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Show 103 as it began its long roll in. He rose higher, the board at its proper angle, cutting the wave, catching the acceleration, carrying him onward without effort as he rose toward the curl. "Hey," Roger said, "do you see that guy?" "I see him." "He's really good." "Yes," she said. "Yes, he is." Just as the wave broke for the shore, the dark figure ducked down to his board, the wave washing over him and racing on up the beach. And that flood of incoming water seemed to be engulfing, overwhelming, her mundane life, her petty concerns, washing them away before its sudden freedom: so that only her self, her true self, remained. The figure bobbed up in the churning foam, crouched on his board, now turning it toward that orange ball of a sun, and paddling, scooping the water with one hand, toward it. He rose with the next incoming wave, paddling hard into it, his silhouette suddenly above the wave, touching, merging into that fat orange mellon of a sun-and then, as if the sun itself had given birth to him, he dropped down out of sight into the next trough. So that the sea was empty of him; so that only that green expanse held that fat orange eye of a sun. "That's really something, eh?" Roger said. "Yes," she said, as if she were speaking in a trance, "that's really something." The view of that green expanse was suddenly cut off by buildings, |