THE MAN HAS traveled to the coast to inspect some property he is thinking of buying with the money he has now that he is Gregor. It’s the second night of the trip. After he’s gone to bed, he hears drumming coming from the beach, and is curious enough to get dressed and head out there. Might be a party, someone to play with. It’s been so long since he’s had the urge for a girl. He grabs a bottle of wine and leaves the rented cottage, barefoot.

The half-moon swims and flickers on the waves in multiple versions of itself. There is a soft lapping at the shore, but otherwise the sea moves silently, gleaming and swelling under a matte sky pierced with stars. It’s too dark to see properly, but he feels his feet sinking into the wet beach as he walks, the water occasionally sucking at the sand beneath his soles. He likes the idea that as he makes his way toward the gathering of people at the bonfire, whatever impressions his bare feet leave behind will be erased by the sea as quickly as they are made.

From far out in the darkness, a scream. He stops and listens, straining his eyes in the direction of the horizon for the source of it. He glances farther up the beach at the dancers around the fire, but the drumming doesn’t falter, and the silhouettes of the moving bodies keep the steady rhythm; they haven’t heard it. Their laughter drifts toward him on a soft breeze. Gregor knows that he ought to run, to call out for their help with whoever is screaming. He wouldn’t go into the water himself; he isn’t a particularly strong swimmer. But maybe someone at the party has lifeguard training or knows of someone who does. He’s not at all concerned for the person who may be in trouble in the water. His worry is that people will expect him to do something about it and that he will be obliged to make the effort to appear as if he is concerned. He stands on tiptoe, listening, watching the dancers.

The scream, when it comes again, pushes him down onto his heels. The breath he is holding comes out in a sigh. Not a human cry; it’s a seal. Moonlight falls on the animal’s pointed face as it nods in the inky darkness, whiskers dripping with saltwater, before disappearing under the surface.

Of course it was a seal—how ridiculous. He wishes he has someone to laugh at him then, that he’d brought a friend along after all. But then, he doesn’t have any friends, not really. He hardly ever thinks of this, and even now, as he examines the fact, he doesn’t feel anything about it. Not even a numbness, merely an absence.