Once, Two Islands. Dawn Garisch

he pushed his father? He gasped at this notion, this mad idea sprung from the dark, ambushing his brain. Had he been a good enough son? His father leaving, always leaving, since he could remember. He had not managed to make him stay, even for his mother’s sake; he could not bring her relief by staying with her himself, then or now. He had to make it up to her somehow.

      The trapped fish of his thoughts revolved without respite in the dark bowl of his skull.

      For Dorado, too, there was no chance of rest. The walls of the cottage were false shelter; she needed to feel the rip of the wind on her taut skin, she needed the tumult of weather to wrench the horror and grief from her mouth. Most of the night she was out on the cliff, her body wired and waiting, trying to pick up any trace of hope in the salt air; then plunging into despair like drowning, wanting to throw herself off the earth and down to Neptune’s feet, joining her Clarence in one last act of immersion. But perhaps, perhaps he wasn’t drowned. After all, he’d recently come to an agreement with Minister Kohler about the last gravesite at the church, claiming it for himself so as not to lie one day in the stony, cold cemetery near the sheep pastures. Clarence would’ve hated the thought of his flesh soaking off his bones in the freezing deep, his remains dancing to the tug of shark bites with the cold eyes of fish watching. It just wasn’t possible. She had to know the truth, she had to stay alive until she’d found out what had happened.

      Those moments when the wind tore the mist to woolly shreds, allowing glimpses of Ergo, she could see the lights of the village, where the Ball was in full swing. Or was it? She had radioed back to Mannie, who was doing duty at the station in her absence, reporting that they were safe but marooned by weather. The villagers would all know by now about the disappearance of their mayor. How could he do this, on the day of their celebration of life?

      The following day, the weather had abated sufficiently for the three to continue their search. They found nothing: no boat, no body, nothing. When they arrived back on Ergo with the news, there were those who were dazed; there were those who made the sign to ward off evil, silently vowing not to voyage near Impossible again. Minister Kohler was tempted to say something about God’s timing at the memorial service held four days later around the absent mayor’s gravesite, but found that God had stopped his tongue; instead, to his surprise and embarrassment, he wept.