hear it for Bonnie and . . . Peb-bles.”
Applause, as Maguire stepped down off the pole to the platform. He got three hunks of cod from his fishbucket, quickly threw two of them out to Bonnie and Pebbles, and waited for Mopey Dick.
Come on—
Mopey’s head rose from the water, below the platform. A wet raspberries sound came from Mopey’s blowhole.
“What? You didn’t like the double jump, Mopey?”
Rattles and clicks and whines from the blowhole. The kids watching, looking over the rail, loved it.
“You say you can jump higher?”
More rattles and clicks.
“Well, let’s just see about that.” Maguire sidearmed Mopey the piece of fish he was holding, stooped to the bucket and selected a long tailpiece. “You think you’re so good, let’s see you come up six teen feet and take the fish out of my mouth. Okay, Mopey? Everybody want to see him try it?”
Of course. The kids yelling, “Yeaaaaaaa—” as Maguire, with a piece of dead fish hanging from his mouth, adjusted the pole, raising it a foot, thinking, Jesus Christ—
Karen came out of the round white building, Neptune’s Realm, down from the Flying Dolphin Show. She waited on the walk, looking around, as the moms and dads with their cameras and kids moved on to the Shark Lagoon.
There he was. Across the lawn, walking with a girl brushing her hair. Both wearing the white shorts and red T-shirts. He must have come out another exit. Karen watched them go through the fence enclosing the shark pool. Maguire mounted the structure that was like a diving platform, playing out a mike cord behind him. The girl remained below: cute little thing with a lot of Farrah Fawcett hair. Karen wondered how old the girl was. Not much more than twenty. She noticed Maguire was quite tan, healthy looking; different than the man she remembered sitting in the dark. She approached the crowd that rimmed part of the cementlagoon. There was an island in the middle, a palm tree and several sleepy pelicans. Sharks moved through the murky water like brown shadows.
He looked younger in his white shorts. Good legs. His voice was different, coming out of the P.A. system. It sounded like a recording.
“Nurse sharks do not have a reputation as maneaters, but like all sharks they’re very unpredictable. They might not eat for three months, then go into a feeding frenzy at any time. What Lesley is doing is jiggling that ladyfish on the end of the line to simulate a dying fish, which gives out low-frequency sound waves that can be detected by a shark as far as . . . nine . . . hundred . . . yards away. There’s a shark coming in from the left . . . Look at that.”
Karen watched Maguire, then let her gaze move over the crowd, pausing on some of the men. Which one would you pick as an armed robber? Maguire would be about the last one.
“Well, this time for bait we’re going to use . . . Lesley. Yes, Lesley is going down in to the lagoon in an attempt to hand-feed a shark with her bare hand . . . using no glove or shark repellant of any kind or . . . feed a barehand to a shark if she isn’t careful.”
The girl’s face raised, giving Maguire a deadpan look. Karen saw it. For some reason she thought ofEd Grossi, Ed eating his cottage cheese with a spoon—an hour ago at Palm Bay.
Then coming over the S.E. 17th Street Causeway and seeing the sign, seascape. Why not? She felt like doing something. She felt thoroughly herself, almost relaxed, for the first time in a week. And probably the only woman here in a dress. Beige linen, gold chain and bracelet. She should have gone home first and changed—remembering him saying, “Practically around the corner,” and telling him she had never been here.
He was saying to his audience, “We’re not having a whole lot of luck getting the sharks into the feeding area. As I mentioned they can go as long as three months without feeding. There’s one . . . no, changed his mind. Well . . . let’s give Lesley a big hand
Applause, as Maguire stepped down off the pole to the platform. He got three hunks of cod from his fishbucket, quickly threw two of them out to Bonnie and Pebbles, and waited for Mopey Dick.
Come on—
Mopey’s head rose from the water, below the platform. A wet raspberries sound came from Mopey’s blowhole.
“What? You didn’t like the double jump, Mopey?”
Rattles and clicks and whines from the blowhole. The kids watching, looking over the rail, loved it.
“You say you can jump higher?”
More rattles and clicks.
“Well, let’s just see about that.” Maguire sidearmed Mopey the piece of fish he was holding, stooped to the bucket and selected a long tailpiece. “You think you’re so good, let’s see you come up six teen feet and take the fish out of my mouth. Okay, Mopey? Everybody want to see him try it?”
Of course. The kids yelling, “Yeaaaaaaa—” as Maguire, with a piece of dead fish hanging from his mouth, adjusted the pole, raising it a foot, thinking, Jesus Christ—
Karen came out of the round white building, Neptune’s Realm, down from the Flying Dolphin Show. She waited on the walk, looking around, as the moms and dads with their cameras and kids moved on to the Shark Lagoon.
There he was. Across the lawn, walking with a girl brushing her hair. Both wearing the white shorts and red T-shirts. He must have come out another exit. Karen watched them go through the fence enclosing the shark pool. Maguire mounted the structure that was like a diving platform, playing out a mike cord behind him. The girl remained below: cute little thing with a lot of Farrah Fawcett hair. Karen wondered how old the girl was. Not much more than twenty. She noticed Maguire was quite tan, healthy looking; different than the man she remembered sitting in the dark. She approached the crowd that rimmed part of the cementlagoon. There was an island in the middle, a palm tree and several sleepy pelicans. Sharks moved through the murky water like brown shadows.
He looked younger in his white shorts. Good legs. His voice was different, coming out of the P.A. system. It sounded like a recording.
“Nurse sharks do not have a reputation as maneaters, but like all sharks they’re very unpredictable. They might not eat for three months, then go into a feeding frenzy at any time. What Lesley is doing is jiggling that ladyfish on the end of the line to simulate a dying fish, which gives out low-frequency sound waves that can be detected by a shark as far as . . . nine . . . hundred . . . yards away. There’s a shark coming in from the left . . . Look at that.”
Karen watched Maguire, then let her gaze move over the crowd, pausing on some of the men. Which one would you pick as an armed robber? Maguire would be about the last one.
“Well, this time for bait we’re going to use . . . Lesley. Yes, Lesley is going down in to the lagoon in an attempt to hand-feed a shark with her bare hand . . . using no glove or shark repellant of any kind or . . . feed a barehand to a shark if she isn’t careful.”
The girl’s face raised, giving Maguire a deadpan look. Karen saw it. For some reason she thought ofEd Grossi, Ed eating his cottage cheese with a spoon—an hour ago at Palm Bay.
Then coming over the S.E. 17th Street Causeway and seeing the sign, seascape. Why not? She felt like doing something. She felt thoroughly herself, almost relaxed, for the first time in a week. And probably the only woman here in a dress. Beige linen, gold chain and bracelet. She should have gone home first and changed—remembering him saying, “Practically around the corner,” and telling him she had never been here.
He was saying to his audience, “We’re not having a whole lot of luck getting the sharks into the feeding area. As I mentioned they can go as long as three months without feeding. There’s one . . . no, changed his mind. Well . . . let’s give Lesley a big hand
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