'The Blade'

By Casey Flynn

Artie Morris stood over the barbecue pit on his back porch, overlooking the ninth hole of the country club that he and his wife belonged to. He flipped the steaks and adjusted the burner to a lower temperature.

'Okay, almost done, let me get you guys some more beers.' He pulled out labeled bottles of German beer for himself and his two friends, and the three twisted them open and began to drink.

'You know, I invited him,' Artie Morris said, and then waited for a reaction.

Brit Vale appeared taken aback, 'Here?'

'Uh-huh.'

'This afternoon?'

'Yeah.'

Brit looked over to Ed Crawford to gauge his reaction.

When Ed Crawford began medical school, he thought he had seen their old high school friend, Matthew Drew on the way to class one day, but he wasn't sure because his hair was long, stringy and wild, and most of his face was covered in an unkempt beard. He appeared to be living on the streets and had a sign where he offered to write people poetry in exchange for money or karma. He believed that Matthew appeared to be on the verge of recognizing him, but he had conveniently looked away and hurried to his next class. Whenever he remembered this incident, he felt definite pangs of guilt.

Nevertheless his feelings about their mutual friend were even more complicated than this lingering sense of guilt would indicate. They had been both regarded as the two best academic students in high school. Ed considered that there probably wasn't a rivalry, but Ed realized, no doubt because of his competitive nature, that he always wanted to beat Matthew and perhaps that he was more talented than Matthew.

While Matthew was accepted into Harvard and other prestigious schools, Ed was rejected from most of these same schools for reasons that were totally inexplicable to him. Most disappointing of all, Ed had to go to the in-state university because of financial considerations, stemming from his parent's divorce. This had always been a sore point, not just regarding Matthew, but generally speaking. No doubt because of these conflicting emotions, he merely responded, 'I mean, it could be awkward.'

'Awkward,' Brit exclaimed, 'I heard he dropped out of Harvard because of a serious drug problem. Who was it? Oh Anthony, at our last reunion said he dropped so much acid that he went out of his mind –'

'—I knew that he was into drugs, you know from high school,' Ed said, 'and I heard that in college, it had gotten pretty out of hand – '

'— You know what else I heard,' Brit continued, 'and at the time it sounded pretty crazy, and maybe I was a little drunk at the reunion when I heard it, but I heard

that he was having difficulty supporting his drug habit, because you know his parents didn't have any money, well so he went to Chicago, and worked, and again I know this will sound crazy, but swear to God I heard this as a guy who ran prostitutes through some Internet site, he was, you know, an actual pimp, and went by the name of, get this, 'The Blade'.

Ed expressed doubt at the veracity of the story by bursting out in laughter and then replying, 'That sounds totally made up, and besides Anthony doesn't get anything right.'

'I never said that I heard it from Anthony.'

Artie appeared simply confused.

'Matthew, a pimp? He's not even black.'

'Artie, all pimps aren't black,' Brit said, trying his hand at sensitivity training.

Artie replied humorously, 'I know, but it probably helps a little bit with the networking and moving up the ranks.'

'It sounds made up,' Ed replied.

'Well, I heard something different,' Artie said, 'I heard he dropped out of Harvard his junior year and went to the South Pacific, to get away from it and just practice meditation or something. I heard that from quite a few people at the reunion.'

Brit returned everyone to the subject at hand, 'But why did you invite him?'

'Well, Ed hardly ever comes back in town, and I was inviting you guys over, and out of the blue I got an e-mail from Matthew asking how I was doing. It turns out that he had moved back in town, and well I had already invited you guys over, and why not, I thought, it would be like the four of us back in high school again, and I dunno –'

'Listen Matthew was my friend,' Brit said with evident disgust, 'but the guy had everything going for him, the only one of us to get into Harvard - a scholarship paid for most of it, and to blow it all, for what?'

'No, it will be good,' Ed said, and then took a drink of his beer. 'I'm glad that you invited him.'

'Speaking of good,' Brit said, glad to change the subject, ' I saw your new Jaguar out there. Artie that is one fine vehicle.'

Ed's interest was piqued.

'Did you get the new XKR Coupe.'

'The one and only,' Artie said, knocking a leaf off his khaki pants. 'It has 390 horsepower with this amazing supercharged acceleration, and what a smooth ride.'

'I'd like to test ride it later.'

'Sure, Ed, what are you driving?'

'Ahhh, it's a BM&W, a newer model, and it's sufficient, but I am looking to buy a new car.

'What about you, Brit?'

'A Mercedes – it's the new –'

At that moment, Brit Vale's wife, Lucy, stood at the threshold of the porch and said, 'Is the food ready, or can we do the pictures now?'

The three men regarded the former Ford fashion model with her long legs and luscious lips with definite relish before Brit responded, 'I think the food is about done, let's do the pictures after we eat.'

Lucy looked at her husband with sudden affection and said with an appreciative smile, 'Okay, darling.' They had gotten into a bad fight on the way there, in part sparked by Lucy, in Brit's opinion, screwing up the directions to Artie's new house, and Brit had felt horrible about losing his temper. Taking the cue from her forgiving expression, he regarded her with equal warmth before she returned to the kitchen.

Brit recalled how hard he had courted Lucy and how out of reach she had seemed. He didn't even think that he had a chance until he had become the youngest Vice President in the history of the investment house, and even then it was a stretch, as he was seemingly competing with every other young bachelor for her hand. But he got her, yep he got her . . but the bile stirred in him and burned along his ulcer as he thought about the calamity at work, and the suspicion that he would be the fall guy. Everything he had, and chiefly his darling Lucy, the three kids, Brit junior, hung on what that G-11, Marshall suit-wearing, Ford focus-driving SEC investigator tool of the human determined; every late-night, every early morning, every fourth-and-long decision that righted their financial ship and brought he and his family greater financial wealth, all taken away, just for playing the game . . . and the sickening feeling churned in his stomach, corroding that much more of its protective lining . . .

Meredith, Artie's wife, called out, 'Honey, how much longer?'

Artie called into the kitchen, 'Honey, the steaks will be ready in about five minutes, I want to get them nice and tender.'

In the lull in the conversation, the three men found themselves watching their women busy about the table. Ed knew that technically Lucy was probably the most beautiful, but his Jane, his Jane Milford Crawford, Esq. was really the entire package, an accomplished lawyer, always so interesting and interested, by his own estimation, much more dynamic than he was. Meredith was, of course as he remembered from high school, this adorable fun-loving girl, the life of the party, no one thought Artie could pull it off, but the overweight offensive lineman did just that, and in the last year had opened his fourth hardware store. They were only in their mid-30s, but they had all done well, and so Ed was prompted to hold up his beer and say, 'Those are three beautiful women, we're lucky, we've done all right.'

The two nodded assent, and they all drank to that.

'And it's amazing they love us,' Artie said, moving the steaks and the pieces of chicken into the pan, 'when I opened up the latest hardware store, my hair started to come out, first in the shower then in clumps, but I've been on Rogaine for about six months, but it does nothing, I have an employment next week to get hair plugs. I know that I shouldn't be so freaked out, but it's killing me.' He gestured to the bald and cleanly shaven head of Ed and remarked, 'I know you lost your hair, but you have a nice looking skull like Michael Jordan, I've got weird crevices in my head, even Meredith was running her fingers through one of them and said, 'That's odd.''

'Listen Artie I was so freaked out when I lost my hair in medical school, but you get used to it. There's usually about a two-year bereavement period –'

'Listen to you guys, bereavement period,' Brit said, smiling and shaking his head.

'Brit, you've got a full set of hair and presumably not a misshapen skull. I might end up being a body double for the missing link . . .'

As Artie continued on, Brit smiled slightly, giving his best poker-faced. He began losing his hair in his late 20s, and like Artie, he tried all the tricks: Rogaine, hair plugs, Hair Club for Men . . . But then he heard about and went to a group called: 'The Foundation'. Someone had jokingly called it the secret society of hair clubs for men. It was exclusive, confidential, and since going, Brit had been sporting an All-American, naturally-occurring full set of hair, just like in high school.

The doorbell suddenly rang, and everyone startled. Meredith had hurried to the door and noticed a disheveled looking man, with wild, overgrown hair standing at their front window. Instead of opening the door, she darted out to the porch, appearing somewhat agitated.

'Artie, there's this man at the front door.'

'Honey, don't worry it's Matthew. I'll get it.'

The three men went to the door. Artie proceeded to open the door and all immediately upon seemed Matthew felt a sudden apprehension because of the change of his appearance since high school. And though he intended to warmly greet him, he was left speechless.

Matthew stepped into the foyer. He had long and bushy hair that, as if he had been shocked, flared out like the hair of a mad scientist; his beard was equally overgrown and unkempt. He wore a loose fitting, brown robe, which opened in front over a gray T-shirt, with canvass pants that seemingly had been splattered with paint, and sandals. He was definitely on the thin side, but in general appeared fit, tanned and healthy.

Artie finally forced out a: 'Matthew . . .uhm . . . welcome.'

He gently raised his hand as if to silence his flock and said, 'I don't go by that name anymore. The name is Silas.'

A perplexed silence pervaded the foyer. The more the three friends regarded Matthew, the familiar, and surprisingly unchanged facial appearance of Matthew that they all remembered from high school, began to show itself through the bushy hair, and this provided them with a measure of ease. Matthew furthered this sense of ease, when upon shaking each of their hands; he spoke in his familiar voice, which in contrast to his appearance and specifically the robe, was surprisingly normal.

Everyone took their seats at the table, and soon Artie and his wife had placed the steaks and the other hot food on everyone's plates.

'Artie, this is wonderful,' Lucy remarked, savoring the food, 'The steak is so tender.'

Brit seconded, 'Delicious.'

After sitting down, Meredith asked politely, 'Oh, I'm sorry, does anyone need anything else?'

'Could I get a sharper knife?' Silas said, matter-of-factly.

And Meredith went into the kitchen and momentarily returned with just that.

As everyone began eating their meals, it was apparent that the awkwardness had returned in full force evidenced by the lack of conversation safe for a few idle comments regarding the delicious taste of the meal.

'Uhm . . . Matthew,' Artie began –

'Silas –'

'Okay right there why the name change –'

'Mostly out of phonetic considerations.'

'But why Silas?'

'It just came to me.'

'H'm' . . . and another awkward silence followed when a cellular phone rang.

As if expecting the call, Matthew opened up his robe pulled a cellular phone and and spoke into it, 'Alyo, Nila . . . Paratak oing poi, renoi, takwakdoi . . . ' and spoke like that for some time. When the conversation ended, he hung up the phone.

'That's great news, that was my wife, the first copy of my book was just published –'

Everyone appeared suddenly relieved, and Meredith articulated this relief by stating, 'So you're married that's wonderful!'

'I hope you don't mind, she's coming here now.'

'Absolutely not,' Artie responded enthusiastically.

Jane said, 'And published, that's wonderful. What is the book about?'

'It's a survey book on the art or more precisely the craft of bamboo cage making in Micronesian culture, it actually represents the Japanese influence on the culture of those islands, and really what I did was try to look at this craft or these structures as an example of Bauhaus, you know, form follows function –'

A round of 'Uh-huhs' came out, like a feeble wave working its way around the stadium during a sporting event

'I'm curious that language you were speaking, what was that?' Ed asked.

'It's called – Pingelapese.'

'Did you learn that at Harvard,' he further inquired.

'No, I didn't learned it at Harvard, but the reason why I learned it sort of relates to events that occurred at Harvard, did you know about what happened to me at Harvard?'

They remain silent, but their faces appeared eager to hear what had occurred and to learn why he dropped out.

'No uhm ... hadn't really heard anything …' Artie stumbled out.

'Well it was my junior year and I was engaged the married to a young lady in my class, and her father had gotten me a job, essentially as a manager in training at this business, and I was working behind a desk, crunching numbers under the fluorescent light, and well they say, I snapped or panicked or was on drugs or I couldn't handle it, but I was excelling at the job and at Harvard–'

'-- so clearly you could not have been on drugs,' Artie helpfully volunteered.

'-- I mean I was on drugs, but again that wasn't a problem at all with the exception of that one time during a board meeting that a No. 2 pencil on the table turned into a serpent and tried to eat my hand, which more than likely did not happen, but again that is neither here nor there, the real point is, I looked about me and asked why? Did the universe and the human evolve over tens of billions of years, just so I could sit behind a desk crunching numbers under this white and purplish light, watching the clock for lunch, so I can go to Applebee's. I knew that I needed to go away and just reflect and meditate and sleep in late and just take on the larger issues of life. So without telling anyone, I got on a plane without any possessions, but my passport and a few thousand dollars in cash and a book bag and went to whatever random island I happened upon in the South Pacific. After some months of island hopping, my money had run out, so I eventually settled down on the island of Pingelap.

'The island was known for a form of Neo-zen meditation, and at Harvard I had very much gotten involved in Eastern mysticism, you know detachment and what not, and uhm I well meditated religiously everyday right when I woke up around noonish. I had befriended a group of devotees of Master Pampeau. He had penned a book on meditation called: 'Seven Stones of Silence to Nirvana', it was colorfully illustrated. One day, Master Pampeau's assistant called us over by saying, 'if you are interested in learning about meditation, Master Pampeau is ready to show you.' Well, I was young then, pretty brash and competitive, so I told him, 'if Master Pampeau wants to learn about meditation, you should tell him to come over here and watch me,'' – Matthew proceeded to take a few bites of his food before asking, 'Do you have any steak sauce?'

Without saying a word, Meredith hurriedly stood up and went to get some, while the others waited for some closure to the story.

Jane then prompted, 'Did he?'

'Apparently he was crippled, but in any case, I began to study with him, Master Pampeau, quite the chatty bastard, and …'

Meredith asked, 'But how did you eat, what was your source of money?'

'I got a job as a security guard at a banana plantation, those monkeys - sneaky thieving bastards . . .'

Without warning, Matthew's eyes trailed off in the distance, and he placed his finger on his neck as if taking his pulse. Suddenly he stood up, fell to the floor and proceeded to do push-ups, while clapping after the completion of each one. Everyone at the table shot inquiring glances at each other with expressions that had a mixture of both bewilderment and even fear. Then it as if nothing happened, he returned to his chair and continued on his point, 'Oh yes, the monkey, vile, vile creature, prone to monkey business ...'

As Matthew continued to detail his vagabond tale, Brit looked on with a growing sense of both disgust and disapproval

'I mean, Mat – uhm Silas, what about Harvard, about graduation, we would all have killed to go there, that scholarship, the opportunity, the greatest professors in the world, do you ever regret dropping out of Harvard?'

Matthew appeared eager to answer this question.

'Sure there were doubts, but I think the best decision I ever made was to drop out of Harvard and decide to learn the Pingelapese language, which is really the larger point of my story. I got a job at a school teaching English, but the agreement was that I also had to learn the Pingelapese language, mainly for the benefit of the students. And also, it would help me with my other tasks, they made be a physical education teacher –'

'Oh do they play baseball?' Artie asked.

'No they play a Pingelapese form of dodgeball, it's like our dodgeball, with the exception that the object of the game is not to hit the person,' Matthew explained, 'and so the games would go on forever, but began my larger point is that learning the Pingelapese language was such an amazing experience because it allowed me real insight into their culture, and what a culture it is. Do you know how in the Eskimo or Inuit language, they have 400 words for snow, in Viking they have 200 words for pillage, well in Pingelapese, they have over 150 words for 'afternoon nap', untaki, feryknat, levstabik, siesta, poi oi nok –'

As Matthew continued on about the eighteen tenses of some verb, the wives began to have their own discussion, focusing mainly on the wonderful dinner and beauty of their new home.

'. . . and Meredith this corn is wonderful,' Lucy said, and others chimed in agreement. 'Is this the fresh corn that you get from the farmer's market?'

Before she could answer, Matthew blurted out, 'Yeah, the corn is pretty good, uhm one of my roommates at Harvard from Iowa actually mapped the genome for corn. Do you know that corn and humans share over 90 percent of the same DNA?'

No one exactly knew how to respond to this as evidenced by a new round of 'uh-huhs' that worked its way around the table until Artie said, 'That's interesting Silas.'

'I'm sorry, Brit back to your question, do I ever regret dropping out of Harvard?'

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

'That must be her,' Matthew announced.

Artie asked, 'What's her name?'

'Nila.'

Artie rushed over to answer the door. As the door creaked open, everyone became silent as they were all suddenly seized with curiosity, wondering what in the world Matt – Silas's wife would look like, or more precisely, wondering who in their right mind would marry this man. After hearing Artie's voice greet her, everyone in their own polite and stealth way, adjusted their neck and body, as Silas's wife stepped through the foyer and suddenly appeared in full view.

The immediate impression was breathtaking. She was - in a word – stunning. She was taller than average, had flowing, shoulder-length black hair, flawless light brown skin; bright brown eyes set off by her high cheekbones and a gleaming smile; her thin body was wearing a simple white-and-blue floral print dress, which was cut in such a way as to reveal the pleasing form of her breasts and figure. As she walked to the chair that Artie had promptly pulled out for her, her beauty was so radiant and fresh that everything else in the room, by contrast, seemed suddenly, stale, dull, and old, and all the onlookers at the table could do was look on awestruck, though with experiencing immense pleasure from viewing her beauty. By the way she embraced Matthew after sitting down, it was apparent, though still inexplicable, that she regarded him with real affection. The women noticed one other fact, she was not wearing any shoes and in fact was barefoot.

Matthew continued, gesturing to Brit, 'Your question, again I regard my decision to drop out of Harvard, quit that desk job, head to the South Seas, and learn to speak the Pingelapese language as probably the best decision of my entire life because it enabled me to meet my lovely wife, Nila.'

'Nila, that's a very lovely name,' Meredith said, as she brought a plate of food for Nila. 'What would you like to drink?'

Matthew replied, 'She's fine, but I'll take another beer, but something more of a Pilsner this time.'

Meredith appeared suddenly confused.

Artie replied, 'I know just what you want,' and went to retrieve it

Jane asked, regarding Nila with a warm smile, 'Nila, how do you like America?'

'Oh, she doesn't speak English, but I will translate as I speak the Pingelapese language.' He turned to Nila and asked, 'nutik stileok don hoe oi noi poi . . .', and continued at some length, after which Nila replied with what appeared to be a fairly detailed answer.

Finally, Matthew translated, 'she says, 'America - very good'.'

'How did you guys meet?'

'I was teaching English at this school where her brother worked, and one Saturday he invited me out with his friends to go tree climbing for coconuts and then karaoke, and Nila happened to be there, I took one look at her and said, 'I hope she doesn't have a boyfriend or is wife No. 2 to some local chieftain, and it turns out she was single,'' and, gesturing to her, 'the rest, as they say, is history –'

At this moment, Nila interrupted and spoke a great length before Matthew finally interposed, 'Okay, okay, I'll tell them.'

'At about the time, we started dating, she was losing her job at a Japanese dot com computer company, and they were going to shut down the company, though this was still during the height of the tech boom. Nila had on her own developed various applications, new ways of compressing data files, as well as something to do with how applications use memory –'

Ed asked with sudden interest, 'Nila's a computer programmer?'

'Oh yeah, she knows all that stuff, java, C++, power point, and in fact she is one of the leading people in developing and working with the java code, well at the time, Microsoft wanted to buy these applications for a fairly substantial sum of money, and that's when I said, and he gestured to cue Nila, so they both said at the same time with big smiles, 'Nupa steillapau eppau louie louie noi poi poi . . .' Matthew then continued, 'which roughly translates to, 'I have an old Harvard roommate who is now an intellectual property lawyer with a firm in Boston, why don't we give him a call, and see what is the best way to sell or market these applications.'

'Well, within the year, the code of the applications were copyrighted, and soon after that, Nila entered into a joint venture with a computer company in Boston. In like no time, they were licensing these applications to all the major computer companies throughout the world.'

Artie said, 'Wow, that's amazing, so you made out well.'

Matthew offered a knowing smile and said, 'We did all right.'

Everyone resumed eating their food in an effort to take this fantastic story all in.

Ed paused in cutting his steak to ask, 'But why return to Missouri?'

'Well, the Cancer Institute at the University is one of the best in the world, and her father was fighting cancer, and so we brought him here for the various forms of treatment. We were planning to move on to Boston, but the tech company up in Boston bought her half of the joint venture really at the height of its value, and it turned out to be such a great thing for us because Nila's applications would in six months time become outdated. Of course, another thing, you know she sold a year before the bust that occurred in the spring of 2000.'

'Timing is everything,' Brit said with grudging respect.

'Timing is important, but as I learned, not everything, no that would be for me learning the Pingelapese language,' Matthew paused as Artie gave him the opened beer and took a big drink.

'Well that worked out wonderfully for you,' Lucy said.

Artie asked, 'What do you think of the beer?'

'It's a delight!' Matthew said approvingly. 'Of course, there was one other reason I returned to my hometown ' Matthew paused tantalizingly as he looked around the table. 'Are you familiar with the Owen's Place?'

Everyone knew the historic Owen's home as Jane's following statement revealed:

'Sure, the famous railroad tycoon's mansion from the turn-of-the-century over on Pershing?'

'Well, I've bought it,' Matthew said.

Nila appeared suddenly annoyed, and she turned to Matthew and spoke in a low, but stern tone, 'Hoi hoi Matthew, nu meoi rei …

Matthew fired back in an equally annoyed voice, 'Moi pis of, uma eu Silas, noi Matthew –'

'Ahhh shawd up,' Nila replied.

'I'm sorry, 'we' bought it, I misspoke.'

'The Owen's Place,' Meredith asked again with an astounded expression.

'Sure it's a fixer-upper, but at Harvard, I really took an interest in historic architecture.'

'They call that place the Midwest's Biltmore,' Ed informed.

'The Biltmore?' Artie asked, not catching the reference.

'The Biltmore – George Vanderbilt's house in Asheville, North Carolina, in the Blue Mountains, we visited their last summer, Jane, wasn't it amazing?'

Jane said at length, 'Breathtaking.'

Ed launched into a concise history of the Owen's Place before finally asking, 'How's the renovation going?'

'The renovation is a lot more difficult than I anticipated. When I was a kid, I always wanted an indoor pool with a slide, so in one of the rooms, what was formally known as 'The Tapestry Room', I'm putting in an indoor pool with a slide and a hot tub, and these historical types are all up in arms. What they forget is if I hadn't bought this mansion, it would have been sold to a developer for demolition, so they could put up a parking garage.' Matthew continued to discuss the various aspects of the renovation.

At some point, Jane interrupted and asked Matthew, politely enough, 'What do you do?'

'What do I do?' Matthew repeated this question at length as if he was just asked a metaphysical question like, 'Is there a soul?'

'Well I'd call myself sort of a freelance spirit, tackling the big questions, a temp on this earth, seeking, observing, I experiment a lot with diet and exercise regimes, as you saw earlier, I'm big into the push-ups –'

Meredith asked helpfully, 'Are you still writing books or are you . . . uhm . . . affiliated with the University?'

'In a manner, yes to both. I am affiliated with the University, they're allowing me to construct my own postgraduate program, right now I'm just taking a film class, which focuses on the films of John Hughes – '

Nila interrupted him and handed him his book.

'Speaking of my new books, here's the one that has been recently published.' He handed it to Brit, so he could see it.

Brit took the book and opened it with apparent interest as his wife Lucy looked on. Their interest soon turned to bewilderment.

'I'm sorry, what language is this in?'

'Polish. The best my agent could do was land a contract with a niche publisher in the Greater Warsaw area. You know Hemingway was actually published first in German. F.Y.I.'

Brit turned the pages so his wife and Meredith could see the photos. Meredith remarked, 'The bamboo cages look very lovely.'

'The Japanese have a long and time-tested history of developing this craft.'

Lucy noted with appreciation, 'Look at the carvings on the corner of this one cage, impressive.'

Ed walked over to the other side of the table and looked over Brit's shoulder. He remarked matter-of-factly, 'You really wrote a book on bamboo cages in Polish' and then returned to his chair.

As Brit returned the book, pictures fell out which were picked up by Lucy. When returning the pictures to Nila, she noticed what was on the pictures.

'Oh this is great,' Lucy said, holding up the pictures to show everyone.

Nila was carrying two buckets of water hanging from a pole which was balanced cross her neck while she walked away from a well. In one of the pictures, her face appeared tense with gritted teeth from the weight of the pole. Matthew was standing next to her, holding a bottle of mineral water, with a relaxed and carefree expression on his face.

'Wow, that's the real deal, were these pictures taken back where you've lived on the island of Pingelap?'

'Actually, these are from the backyard of our place - the Owen's mansion. The water was making her sick, so she and her extended relatives took some shovels and dug a well in the backyard to get to the natural springs. You know what they all say, you can take the girl out of Pingelap, but you can take the Pingelapese out of the girl –'

Appropriately, another awkward pause and the usual chorus of 'uh-huh's followed as everyone considered: . . 'you know what they all say …'

Jane then asked with just a hint of remonstrance, 'Why didn't you carry one of those buckets of water for your wife?'

'Well because it's bad for the back to just carry one bucket because the weight is on one side your body, putting uneven stress on the discs your spine. The persons much better off with an offsetting weight to carry both buckets –'

'—Well then, why didn't you carry both?'

Matthew's eyes suddenly closed, and then he put two fingers on his neck as before. He then fell to the floor and proceeded to clap out thirty push-ups.

By the time dessert was served, he had returned to his chair and proceeded to eat as if nothing awkward had transpired. He did remark, though, 'it's a very strict exercise regime.'

'I can see,' Brit said.

As Ed ate his chocolate cake and ice cream, he kept glancing over admiringly at Nila until he said, 'You know, I've always sort of wanted to go to the South Seas, are there places to stay in the island of Pingelap?'

'Not really, the Pingelapese people tend to be shy and standoffish, and they really won't interact with you unless you speak the language, again, I'm reminded every day the best decision I ever made was to drop out of Harvard and learn how to speak the Pingalese language because I don't think Nila, or for that matter her other six sisters,

would have talked to me during our coconut hunt if I didn't speak the language. He then turned to Nila and said, 'Rau lao nui . . . ' appearing to present this opinion on the importance of knowing the Pingalese language to Nila.

She nodded her head in full agreement.

Artie came to sudden attention, as he wiped the chocolate from the dessert from the side of his mouth.

'Six sisters?'

Meredith noted his awed expression with a role of her eyes.

'Artie, really—'

Brit quickly changed the subject and asked to satisfy his curiosity.

'I heard the damnedest thing about you at our high school reunion. Someone said, and I know that this sounds ridiculous but again it is what I heard, that you were up in Chicago about five years ago and you were working as some sort of a pimp running prostitutes, and you went by the name of 'The Blade', I know it sounds crazy but …'

Matthew's expression was fairly blank, as he listened to this story.

'They said, 'Matthew',' he said in a leading manner.

'Yeah,' Artie replied.

'They were talking about Matthew Santo, I think, remember his father and Uncle were connected to the mob up in Chicago, and I guess maybe they were involved in prostitution, do you guys remember that?'

'Oh that's right,' Artie responded, 'Matthew Santo yeah I remember him . . .'

At that point, Meredith offered everyone coffee and suggested that they have it around the living room where it would be more comfortable for everyone to sit. Everyone moved into the living room and sat on the various lounge chairs surrounding a large stone hearth. Coffee was served, and as everyone sipped their drinks, the discussion mainly focused on their high school days, and many anecdotes were exchanged. Artie even brought out their senior yearbook and showed everyone and in particular Nila, the 18-year-old picture of a youthful-looking Matthew with his coat-and-tie, neatly cropped hair, clean-shaven, with a bright, cheerful smile.

'Who would've ever thought that you looked like that?' Artie said. 'I was a model prisoner,' Silas said.

And slowly, but surely the discussion turned to Nila, who – as it happened - was sitting in an easy chair that was at the center of everyone's attention. Matthew translated, and Nila's pretty features animated, as she responded to their various questions about her transition to America and her life growing up in Pingelap.

Throughout the entire evening, it had been frustrating for the three men to try to listen and maintain eye contact with whomever was speaking about whatever the subject happened to be at that moment, and not give into the gravitational pull and gaze over at Nila's intoxicating beauty. Indeed, when anyone of the three men dared to steal a glance at Nila, they were conscious of their respective wife's watchful eyes. So when the focus turned finally and completely on Nila on display on that easy chair, the three men experienced an unspoken, collective sigh and avidly locked in their gaze on her bright, fresh smile, mesmerizing blue eyes, the light brown complexion, and beautiful body that was that perfect mixture of tone and shapeliness. But alas, as much pleasure as they took in regarding this visual delight, this rare beauty, it was greatly tempered with this disconcerting image and the accompanying cognitive dissonance, that is, the image of a grown man in a dingy bathrobe with a mop of wildly overgrown hair, who presently had stopped translating for Nila mid-sentence, to flop on the floor and do push-ups, which were punctuated by the most obnoxiously loud claps.

Later, the evening had come to an end. Matthew and Nila thanked everyone and said goodbye. As the evidently happy couples left the house, they walked over to a four-door sedan. Matthew had something in his hand, which he must have picked up on the front porch because he walked out of the house with only Nila on his arm. In addition to the identity of the unknown object, Ed was as well surprised that they both appeared to be getting into the same car

'Didn't they arrive separately?' Ed asked, articulating this thought.

Ed's question was answered when they noticed Matthew throw the object, which now away from his body, was very clearly a skateboard into the back trunk. Matthew hopped in the front seat.

The remaining three couples returned to their seats in the living room. Everyone expected someone to blurt out, 'What the hell was that?', but a reflective silence pervaded the room. As the sound of the car motoring away dwindled, the three men fell back more deeply into their respective chairs and just took it all in. Each in their own way reflected that their entire lives had been a calculated exertion to attempt to obtain or actually get 'the best of everything'. It was an exertion that had taken its toll, most notably in the loss of their hair. And then Enter Matthew, and the three considered, Matthew . . . the Owen's mansion . . . and Nila . . . the South Seas . . . Their postures grew rigid, as they stared off in the distance, as they each in their own way compared their situations to his, and a momentary depression set in.

And right before Ed was about to break the silence, a cellular phone rang. It was on the armrest of where Matthew had been sitting.

'I think that's Matthew's cellular phone,' Meredith remarked, walking over to it.

But she didn't answer it, and the phone kept ringing.

'Should I answer it?' Meredith asked.

Jane said, 'Nila might have realized that he left his phone, and she might be calling it.'

With this prompting, she answered the phone.

'Hello?'

Meredith appeared confused by what was said on the other line.

'Who is it?' Artie asked.

Meredith replied, 'Someone who's asking for . . .the Blade?'

July 5, 2003