"It's
no use," he says, "she's left me." This is after several drinks.
It's as if he had said, "Van Gogh is my favorite painter." It's a
dimestore print he has added to his collection. He's been waiting
all evening to show it to me. He doesn't see it. To him
it's an incredible landscape, empty, a desert. "My life is
empty." He likes the simplicity. "My life is empty.
She won't come back." It is a landmark, like the blue mountains
in the distance that never change. The crust of sand gives way
with each step, tiny lizards skitter out of the way. . . Even
after walking all day there is no change in the horizon. "We're
lost," he says. "No," I say, "let's go on." He says, "You
go on. Take my canteen. You've got a reason to live."
"No," I say, "we're in this together and we'll both make it out of here.
|