long ago in the Afar country, when it was still a giant lake, not a
desert. It may be that shorelines were landscapes bred deep in the
bone.
Roy adapted easily to the primitive paradise, sluffing off the
superfluous. Beautiful Trinidadian women walked past on the beach
and smiled openly at him. Or were they snickering? Calypso music
warbled out of nearby houses and reflected off the flat waters of the
bay. He danced often and alone. His matted hair slowly tangled into
incipient dreads. A group of schoolchildren walked by him one day
and exclaimed “Hey, it’s Loconuts!Look out for Loconuts!” They
giggled and skipped away.
Loconuts? Had he been there long enough to precipitate a
mythology? The crazy coconut man. Roy resolved to make a trip to
the city. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he could blend in
perfectly, shoeless or no.
Only, he never made it there. Rounding the peninsula after a full
day’s walk, he passed by Dragon’s Mouth Bait & Tackle Shop, and
Roy saw something in the window which brought tears to his eyes.
Walking inside he drew dazedly towards her. He reached out and
touched the misshapen jaw. He held her cracked fingers. He tapped
at her rock-hard pelvis. That sure was one petrified pelvis.
“Hey! Get away from there!” A giant black woman swung a
duster near his head. Whoosh! Roy ducked and trying to get away,
tripped over a box of artifacts. “Oooh, now you’re gonna get it.” She
chased him around the room as he scampered on all fours trying to
avoid the savage sweep of her domestic tool.
“What in blue blazes is going on down there!” came a voice from
upstairs. The thudding boom of fat feet falling on wooden steps
punctuated the fauxpas de deux. “Betty, what are you doing with
that poor vagrant?”
“He was tryin’ to steal Miz Lucy!” she screamed, connecting with
Roy’s head and sending a revolting crack reverberating throughout
the store. Roy raised his hands to his skull as the man ran to stand
between them. She puffed heavily and brandished the wood at them.
“Stand aside now, Mr. Winfield. I got a beatin’ in need of
dispensation.”
“Crash?…” Roy groaned weakly. Blood trickled into his eyes.
Crash’s eyes also filled. “My God. I don’t believe it. Roy! You
finally made it. You made it!” They hugged. “Let me take a gander at
you! Ah, you look like Samson in Gaza, strong again, though a bit
ABYSSINIA
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