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He
wasn't doing it to show anybody anything. He wasn't doing it to hurt
anyone. He was just going to do it.
Earlier the sky had been overcast with turbulent
clouds. Now, in the night, everything seemed either dark gray or black.
Eventually the clouds cleared without raining.
The air became cool.
The moon was not far above the horizon. He
thought of it as an old friend. It was perfectly round, like a brilliant
coin in front of black velvet and surrounded by tiny diamonds.
The earth was round too, it occurred to him. The
sea looked flat, but it curved around the earth and was also round, he
realized.
The car that he was sitting on had parts that
were rounded. The corners of the visor inside the car were rounded. The
corners of the windshield were rounded. The seats had rounded backs, and
rounded headrests. The knobs. The pedals. The wheels. His shoes. The
buttons of his shirt.
He undid a couple of them.
Even he was rounded.
The corners of the paper of his note were square.
There was no ignoring that. The corners of his note were not rounded.
Over time and as though sinking into the sea, the
moon slowly moved below the horizon. The stars became clearer. They seemed
closer. If he could live among the stars, he thought, that would be all
right.
He unbuttoned the other buttons of his shirt. It
rested on his shoulders softly.
He felt a slight regret, but it passed.
He stood, leaning against the car for a long
time. Then he got into it.
He hung his watch on the steering wheel.
He put his note in front of the speedometer,
placing it carefully.
With a curiosity as lucid as that of a young
child, when he removed his left shoe he briefly explored its round shapes.
Then he reached over and rolled up the window on
the passenger side and made sure the door was firmly closed and locked. He
removed his other shoe, and then his socks.
He opened the door on the driver's side and put
his feet onto the sand.
He rolled the window closed.
He laid the key on the passenger seat, got out
and closed the door, making sure that it locked.
For a small moment he stood silently and looked
at the sea.
He slipped his shirt off and let it fall. When it
hit the sand it made no sound.
He unzipped his fly and let his pants fall also.
Then his boxer shorts.
He left his feet in them for a while.
He remembered the face of a woman and how it felt
when she had moved her hand across his chest. He remembered how another
had put her arms around his neck while he was kissing her.
Without looking down, he stepped out of his pants
and shorts, leaving them as they had fallen.
He swallowed, not because he was afraid, but
merely to clear his mouth of saliva. With the tips of two of the fingers
on his left hand, while staring straight ahead, he very lightly touched
the right side of his torso, with the same intention as when he had
curiously felt the rounded leather of his shoe.
He relaxed his arms by his side.
He took a step forward.
Then a second step.
Then a long series of steps leading to the water.
Before he hit the wet sand, he was running.
Soon he was swimming, very determined, into the
sea.
A timeless period came, in which he thought of
nothing but of how long it was taking to swim the distance.
And where was
the ocean's coldness?
Soon his only thought was to swim to where the
moon had set.
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