gas.”
“How much was that?”
“$125,000.” He laughs again when he sees my expression.
Keita says, “It’s just money, Fin. Also business travel. Tax deductible.”
I wish he wasn’t leaving.
He says, “Maybe instead I think that life is about having a passion.”
“What’s your passion?”
“This depends on the day. Today, it is helping you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are my friend. Because today you needed help.”
“What if you don’t have a passion?”
“Everyone has a passion. I say to you, okay, there is something you can’t do tomorrow, forever. Someone you can’t see, talk to. A place you can’t go. A food you can’t eat. What comes to mind? What are your passions? What can’t you live without?”
He extends his hand and we shake and he bows to me, smiling the whole time.
Except the formal Japanese good-bye isn’t quite cutting it for him today.
“I will miss you,” he says.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
He nods. And standing there, in his diminutive Converse sneakers, he looks suddenly to me like a boy of ten. A quick hand wave and he turns and walks to the mouth of the jetway, hands the agent his boarding pass, and disappears.
• • •
Before I board my flight I transcribe the letter my father wrote to me into an e-mail. I send it, along with the video of today, to Eddie, Maura, and Kevin.
Dear family,
At 3:51 P.M., I spread our father’s ashes over the Pacific Ocean. It was windy and overcast and colder than you might have imagined. I wish you’d been there with me.
It’s the closing I pause with. How do I sign off?
Your friend?
Your brother?
That’s the news, I’m Katie Couric?
Fondly?
All best?
In the end I opt for what I wished was true, what was once true, what could be true again if only we would try.
Much love,
Finbar
I call Phoebe but get her voice mail.
“Hey. I’m at the airport. In Hawaii. I just . . . I just spread his ashes. My father’s ashes. Keita borrowed one of his father’s container ships. It’s a long story.”
I say to her voice mail, “Okay, then. Good message. Beautifully conceived and delivered, I think. It’s Fin, by the way. I miss my friend.”
The flight attendant has asked us to turn off all electronic devices.
It’s time to go home.
• • •
There are fifty-four countries in Africa. There are over two thousand languages spoken. There is a country called Mayotte. Its capital is Mamoudzou. Four billion people live in Asia. In India alone they speak over eight hundred languages. The Sahara Desert is roughly the size of the United States. There are sand dunes six hundred feet high. It’s said that beyond the Atlas Mountains of Morocco, when the wind dies down, there is no sound of any kind, neither man-made or natural. There is a country snug between India and China called Bhutan, the only country in the world whose king insists that they measure the nation’s Gross National Happiness. I have two first-class tickets anywhere in the world.
I land at JFK in the late afternoon, having lost a day on my twelve-hour flight, with a stop in L.A., and it’s already dark. I want to go home and sleep for a day but I ask the cab to take me to the editorial house in SoHo. The driver clips his fingernails as he drives, speaking one of the eight hundred languages of India on a headset. Five thousand miles away, my father floats in peace, at last. The war is over.
PREPARE FOR DEPARTURE
Welcome to Lazy Weasel,” the twenty-five-year-old receptionist says. She may or may not also be a heroin addict from her appearance. Lazy Weasel is not a saloon in Wyoming but rather an editorial company on the sixth floor of an old building that once housed a printer’s shop, south of Grand Street.
The receptionist leads me back to a large, dimly lit room.
I checked my messages on the way in from the airport. Four from Martin and three from Emma. None of them sounded like they wanted to give me a raise or a promotion.
Ian and Pam stand and greet me with a hug.
Pam says, “You look like ass. You okay?” Pam-speak for I care about you.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good. Settle in, relax, get your bearings. Take your time. You have five seconds.”
“What happened?” I ask.
Ian says, “My advice would have been to stay in Hawaii. Martin’s been looking for you. Not in a good way.”
I say, “I’ll talk with him.”
Ian says, “You could do worse than tell him the truth.”
Pam and Ian have the pasty, red-eyed, fatigued look that