The Manual of Detection: A Novel - By Jedediah Berry Page 0,81

of the waves’ reach was a heap of smooth black rocks. A round woman in a ruffled blue bathing suit leaned against them, watching the sea. When she saw Lamech coming toward her, she turned and waved at him. She wore a string of imperfect-looking pearls around her neck, and a few strands of gray hair protruded from under her white bathing cap.

“Edward,” she said. “When are you coming home? I polished the silverware while I waited. Twice. You know how tired I get when I polish. Did you unplug your telephone again?”

Unwin remembered the cord left disconnected on Lamech’s desk. So it was the watcher himself who had been responsible for that. He had wanted to make sure nothing would wake him during the recording.

Lamech removed his hat and bent to kiss the woman on her cheek. “Working late tonight,” he said.

“Can’t you bring your work home?”

He shook his head. “I just came by to say good night.”

She looked at the sea, a trace of a scowl on her face. Her cheeks were red from the sun and the wind. “The strange thing is,” she said, “I don’t even know if this is the real Edward I’m speaking to. I wanted so badly to see you that I may very well have dreamed you up.”

“No, ladybug, it’s me. I have an appointment, that’s all.”

“Ladybug?” she said. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

Lamech looked at his feet and tapped his hat against his leg. “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about the old times. You know, a couple of kids in the big city, working bad jobs, dancing to the radio at night, drinks at the corner bar. What was that place called? Larry’s? Harry’s?”

The woman fingered the roughly formed pearls of her necklace.

“Sarah,” he said, “there’s something else. I just want you to know—”

“Stop. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Sarah.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, her voice firm.

Lamech frowned and took a deep breath through his nose. “All right,” he said.

The wind was picking up; it made the ruffles of Sarah’s bathing suit flutter and teased the gray curls at the edge of her cap. She was looking at the sea again. “This dream always ends the same way,” she said.

“How’s it end?” Lamech asked.

She was quiet for a while. “Edward, there are leftovers in the icebox. I have to go now.” She stood straight and ran her hands down her sides. Then, without looking back, she jogged away toward the water, her pearls swinging back and forth around her neck. Clouds had risen up over the edge of the horizon, and the sea appeared choppy and dark.

“Come on,” Lamech mumbled. He turned and starting walking back toward the beach house.

Unwin stayed where he was, watching as Sarah strode nimbly into the water. When she was in above her knees, she dove forward over a wave and began to swim.

“Come on,” Lamech said again, as though he had known that Unwin would stay.

Unwin folded his umbrella to keep the wind from taking it and hurried up the beach after Lamech. He could feel the softness of the sand beneath his feet, but his shoes left no impression.

Lamech’s raincoat billowed and snapped in the wind. He stuck his hands in his pockets and drew his coat close about him. His shoulders were hunched, his head down. He did not look back.

Unwin looked back. He could no longer see Sarah—she had vanished into the water. A great wave was forming on the horizon. It churned and swelled and boiled, gathering the sea to itself as it rolled toward the shore. Unwin quickened his pace, but he could not take his eyes off the wave. It was tall now as any building, its roaring louder than the traffic of citywide gridlock. Gulls flew over its crest and screamed. In the smooth window of its broad face Unwin could see animals swimming—fish, and starfish, and great heaving squid. They went about their business as though nothing strange were happening, as though they were still deep in the ocean instead of hurtling toward dry land. The wind was saturated with the stink of their briny world.

Lamech was at the faded blue door now. He opened it, and Unwin followed him back into the alleyway, opening his umbrella over his head. Lamech left the door open long enough to watch the wave’s shadow blanket the beach. Then he closed it.

“I try not to peer too often into her sleeping mind,” Lamech