base of a magnolia tree, he found a small reservoir of water. Cradled between the tree roots, it reflected the blue of the sky; Adam leaned his face over the still water.
There he was: a single, scythelike curl on his forehead, and he remembered when he was six years old and his mother had made him a Superman outfit to wear to a Halloween party at the church in town. Really his costume was a too-tight pair of blue knit pajamas, but she had sewn a large red
S
on his chest, and tied a piece of red sheet over his shoulders for a cape.
At the party, he had leaped over chairs and shouted, “Faster than a speeding bullet.” Later he had asked Evelyn, his mother, “What
is
a tall building?
How
tall are they?” She told him skyscrapers were like a church steeple or a grain silo, or taller—better. She had added, “Perhaps someday you will build tall buildings, or have an office in one or live in New York City.” But that was not what he wanted.
Skyscraper
—how he loved the word. He wanted to
be
one. Perfect and powerful. He wanted to be the whole structure.
As he regarded his reflection in the small pool trapped between the roots of the magnolia, he saw that he still resembled Superman, only now his bare shoulders were heavily muscled, his jaw was more square. In the water mirror, he saw his hair was metallic blue-black—but there beside him—another face! It was the large monkey that had found him dumped out of the truck in the desert. Like the good Samaritan, the monkey had fed him: first fruit and thenbloody, uncooked meat. Though Adam stood up and looked around for his friend, he saw no one. Had a friend followed him into Eden?
Again, he knelt down on all fours and looked at his reflection. Now only a spray of stiff magnolia leaves appeared beside his own cheek, and he wondered if the monkey might have been in the tree. He turned his head to look up, but he saw only the branches and the flickering of leaves, slick green on one side and soft buff on the other. Beyond that, the pale vacancy of the sky.
God had whispered on the breeze,
I have set you down in a Garden.
Even an animal would ease the isolation—an ape, a fox.
Fox!
He howled and beat the animal in his chest with his fist.
FOR THE BEAUTY OF THE EARTH
W HEN I STRUGGLED from the burning Piper Cub, I was on fire.
With more determination than I had ever felt before, I stumbled toward the water till my knees buckled. I folded at the waist, and my face bowed into the sand. I heard the snapping of the flames on my back. The fur collar around the back of the leather jacket was burning, and I willed myself to rise, to stumble forward again toward the waves. I would fall into the water, then I would roll. The water would save me. Staggering toward the sea, I yanked off the jacket, but my unsteady legs gave way again.
Twisting myself, I rolled over the sand toward the surf. Though I thought to extinguish the flames by crushing them with my body, the rolling wrapped me in so much pain that I knew I would lose consciousness to escape it. My long skirt came untied and fell away. My blouse and my back were burning. I rose onto all fours and determined to crawl, but I stopped to rip away my blouse. My alertness was waxing and waning.
When I smelled my hair burning, I tried to yank it out. The seared skin of my naked back screamed. Though I collapsed forward, I drove my fingers down into the wet sand and pulled my body toward the water. Once more. Again I pulled and lunged forward. A wave broke over my outstretched handsand my forearms, over my forehead and face, finally—yes—dousing my back.
When the water receded, I gasped for breath and made myself roll sideways despite the pain. Sharp sand embedded itself into my burned back. Completely nude, I rolled into the water, turned faceup, and knew that I had killed the fire in my hair. The water was shallow, stunningly cold, divinely welcome to the burn on my back. For the briefest of respites, I floated on my
There he was: a single, scythelike curl on his forehead, and he remembered when he was six years old and his mother had made him a Superman outfit to wear to a Halloween party at the church in town. Really his costume was a too-tight pair of blue knit pajamas, but she had sewn a large red
S
on his chest, and tied a piece of red sheet over his shoulders for a cape.
At the party, he had leaped over chairs and shouted, “Faster than a speeding bullet.” Later he had asked Evelyn, his mother, “What
is
a tall building?
How
tall are they?” She told him skyscrapers were like a church steeple or a grain silo, or taller—better. She had added, “Perhaps someday you will build tall buildings, or have an office in one or live in New York City.” But that was not what he wanted.
Skyscraper
—how he loved the word. He wanted to
be
one. Perfect and powerful. He wanted to be the whole structure.
As he regarded his reflection in the small pool trapped between the roots of the magnolia, he saw that he still resembled Superman, only now his bare shoulders were heavily muscled, his jaw was more square. In the water mirror, he saw his hair was metallic blue-black—but there beside him—another face! It was the large monkey that had found him dumped out of the truck in the desert. Like the good Samaritan, the monkey had fed him: first fruit and thenbloody, uncooked meat. Though Adam stood up and looked around for his friend, he saw no one. Had a friend followed him into Eden?
Again, he knelt down on all fours and looked at his reflection. Now only a spray of stiff magnolia leaves appeared beside his own cheek, and he wondered if the monkey might have been in the tree. He turned his head to look up, but he saw only the branches and the flickering of leaves, slick green on one side and soft buff on the other. Beyond that, the pale vacancy of the sky.
God had whispered on the breeze,
I have set you down in a Garden.
Even an animal would ease the isolation—an ape, a fox.
Fox!
He howled and beat the animal in his chest with his fist.
FOR THE BEAUTY OF THE EARTH
W HEN I STRUGGLED from the burning Piper Cub, I was on fire.
With more determination than I had ever felt before, I stumbled toward the water till my knees buckled. I folded at the waist, and my face bowed into the sand. I heard the snapping of the flames on my back. The fur collar around the back of the leather jacket was burning, and I willed myself to rise, to stumble forward again toward the waves. I would fall into the water, then I would roll. The water would save me. Staggering toward the sea, I yanked off the jacket, but my unsteady legs gave way again.
Twisting myself, I rolled over the sand toward the surf. Though I thought to extinguish the flames by crushing them with my body, the rolling wrapped me in so much pain that I knew I would lose consciousness to escape it. My long skirt came untied and fell away. My blouse and my back were burning. I rose onto all fours and determined to crawl, but I stopped to rip away my blouse. My alertness was waxing and waning.
When I smelled my hair burning, I tried to yank it out. The seared skin of my naked back screamed. Though I collapsed forward, I drove my fingers down into the wet sand and pulled my body toward the water. Once more. Again I pulled and lunged forward. A wave broke over my outstretched handsand my forearms, over my forehead and face, finally—yes—dousing my back.
When the water receded, I gasped for breath and made myself roll sideways despite the pain. Sharp sand embedded itself into my burned back. Completely nude, I rolled into the water, turned faceup, and knew that I had killed the fire in my hair. The water was shallow, stunningly cold, divinely welcome to the burn on my back. For the briefest of respites, I floated on my
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