Introduced to Cora, he took her hand. He did not look at her while he did so. It was possible he forgot he was holding her hand for he did not let go of it the whole time he spoke with her.

He said—You’re young.

He spoke with his eyes still and averted. He acted like he wasn’t standing next to her, but instead was talking on the phone. Perhaps the call was long distance, since there were long pauses between his words.

He added—Smart.

She didn’t know if he was saying that she was smart or that it was smart to be young.

He said—Once you get over forty, you change . . . Less interested in questions . . . or your body, or joy.

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to this, or even if she should. He didn’t seem bothered by her silence.

He said—Over forty, you start instead to desire power . . . and metal things. Guns, handcuffs, prisons . . . You don’t want to explore anymore . . . You want control.

He let go of her hand, looking straight at her. That word control hanging in the air.

In the bright sun like this, she could see a slight tracing of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. She had no idea how old he was.

She stepped back.

The men went inside. At times she heard the bark of laughter or the clatter of glasses. She could smell cigarettes.

* * *

After dinner, Blum and Leary walked down to the lagoon. They were laughing and laughing; she wasn’t sure at what. Once they got close, she saw their eyes looked different, the pupils big, a bottomless black. Cora watched them, worried.

Leary began to wade into the lagoon, holding out his hands and talking to the dolphins. He called them his spirit guides.

Blum stopped laughing and said—Hey man, I don’t know that you should . . .

Blum’s vocabulary around Leary had begun to change. She had heard him try out the words groovy and blast.

Bernie stuck his head out of the water and clapped his jaw loudly, showing his teeth. She was surprised from this angle how skinny his face looked. The outline of his skull was more visible, somewhat peanut-shaped.

Leary waded forward through the water, closer, talking to Bernie, holding his hands out, saying—Spirit guide, I’m listening.

Bernie with his clapping jaw was communicating with him, but Leary did not understand the message.

Bernie sank just under the surface and shot forward, moving so quickly a wave of water rolled in front of him, his fin cutting through the lagoon. He aimed straight at Leary. At the last second he turned, slapping his tail down on the surface with all his weight, 3 feet from Leary. The clap as loud as a gunshot.

This communication got through.

Leary lunged toward the beach, splashing, high-kneed and panicked. Once he reached the beach he continued to flee, up onto the balcony. Standing there wet and shivering with fear.