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Show Go Love/195 25. Our plane touches ground seven days after the afternoon of the blue mn when I'd bloodied myself to the elbows with fish and pulled a folding knife on the beautiful Mexicans who'd sprinted past me screaming higo de punta at the sea turtle come from the green water to lay eggs in the grassy dunes, and Mama started up through the bubbles her air made and saw the image she'd haunt me through From baggage claim we see the sun light up the desert, the panorama of mountain and sky textured by mile-high light that pours down onto the inland ocean and valley that once harbored the continent's westerly coast. "Look," Renee says, "Is that us?" Across the floor, a limo driver stands holding a placard with my name on it. Harvell, the thing says in boxy letters: Harvell. Our arrival has coincided with, among other things, Summer Solstice, the day when pagans like us burn wishes voodoo style in the barbecue grill. The sun throws a wicked shadow over the foothills. I can't shake the salt. |