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Show 2, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 4] "Right. Do the godfather number. But listen; I. . . ah. . .1 gotta send that boat down the Keys in a hurricane, is there anybody else in that neighborhood we oughtta save?" "Well, Ted Williams had built his own little island just below Islamorada." "Good. Get him. Any football players?" Alone, he thought. Solo. Not incomparable or unique but more at solitary, lonesome, forlorn and desolate. Ritenuto, he said, chopping into the black water, or Largo, and a line of Fred Astaire singing I'll go my way by my-self Rushing out into the ocean. By way of company a realtor came into his head, chiding, 'Dredgin and filling? Why those big storms stir up a hunnerd times as much off the bottom--' Well that was the impression, riding along in the fury, of dredging, 100 iron jaws gobbling down. . . It could have been the 100th time he told them 'tested early in his adolescence, Beowulf, in a challenge, swam for five days and five nights, meanwhile slaying nine of the sea serpents known as nicors, the whale-fishes; killer-whales, do you suppose--?' 'Mr. Clayton,' a lad had interrupted, 'what have you ever done?' Well, this. A Valkyrian ride. Spinning and twirling |
