waggishly. Velcome beck. She still sat next to me, though everyone else had moved to the gondola’s stern, where it appeared Jesus and Pepper were discussing something of importance with the boatman.

“Why’d we stop?” I asked, looking down the table for an unopened beer.

“The boatman thinks there will be tropical storm,” she said. “He doesn’t want to leave us on island, because maybe he cannot come back, get us.”

It was Mexico’s rainy season, which meant almost daily afternoon showers. They were brief but intense, capable of filling streets with rainwater in a matter of seconds. Tropical storms were a different matter altogether, reaping destruction and often lasting days.

“Didn’t anyone check the forecast before we came?” I reached for the metal bucket and tilted it to see inside. Two sodas and one orange juice floated in water that had once been ice.

“Did you, Jack? But do not worry. Probably he only wants more money. Jesus will fix everything.”

“Perform one of his miracles?”

“You know, Jack, he hates—he hates—when you compare him to that Jesus.”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “There should only be that Jesus. Nobody calls themselves Buddha.”

“He didn’t choose this name. So you should stop making jokes. Besides, Jack,” she added, “you should know what it’s like having unfortunate name.”

Giving up on finding a beer, I pushed the bill of my cap a little higher and prodded the bandage on my forehead with my fingers. The headache had receded, but it was still there, hiding, ready to pounce if I moved too quickly. “How long was I out for?” I asked.

“A long time,” she said. “And you snore.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I heard you.” She made exaggerated snoring noises.

“I don’t snore,” I insisted.

“How would you know if you were sleeping?”

“I just know.”

“Don’t be ashamed. Everybody snores.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

Just then Jesus dug his wallet out of his pocket and withdrew several bills from the sleeve. He handed these to the boatman, who took them with reluctance.

“See,” Elizaveta said happily. “I told you Jesus would fix it.”

“Hallelujah.”