Dwight sees Thomas looking at him. Nervous, he gets up and he takes off his ring and places it by the TV. “Come on. Let’s go swimming.”

But Thomas doesn’t hear this. He looks at the ring. He remembers Dwight always wore it for special events. He hasn’t worn it until now, this journey. Thomas looks at it carefully. Suddenly he knows. Milton saw it, saw the hand with this ring hit Marco on the head, hold him in water, underwater. Suddenly Thomas knows what happened to his son that day of the hunt. Milton never lies.

Marco is like Thomas. He was the one who said what was wrong. He knew it was not a whale to kill, that the time was not right.

Thomas picks up the ring and puts it in his pocket. He feels love for his son, and quiet grief.

From his room, he hears the others down at the pool.

Vietnam. It was so green there, another world, as if he dreamed it. The humidity and the many shades of green and the rich dank smell of mildew. He opens the box and looks at his medals. Like Dwight’s ring. So proud a medal, a decoration, an identity of some kind. Thomas has a Silver Star for jumping in a bunker to save a wounded man.

Dimitri knocks on his door and Thomas pockets Dwight’s ring as if he is the guilty person. He puts the medals inside the box. Thomas still remembers their grandfathers. Dimitri’s grandfather was a whaler with Witka. Thomas still can see them walking together.

Dimitri comes in and sits in the worn motel chair. “You’re lucky you survived.”

“Yeah, lucky.”

“What did you do over there all that time?”

“Take care of the dead, cover their faces, smell them.”

“What everyone did, huh? But I mean what happened to you all those years they thought you were dead?”

“I don’t know. I grew rice. I fished.”

“You what?”

“Yeah, I worked.”

“Were you like a prisoner or something?”

“I tried not to be a prisoner. I just pretended to be someone else.”

“You must have been good at it.”

“I guess I was. I still am.”

“At least you survived it.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. My name is up there. Among the dead and the missing.”

“Jesus. You’re right.”

It’s late at night. They’ve had too much to drink. Thomas wants silence. He can hear them down there at the pool until management or someone silences them. They argue a moment and then he hears them come to the door and enter their rooms.

“Hey.” Dwight opens Thomas’s door without knocking and drips pool water on the dirty carpet. Dimitri is already there. “What’s everyone in here so solemn about?”

And Thomas says, “I’m a killer.” He says, “Hit me.” He stands up from the bed.

“Naw. I’m not going to hit you.”

“Hit me.”

Dimitri and Dwight look at each other. “What brought all this on?” asks Dwight, pushing his wet hair back.