sideways at Gerry. Previously, he had seemed a normal specimen of Homo sapiens. Now his athletic handsomeness suggested atavism. Was there not a tinge of the anthropoid ape in Gerry’s sloping shoulders, slightly prognathous jaw, and the dusting of gray-peppered curly hair on the rims of his ears?
“Hey, that’s an unusual tree—it has two different kinds of flowers,” Gerry remarked, stopping to drag down a branch. “What’s its name?”
“Hibiscus tiliaceus. Mahoe, they call it here,” Wilkie replied automatically, noting the low, apelike placement of the thumb on Gerry’s hand. Genetic, or a throwback? “The flowers come in yellow, then turn dark red.”
The serious problem was, how to elude Gerry once they got into the water. If he could put some distance between them fast enough, maybe he could still carry out his plan. Gerry was ten or twelve years younger; on the other hand, there was a stringy look to him; he didn’t have the solid build and smooth muscles of a swimmer.
As they came in sight of the beach, Gerry shifted topics and began to complain of his lecture agent. The guy wasn’t getting him interesting jobs anymore, and the fees had fallen. Maybe he needed to change agents. Who handled Wilkie? he wanted to know, and would he recommend this person?
“Well, that depends,” Wilkie replied grudgingly, striding across the street. “We’ll have to talk about it.” You poor sucker, he thought. You’re on your way down too. The world is getting tired of you, only you don’t know it yet.
The sun was low in a pink sky as they reached the pier, and there was the usual complement of sunset watchers. Followed by Gerry, he descended the slippery wooden steps, plunged into the cool, foamy, bulging and retreating sea, and struck out for the horizon.
But though Wilkie put forth his best effort, his unwanted companion kept alongside with an awkward, splashy crawl. The problem was, he realized, swallowing a mouthful of thick briny water, that though he’d swum almost every day for weeks, he’d never gone very far. He had deliberately avoided increasing his speed and distance, realizing that the greater his endurance, the longer the whole thing would take, the more chance there would be of an unwanted rescue.
“Great, isn’t it?” Gerry shouted.
Wilkie did not reply; it had become clear that if he showed any sign of drowning, Gerry would be close enough to officiously try to save him. For the first time in his life he felt the temptation to commit a capital crime other than suicide. Maybe I could take him with me, he thought. We’re far enough out now; there won’t be any witnesses. A quick choke hold from behind, and if I’m lucky we’ll both go under. Let him find that unity with nature he was gabbling about last night.
A cold surge of excitement lifted Wilkie higher than the oncoming wave, then dropped him. The plan was too risky. If it failed, Jenny might be faced not with a tragic accident, but with a half-drowned husband accused of attempted murder.
Gerry, splashing onward, showed no strain, but soon Wilkie’s breath was coming short; the waves felt icy as they slapped his head and arms. If he didn’t turn back now, he could be in trouble. He might even, ignominiously, find himself actually being rescued by this fuzzy-minded anthropoid ape.
6
A T THE SO-CALLED KEY West International Airport, on a cool, windy February evening, Perry Jackson (known locally as Jacko) was waiting for his mother’s plane. The shabby lime-green cinder-block structure, with its airline and car-rental counters and racks of tourist brochures, was crowded. Beside the travelers, and people meeting them or seeing them off, there were taxi and van drivers, airline and car-rental and coffee-shop and gift-shop and janitorial employees. There were also a number of unemployed and unemployable persons just hanging out.
Except for the passengers, everyone was dressed casually; most in shorts or jeans and T-shirts.
“Hey, that’s an unusual tree—it has two different kinds of flowers,” Gerry remarked, stopping to drag down a branch. “What’s its name?”
“Hibiscus tiliaceus. Mahoe, they call it here,” Wilkie replied automatically, noting the low, apelike placement of the thumb on Gerry’s hand. Genetic, or a throwback? “The flowers come in yellow, then turn dark red.”
The serious problem was, how to elude Gerry once they got into the water. If he could put some distance between them fast enough, maybe he could still carry out his plan. Gerry was ten or twelve years younger; on the other hand, there was a stringy look to him; he didn’t have the solid build and smooth muscles of a swimmer.
As they came in sight of the beach, Gerry shifted topics and began to complain of his lecture agent. The guy wasn’t getting him interesting jobs anymore, and the fees had fallen. Maybe he needed to change agents. Who handled Wilkie? he wanted to know, and would he recommend this person?
“Well, that depends,” Wilkie replied grudgingly, striding across the street. “We’ll have to talk about it.” You poor sucker, he thought. You’re on your way down too. The world is getting tired of you, only you don’t know it yet.
The sun was low in a pink sky as they reached the pier, and there was the usual complement of sunset watchers. Followed by Gerry, he descended the slippery wooden steps, plunged into the cool, foamy, bulging and retreating sea, and struck out for the horizon.
But though Wilkie put forth his best effort, his unwanted companion kept alongside with an awkward, splashy crawl. The problem was, he realized, swallowing a mouthful of thick briny water, that though he’d swum almost every day for weeks, he’d never gone very far. He had deliberately avoided increasing his speed and distance, realizing that the greater his endurance, the longer the whole thing would take, the more chance there would be of an unwanted rescue.
“Great, isn’t it?” Gerry shouted.
Wilkie did not reply; it had become clear that if he showed any sign of drowning, Gerry would be close enough to officiously try to save him. For the first time in his life he felt the temptation to commit a capital crime other than suicide. Maybe I could take him with me, he thought. We’re far enough out now; there won’t be any witnesses. A quick choke hold from behind, and if I’m lucky we’ll both go under. Let him find that unity with nature he was gabbling about last night.
A cold surge of excitement lifted Wilkie higher than the oncoming wave, then dropped him. The plan was too risky. If it failed, Jenny might be faced not with a tragic accident, but with a half-drowned husband accused of attempted murder.
Gerry, splashing onward, showed no strain, but soon Wilkie’s breath was coming short; the waves felt icy as they slapped his head and arms. If he didn’t turn back now, he could be in trouble. He might even, ignominiously, find himself actually being rescued by this fuzzy-minded anthropoid ape.
6
A T THE SO-CALLED KEY West International Airport, on a cool, windy February evening, Perry Jackson (known locally as Jacko) was waiting for his mother’s plane. The shabby lime-green cinder-block structure, with its airline and car-rental counters and racks of tourist brochures, was crowded. Beside the travelers, and people meeting them or seeing them off, there were taxi and van drivers, airline and car-rental and coffee-shop and gift-shop and janitorial employees. There were also a number of unemployed and unemployable persons just hanging out.
Except for the passengers, everyone was dressed casually; most in shorts or jeans and T-shirts.
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