WOMEN AND REPTILES

by
Joel Van Noord

'The world is flat.' Isn't that right? At least that's what the economists are saying; Ray Archibald had first heard it from Steve Archibald and it was annoying. He then noticed they'd put it on books and newspaper articles and he made an effort to understand.

The world is flat and scientists too use metaphors for complex issues. It's the only way to discuss quantum mechanics to a layperson� This is hardly a metaphor, though. They're right. The world is flat and the environment is a luxury good. You can't very well fight the truth.

It was hot. Ray Archibald had his shirt off and tied around his head. He was sweating and the shirt was starting to drop. He cinched it tighter and looked off from the bow of the skiff at the net and it was motionless in the still brown water that lethargically drained and filtered into the Pacific. He peered at it and sighed, moved to return to his seat in the hot sun then hesitated, did it move? Quiescently he watched it. He went to move a second time and again hesitated, again paused breathless. No. It wasn't moving, it hadn't moved. Probably some fish nibbling.

It was beautiful if you didn't focus too hard on anything, if you looked in the right direction, ignored certain things. Toward the thin strip of land that shielded the estuary from the Pacific, tall brown mountains rolled, wind-shaped dunes spread. On the mainland everything was brown, dormant 10 months a year. It almost looked like snow � the small pieces of trash caught up in the spokes of the cholla and prickly pear. There was no trash pick-up. There was a power plant. Towers, checkered red and white, and it spurted out something noxious that couldn't be legal in the states, he was sure.

Ray was alone. He was always alone. He slept in a hammock and often he'd watch American television in the cinder block home of Enrique. He'd often go to church with him too. He was closest to Enrique. Enrique was the kindest. Ray sought out this kindness from others.

They watched American television. �American Idol� and �Laguna Beach� were big there. Ray found it hilarious and dumbfounding. He'd scorned the show in the states. He was defiant against it. It was something to be fought against, to take a stand against, it represented some cancer but now Ray watched it and, like young Steve had said, it was harmless, innocuous.

Ray felt redundant. The joy and adventure in it were now gone and he wanted something else. He was proving something that was common sense but no one would believe him if he didn't have these numbers. X amount of animals spend Y amount of time in Z place. Thus, it is important.

Ray had a book but he didn't want to read it. It was a lesser book of McKibben. Depressing environmental news with a rather disgusting spiritual spin, an optimistic hint of what COULD (be done) but probably wouldn't, until it was too late. He put the book down and stood up. He couldn't see Enrique, who was out somewhere near the source of the estuary in a kayak, tracking a sea turtle as it dove and soared about in the murky waters, looking for algae or jelly fish.

What happened to the excitement? Ray asked himself. He was far too alone in Mexico. Steve wouldn't be this alone. Steve had a gift. Ray knew he had to be more gregarious. He analysed his behaviour and decided what he wanted, concluded what he needed. But it was hard to change. Houellebecq was right, perhaps. It would be a brave new world and it would only have the appearance of being painful. The transition would involve the future, never the present. It would take a detached objectivism. It would never happen.

Life was sad and he was alone. Being alone was sad and it wasn't as pretty as he wanted it to be. He was tired of being alone. It was almost enough to quit � but quit for what? He'd easily quit to work in a factory if he could only return each night to a woman who loved him and touched him; it was far better than annual sojourns to this 'paradise'. He missed Lindsey. He missed her incredibly. He missed what she gave him, moreso; he missed what was produced in him as a result of her.

Ray jerked his head. That was a movement. He rushed to the bow and stood on the platform. He watched and the net slowly dipped underwater and then rose. He bent down and began puling it from the murky liquid, hand after hand. The net pilled up on the platform on the small skiff and the boat lurched near the net as he pulled. Water beaded and dripped and algae caught on his hand. Near the bottom was a beautiful juvenile, just as expected, just as predicted, just as he was proving. It was important, it shouldn't be destroyed.

He pulled up the creature and it was terribly tangled. The net had wrapped around the fins and the neck. It was strung out and the net was choking it. Ray swore and took his knife from his belt, He panicked and began to cut the strings. Pushing the blade into the soft skin of the agonized creature, he pulled the blade up against the many tangled layers and slowly relieved the tension.

It was free and the turtle breathed heavy. Ray watched it, not yet a barnacle to its name �a species of barnacle endemic to the back of this graceful creature. He tried to remember the name as he looked down at the animal. It was Mydas something. From Chelonia mydas, the turtle's namesake.

It smelled. It smelled even compared to the fishy stench of the skiff.

The turtle raised its head and gulped. It acted like it was still in water. If it was a male its tail was still short like a female's. It gulped again and its flippers reached out and hit dully against the rubber mat on the deck. It pulled back and didn't move. This was all it knew.

Ray turned and started to take measurements. He measured the shell: length and width, he turned it over, measured the plastron. He cut a sample of flesh for DNA. Then pierced a metal tag to its rear flipper. In a bit he'd plaster some cement on the shell and attach the buoy. Tomorrow he'd follow the thing about in the estuary. Waiting for the calm beast to surface then furiously paddling in the kayak to keep up, pressing 'mark' on the GPS and downloading it later to a map.

He stood and sighed. Looked at the poor creature and looked to the desert, then to the rugged island chain. Ray took the shirt from his head and kicked off the flimsy boat shoes he wore. Then, he bent down and picked up the animal. He gripped it along the sides and he felt the fins push and scrape along his arm. He then dove in the water.

He surfaced and let the turtle flap. The current tugged him slightly and he kicked out, using the animal like a kickboard. He swam back toward the boat and held the turtle as it lamely reached. He watched it and let go, maintaining his hands inches from the shell, then grabbed it again as it began to free itself. He heard a laugh.

"Que honda amigo." He turned and there was another laugh. Enrique was smiling and Ray smirked in embarrassment. The red kayak was bright against the dull tones of the earth. "El sol es fuerte, si?"

Ray nodded and kicked back to the skiff.

*

"Otra bebida, ok? Another drink my friend." Enrique said and Ray nodded. Isaac was gone and Felipe was up and distracted with his girlfriend. The village was small. There were two bars and there was one paved road that was completely lost within years of Pacific drift. There was also some rich man with a yard and a high fence. Ray couldn't remember how he got his money. But it was hardly money in terms of southern California. The government housing was where these three lived. Cinder block homes at the south of town, packed close together with a lone, comical, fruit tree growing from the dirt, which was stomped almost to pavement.

They were fisherman and they'd return to fishing after he was gone. He paid them well; he paid them what he would the American students he was 'supposed' to hire. But, he thought that insulting: travelling to another country and bringing all your own help. Moreso, with American students, it was possible not to pay them. Just tell them what an 'opportunity' it was, 'saving the world,' working with sea turtles! Granted, he'd only get the rich kids with allowances. And that had its own disadvantage.

So, his budget was stretched and he ended up exhausting himself with an additional grant they made him beg for. Ultimately, he paid these men well and hopefully instilled some important philosophy for the good of things.

But, it was all so tiresome.

The beer came with a short glass of tequila.

"So now you are Doctor, lots of money yes, you make� lots of money. Much money, no?"

"Not lots. Enough, A comfortable amount. Comodo." He said and he always had to pick his words carefully, so many terms were so relative� All because of a thin border? No, all because of unchecked capitalism, it was far from unchecked� government regulations, and work ethic? Correlation does not equal causation. Ray often found himself rethinking initial thoughts after pondering what Steve would say or these Mexican's here. He loved Steve and therefore everything revolving around Steve was becoming more benign, even laudatory.

"So you� sneak back?" Enrique smiled and laughed heartily. What a grand simple fisherman, Ray thought. He'd rather be like this man, happy and carefree, then� whatever he was. It'd been awhile since he felt, 'right'.

Enrique had spent a year and a half in the states, in Oakland. Enrique explained that to Ray one day when they took the skiff out into the rolling Pacific, around the jagged island where there was a fishing cooperative. They bobbed out in the ocean, watching birds dive from beige, faeces-stained cliffs into the white, surging water. Enrique told a story of sneaking across the border, ducking and crouching through a hole in a chain-link fence. Looking up and thinking, 'huh, este es el.'

Enrique wanted to know, for the effect of a joke, if Ray's experience in coming south had been similar. Crouching through the fence as a stream of darker skinned men pushed the other way. Border guards looking on queerly and laughing as they rounded up the Mexicans in an open truck for a night in jail, a meal, and then a return.

"It was a lot more paperwork." Ray said then and got a hearty laugh.

"You come back next year, right?" Enrique asked.

"I'd like to. Hopefully I can get a position and come back year after year. Hire you guys again and again. Maybe one day have enough work to study year-round, but that's a ways off."

"Good. It's a good place here. Right?"

"It is good. It's beautiful."

"So in the states what now? You have girlfriend?"

"No, no girlfriend." Ray said and looked off.

"You should get one, yes? They make life easy."

"Yeah."

"Easy and not easy." Enrique smiled and Ray smiled in return. Surely this philosophy would have been better in Spanish. Maybe not, though; it was the most parsimonious this way. The language made everything more poetic, or more ambiguous, for sure; often it amounted to the same thing.

They got another drink and a shot and that was one thing. Ray was drinking more here than even in his undergrad. Now, it was just a continuous stream of alcohol: on the skiff and while writing, alone in his hammock or at Enrique's watching American tv, or in the park watching futbol. There was no reason not to and it was a good distraction and there was little else to do.

Music started. Catchy Mexican tunes with amplified accordions and traditional melodies. It was amazing how different Mexico City and the coastal vacation cities were. They were decades more modern. The music was hip, there. American pop had fully permeated.

The owners had two young children, chubby and dirty, the boy was wearing a small Mickey Mouse shirt that showed his brown belly. The boy and girl would duck behind a wall and smile at Ray, Ray would look and they'd duck and snicker.

Two young women started dancing, a simple Mexican dance: one foot forward, pull it back, the other foot forward. It had a strange time. Ray thought about it and tried to figure out what it was. Counting from what he thought was the beginning of the measure. Felipe came back and shook Ray's hand, he pumped it hard in his thick hands, adding the other hand, Ray did the same and they smiled at each other with their four hands together.

"Pues, hasta. Next year, amigo, ano proximo, Ray." He smiled and said Ray with an H.

"El ano proximo." Ray responded and Felipe smiled again and pulled Ray in for a warm hug, then a silent examination of the eyes, then left.

Ray drank more and he got drunk.

"You should dance, baile. No?" Enrique said and Ray felt good. All his best feelings where when he was drinking.

"Porque no?" Ray shrugged after contemplation.

He rose and stumbled, put a hand on the table and smiled wide to Enrique. It was the smile he wished he always had. He began moving his hands and feet in small distances, bending his knees and elbows, pointing his fingers and smiling distantly. It was dark and lights were strung up across the patio from wooden pillar to wooden pillar. The boy poked his head from the wall and Ray crouched down and shook his hands and said, "AHHH!" as the children squealed in delight. He stood and the two girls were watching him as they danced together. He approached them and smiled, they were a lot younger than he thought, perhaps only 16. They giggled to themselves and Ray thought of something to say.

*

Tijuana stretches out at the border, slums its way out at the boundary, like two sets of arms, poised, waiting � either for begging or fighting, it was ambiguous. A stadium sits at the edge, bold and concrete, inside they have bullfights and the more adventuresome young Americans visit to see a woman and a donkey carnally interact. There is a large state park on the American side, just south of the San Diego sprawl, something like Border State Park, Ray forgot. He'd been there once with Lindsay, long ago. They held hands and looked south from the beach. It was full of so much mystery then, so much promise.

But when flying over, it was always confusing for Ray. Instinctually he'd think the border represented a break in civilization. It didn't. It represented a wall. A shift in privilege and it was true one side needed a buffer. It was true one side parasitized the other. Similar was the army base, the sole reason there was any natural coastal habitat in southern California. Granted, tanks shelled the landscape and soldiers ran and rolled around and shot far off targets as boats practiced seizing the land like it was Normandy. Ray watched out the widow and tried to read. There was a fat woman from Oregon who wanted to talk to him. He told her he was a plumber and soon she turned in her seat to the young college student at the aisle.

The plane landed and Ray called his brother. He'd moved his belongings into storage and decreased his rent by a sixth. He couldn't afford to rent an empty place, even in Long Beach. He hadn't the time to sublet it.

It was dusk when he got to Steve's.

"Ray." Steve gave him a hug. He had a cocktail in one hand and with the other he tapped Ray's back.

"You remember Amanda?"

"Ah, I� I don't think we've met."

"Nice to meet you." Amanda said with a reassuring smile and reached into the older Archibald and gave him a full embrace. Ray flexed his arms for a moment and the hug felt good. He felt he hadn't had one in six months.

"I guess not. Huh? You haven't been to the new place yet, have you?"

"No. Last place I saw was in Pasadena."

"Boy, that place was modest mouse. This place," Steve said and shook his head, "I love this place. It's a bit pricey, but� worth it. Wouldn't you say, babe?"

"It's got an ocean view." Amanda said and gave Ray a look from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, it's got an ocean view!" Steve said excitedly.

"Steve is way too excited about this ocean view." Amanda shook her head. "It's not an ocean view. You can only see it from the balcony and only a sliver of it when you stand on your tip-toes."

"Don't knock it hun," Steve said to her, then turned to his older brother, "It's got an ocean view." He said matter-of-factly, "We're having a party tonight, I hope you don't mind."

"You're having a party?" Ray asked.

*

If you could tell anything from the company he kept, Steve Archibald did well for himself. Everyone looked expensive and intelligent. They roamed the spacious three-story apartment with drink in hand and expensive outfit. It was an echelon of society Steve had yet entered when Ray was first writing his thesis for his distant study.

Ray put on some of Steve's clothes, dark slacks and a white dress shirt with dark lines, a nice jacket and he too roamed the party and spoke of himself.

He'd wandered upstairs with a woman he was introduced to. Inna. The middle floor was the living space, where the food and drinks were set up. The lower floor was for the bedrooms and the upstairs was a loft with a couch and a stereo system. The small room was cut out to look below at the main level. A small door and walkway led to the balcony and the supposed ocean view.

"I really don't think there's an ocean view." Ray said and smiled. He was drinking a cosmopolitan and Inna had a white wine.

"Sure, it's straight over there."

"Well I know it's over there. It has to be. It can't be anywhere else, but I don't think you can see it."

"You have to look here, through the buildings, it's dark. It's just a dark spot."

"I don't know. I guess I can see the dark spot. But, first, how do I really know that's the ocean, and second, I wouldn't describe that as an ocean view. If anything it's an ocean glimpse." Ray finished and smiled.

Inna smirked and looked off. She laughed and turned back to him. "Ok, doctor. I'm sure for your epicurean tastes and� such sublime experiences in� Chile� and Mexico, you're used to the best. But, for us poor shmucks in dirty, smelly, smoggy, LA, this is pretty nice." Inna said and she said everything with a smile.

Ray laughed and looked back. "How do you know my brother again?"

"We went to school together." She said simply and he nodded.

"You know, I've always wanted to go to Chile." She continued.

"Yeah, I loved it. More than Mexico, but. Yeah, Chile is great."

"I want to go to� I forget what it's called, but, the ah� it's a desert there, and it's supposedly the driest, or one of the driest places in the world."

"Sure, the Atacama Desert. I've heard that's an incredibly weird place. Haven't had rain for like� 100 years."

"Yeah? Have you been?"

"No. I wanted to. I had a week there to travel and I chose to go into the mountains instead. Climbed a 16,000 foot peak. It was great."

"I'm sure. You're a climber?"

"I used to climb a lot more. Got into it at Washington, where I did my undergrad. Climbed Rainier one year with a professor and sort of got hooked. Went to Alaska the next summer to work with the Forest Service near Denali and did a lot more. But, been too busy lately."

"Sure. I went to high school near Sedona, Arizona and I just love deserts. I think they're so cool. I remember seeing a National Geographic about the Atacama and ever since, I've wanted to go."

"Yeah. Why not?" Ray said and drank. They looked at each other. Ray thought about kissing her. He thought about holding her in his arms and feeling her head against his chest.

"There they are." Ray heard and turned. It was Steve. "You two hiding up here, enjoying the view, the nighttime stars. Pretty good, eh bro?" Steve said and motioned to the sky, there were perhaps 10 stars visible. "My brother, man, I haven't seen you in six months! Can you believe that?" he turned to Inna. Then reached in to hug Ray, who opened his arms.

"And beautiful Inna, where have you been hiding?" He asked and leaned into her as well. They kissed cheeks.

"You don't call me anymore!" Inna said and Steve coyly shrugged.

"Well, you know, Amanda, she gets jealous."

"Hey! You need a drink, the both of you. Come on, let's get you filled." Steve said and they followed him through the corridor and down the steps into the main room. It was louder and Ray got his drink and Inna was gone and Steve easily slipped into another conversation. Ray drank and wandered, looking to make eye contact.

Hours passed and he drank several more Cosmos and they were getting to him. The party rarified and he saw Inna again, she was getting her coat, a light fur.

"Hey, ah, you leaving?" He walked up to Inna.

"I am. It's my bedtime." She smiled and struggled with her arm in her coat. She got it before Ray thought to help her. His eyes glanced to her chest and down the satin looking cocktail dress. It was loose but clung to her body. It was thin and smooth; it was elegant. It breathed as she moved.

"You sure you have to leave, we should take a walk on the beach." Ray said and looked to her.

"Ah, you're cute." She said and Ray felt like an idiot. "It's my bedtime," She rose her voice, "I'll see you again though." She said and leaned in, kissed him on the cheek and she was gone. Ray stood there a moment and watched as the door closed.

He felt an arm around his shoulder. "Brother man." Steve was drunk. "She kissed you! That's awesome. She's hot. She's gorgeous. Props to you, though, for hitting on her. Most people are way too intimidated� She's a model, you know."

"That right?"

"Sort of, nudes. Only classy stuff, though. You know? Classy." Steve leaned in and whispered. He raised his eyebrows and nodded heavily. "On the internet. Artsy magazines, no smut, I'll show you. I got a subscription. No smut, enough hidden� but it's a new hidden, you know? It's not wide open but it's totally nude, you know?" Ray nodded, "Beautiful body, though. Stuff you want to worship."

Ray stood in silence, thinking, then said, "She wasn't interested."

"Ah, yeah she is. You shouldn't have approached her. That puts them off. You said too much and showed too little. You should have stood far back and watched her coolly like this� nodded if she looked at you, and, shit. You'll see her again. I can give you her number or we'll plan something." Steve finished and shrugged.

Ray didn't speak, he stared ahead at the door. Steve said, "Girls like that are a lot of work. Socializing with them is like a second job, you know?" Ray didn't answer. He thought about it and they looked off together.

Steve took a drink and squeezed Ray's shoulder. Ray was shorter than Steve. "How long's it been?" Steve asked and Ray was feeling more sober now. He was not excited, the night was over and he was alone. Ray looked to Steve then ahead. "Too long."

"Nothing in Mexico?"

Ray looked at his brother and then ahead.

"Don't tell me nothing since Lindsay."

Ray gave an exaggerated look of the one he'd shown before.

"OH NO!" Steve threw his head back and moaned. "I'm sorry man. That's why you still like her so much." Steve said quieter, then lifted his head again, "That's awful� You're a good-looking, intelligent, guy. You got a fucking PhD!" Steve said and Ray didn't correct him. He didn't have it yet. Steve smirked.

"What are you doing next weekend?"

Ray waited before speaking. "I don't know, no plans, really, why?"

"Vegas. I'm taking you to Vegas. All expenses. We'll get you a nice girl. I'll tell you about that bachelor party there, Omar's�" Steve shook his head and took a drink, "tomorrow. But, Vegas... There should be a train..." He turned his head and thought. "Yeah, we'll take you to Vegas and get you a girl, get you back on the boat. Get your feet wet. Get you some ownership again and get you speaking from a proper distance. Girls need that. They need to know a man has that distance, that knowledge, that power. Take it from me. You know? Men and woman are simple, all the western ideologies and equalities� it's all cerebral, we're simple and primordial and women respond to men. To strength and power. That all changes when the game's done and your living together� but, we'll get you that power again." Steve poked his brother with his elbow and smiled.

"Yeah, Vegas." Steve said again and drank.

Ray looked ahead and he was out of his element. He was an outsider everywhere, fuera. He didn't belong in Mexico and just when he was figuring it out, he retuned to this extreme where his younger brother had since built up, accumulated, become� so much. While Ray�

He shook his head, he looked to the door and back to his brother, it was a strange stage, he thought, when the younger brother became the older. When you acknowledge you don't know. When you concede that you're unsure of everything. When you feel this and see Steve Archibald, so happy and seemingly complete that you abandon yourself to him, like a student looking for a master.

"Ok. We'll go to Vegas." Ray said and Steve smiled and squeezed Ray's shoulder.

� Joel Van Noord
Reproduced with permission

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