‘Then I know where you ought to go,’ I said. ‘Mom and Dad sometimes rent this cottage in Portugal. There’s no place where the sun sinks into the sea like over there.’
Splinter didn’t say a thing; didn’t have to. We were both thinking the same. He’d never get to see that sun and that sea. Sure, there was danger in any wobbly cobblestone, smashed tennis ball, or sweeping branch. But what about his parents? If you ask me, they were the biggest threat of all. The uneasy atmosphere was so strong you could taste it. You could hear the awkward silences. Mr. and Mrs. Rozenberg were blind to their son’s dreams. In their efforts to protect him, they neglected his happiness. I understood they were afraid to say good-bye, but fearing his death they forgot to let him live.
That’s when I got the idea.
‘You wanna chase that sun?’
He sat up and looked at me. ‘To…Portugal, you mean?’
I grinned. ‘You and me, buddy.’
‘My parents…’
‘Fuck your parents. Wanna see that sun or what?’
‘As in…running away?’
‘Nah, we’ll be back.’
His eyes began to shine. ‘Can we go out to sea if we do?’
‘Whatever you like, man. It’s your party!’
Splinter laughed. ‘Fuck. Let’s do it.’
More was said, but that was the gist of it. I drew the plan: ‘Tomorrow. Go to school, but skip class and wait behind the bike shed so your parents won’t know you’re gone until late afternoon. It will give us a head-start. Leave your books home and take some clothes. I’ll take care of the rest.’
He held out his hand. I squeezed it and his knuckles clinked. The only thing that made my smile waver was the touch of his maimed teaspoon finger.
Jord Hendriks entered the Boys room just before the first period bell. The door to the rear cubicle was outside the range of the mirror where he began fixing his hair, and he didn’t notice that it was ajar. I had taken off my t-shirt so my reflection wouldn’t betray me and tiptoed up to him until I was close enough to smell his shampoo. Jord was bleating some rap crap, with no rhythm or melody, ruffling his hair. Without a moment’s hesitation I grabbed his left pinky and planted my other hand firmly on his hip—just for fun.
Jord actually squealed; it was almost comical. He jerked and knocked the pot of gel to the floor. ‘Jesus!’
He turned round, red as a brick. I’d scared the shit out of the poor kid. His eyes fell on my half-naked body and he said: ‘What the fuck are you doing, faggot?’
‘Looks crystal clear to me,’ I said. ‘Holding up a mirror.’ And with that I neatly broke his pinky. The crack sounded satisfying, but no more satisfying than the touch of his body against my skin had been.
We boarded the train in Roosendaal and changed in Antwerp for the high-speed Thalys to Paris. Flying was no option, because then we could be traced. Out on the streets, we had nothing to fear. I was world-famous, but nobody knew what I looked like. Folks like Splinter were rare, but hey, looks don’t kill. We paid for the train tickets with the Progressive Parish’s credit card, which I’d swiped from Dad’s wallet. I also withdrew the maximum amount with his debit card, before he found out and had everything blocked.
As soon as we crossed the border Splinter’s reservations vanished. He gazed out the windows for hours with a running commentary on everything he saw: grain silos, different colored number plates, how the cows looked different in France. We played cards for fifty euro notes.
At the Gare du Nord we ate slices of pizza and considered what was up next. Splinter said he wanted to go all the way. He wanted adventure. He dumped his woollen jumper in the trash and swapped it for a t-shirt from a kiosk that read: Live Dangerously.
It was late when we hitched a ride. A scrawny Frenchman with dark glasses and an express delivery van stopped for us. Through the open window he said: ‘Where to, boys? You name it and I’ll take you.’
‘How about Spain?’
He promised to take us to the border. Cities gave way to sloping fields. I wondered if my parents had found the note on my pillow. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. When you tell your parents ‘don’t worry’ it’s a sure sign that they will, but luckily mine were fairly level-headed. No doubt Splinter’s parents would have warned the police the minute he hadn’t come home from school anyway, and my parents can put two and two together.
For the first time it dawned on me that I hadn’t just done it for Splinter. Running away, I mean. It was an adventure, but it was also something bigger than that. Splinter was looking for the sea. I was looking for myself.
When I woke up we were north of Bordeaux, and it was dark.
We spent the night by the side of a gravel path, not far from the motorway. Wild blueberries grew along the shoulder. Splinter was exhausted and fell asleep in the truck; the delivery man and I sat outside watching shadows drift across the farmland. He talked about his job, about his wife and kids, and then said that he wanted to blow me for his pains. I let him do it. I leaned on my elbows, my head thrown back. I watched the world upside-down and in this position I listened to the crickets until I came. It wasn’t how I’d always imagined it would be. It meant more. It meant nothing.
When he sat up I told him that it was my turn. First he didn’t get my drift, and when he did, he protested. But my fingers had already found his belt buckle and soon my lips pressed against the warmth within.
‘Er…hang on…what you’re doing now can get me in big trouble.’
I looked at him like he was nuts and said: ‘What you were doing earlier can get you in big trouble, too.’
The delivery man groaned and grunted and tugged at my hair when he came, which hurt. His sperm tasted like tears and made me sad, but I still swallowed. And all this time the driver never mentioned the fact that the moonlight fell right through me. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed.
His hands trembled as he smoked a cigarette and let me have a drag, too. It was disgusting. Then he gathered up his stuff, pulled a drowsy Splinter out of the truck, and sped off. We had to walk all the way back to the motorway.
Three days later we reached our destination in Portugal. The second night we’d spent in a haystack and the third outdoors near a gas station. The truck driver had warned us about scorpions, but we didn’t see any.
Our destination was called Espelho de Agua, because legend has it that the sun and the sea are at their most beautiful there. At least one person knew the legend, and that was me. At least one person knew it was true. Espelho de Agua is on the west coast of the Algarve, and it smells of almond blossoms, eucalyptus, and thyme, a heady scent that fills the air and reminded me of the times I’d been there with my parents. It’s a shame Splinter had no sense of smell. It adds so much.
We bought figs and freshly baked bolinhas at the market and wandered the village streets for a while. An old glassblower who was smoking in front of his shop fell to his knees and cried at the sight of Splinter. I smiled. That’s what the reunion of Geppetto and Pinocchio must have been like. When the man touched his glass face and arms Splinter glittered with pride. The glassblower spoke just as much English as we did Portuguese, that is, not a word, but he insisted on showing us round his workshop. It was so jam-packed with all manner of glass objects that I felt like a stilt-walker in a room full of air bubbles.
Geppetto found it hard to let go and watched us till we got to the end of the street. He had caught a glimpse of a miracle. Tomorrow he’d think that it had all been a dream.
You didn’t see the sea until the very end.
The narrow path wound through a sweltering pine forest, and then all of a sudden it was there, calm and infallible and bright green, until it blurred and merged with the horizon. At first Splinter smiled, so delighted that I thought his face would split in two. Then his smile faded, leaving only awe. I saw the sun’s glare on the water reflected in his face.
‘It’s bigger,’ he said, as simple as that. ‘Bigger.’
We found a spot
on the orange cliffs, far from the children playing football and sunbathing tourists. I fashioned our clothes and backpacks into a little bed on the barren soil. Then I stripped naked and lay down. After a moment’s hesitation Splinter followed my lead. Not because of the heat or to get a tan, but because he could. Given the chance to be free, you take it. Splinter was here now, shrugging off the last constraints of home.
I tan quickly. Whichever way I lie, the front and back always tan simultaneously.
‘I read somewhere there are birds flying more than 6,000 miles non-stop across the Pacific,’ Splinter said, staring at the horizon. ‘From Alaska all the way down to the warm islands at the equator. They don’t take time to rest, eat, or drink. They just fly on, for nine days. They know exactly where they’re going. I bet I could do the same. In a rowing boat, I mean, if I hit the right current. No one can go without food as long as me. Besides, I know the way. I know all about the sea.’
‘Yeah, and half-way there you’ll be swallowed by a blue whale,’ I said without opening my eyes.
‘I always wondered why Geppetto was looking for Pinocchio at sea, when the whale gobbled him up,’ Splinter said. ‘It doesn’t make sense. The movie never explains.’
‘Send a complaint to Disney. Oh, and apply for a role in the sequel while you’re at it.’
Somewhere, a seagull cried.
Splinter rose on one elbow and said: ‘That glassblower was the first person in the world who ever thought I was beautiful.’
‘That’s because he was senile.’
‘Fuck off. Seriously. I’ve never kissed anyone, you know. How can a girl ever like me?’
‘Try a glassblower,’ I joked.
But Splinter was serious. ‘Look at me. Nobody finds me attractive. And I can’t blame them.’
I glanced over his body and shrugged. His body was all right, nothing special. There was only one problem. It was made of glass.
‘Surely there must be some glass girls?’
‘Have you seen any? Besides, I’m not hot for glass. I fancy skin.’
A grin appeared on my face. ‘You know, I’ve always wondered. Can you…?’ I simulated jerking off with my hand.
‘Oh sure,’ Splinter said promptly. ‘I’m made of glass, but I’m anatomically correct. Good thing I can’t exert much pressure, so there’s no need to worry about squeezing something.’
I roared with laughter and rolled onto my stomach. Something stirred; fucking puberty. I thought about asking what he squirted, cum or molten glass. I didn’t—some things are better left to the imagination.
Early evening a breeze picked up, drying the sweat on my body. That was nice. We played blackjack waiting for the sun to set. Splinter kicked my ass. I had just dealt a new hand when a gust of wind picked up the cards and blew them off the cliffs. Without a word, we watched hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades flutter to the west. The low sun transformed the ocean into a bright, orange mirror.
‘You see that?’ Splinter whispered. ‘That’s where we’re sailing tomorrow. I want to touch the sun as it sinks into the sea.’
I could have said something, but didn’t need to. There, where the playing cards were drifting away, was Splinter’s heart. You could see the magic lure of the sea reflected on his body. I think in that moment I somehow knew that I wouldn’t be taking Splinter back home. Perhaps I’d known it all along. But then why did I keep thinking: what about me?
‘See how it mirrors? That’s where I belong. There everything is just like me. There I won’t have to worry about what I can and can’t do.’
‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ I suggested, but I knew better.
‘Everybody looks at me like I’m some kind of freak,’ Splinter said. ‘I’ll never have a girlfriend. It’s too dangerous. I don’t even know what it feels like to be touched. A simple hug is too much, even for my parents. All they do is look at me. They never touch, afraid of breaking something.’
I didn’t say a word, wished he hadn’t told me that.
‘I dream about it a lot, you know. I mean, about what it’s like to undress a girl. To have my arms around her and feel her skin against mine.’
‘But I thought you didn’t feel anything, technically speaking?’
‘I may not have nerves, but I do have feelings,’ Splinter said. He went quiet. ‘Maybe…no. Maybe I just want to know what it’s like to be incredibly close to someone.’
Then I did something that I had never thought of before. I did it on the spur of the moment, and maybe I wouldn’t have done it if I had given it some thought, but it was all I could do right then. I turned toward him and wrapped my arm around his waist. I pulled him toward me. He gasped but didn’t stop me when I rolled over on my back and carefully lifted him on top. The gap between our bodies closed. Splinter’s eyes widened, orange crystals in the setting sun. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to evoke the sensation of that glass body against mine. What struck me most was how infinitely fragile it felt.
My hands were on his back.
Splinter’s fingers were on my shoulders.
He was incredibly close.
‘I didn’t realize…’
‘If you tell anyone, I’ll smash you to pieces.’
He grinned and said: ‘Faggot.’
I saw the ground where we lay reflected in his face, not me. But when I breathed out his lips misted up, proof of my existence.
While behind us the miracle of Espelho de Agua unfolded, he kissed me. Splinter was the second person to discover the legend was true. The legend of the sun and the sea. Our tongues found each other while my hands caressed his gleaming back, and when our teeth touched it sounded as the tinkling of a wine glass. Splinter cried, warm tears of molten glass that rolled down my cheeks. After they solidified I plucked them off. I still have them, cones of mirrored glass. I’m glad they’re tears of happiness, not of sorrow. I keep them as mementoes.
And so the sun sank into the sea.
I can’t remember exactly how it happened. What I do recall is that we were both excited and that I felt his heart beat like mad in his chest. It pounded like a pestle in a glass mortar. Perhaps it pounded so hard that it split his back—I like to pretend it did. But I think I just held him too tight. My only consolation is that I can say in all honesty that I killed him with love, not anything else.
We just lay there, staring at each other in shock while the crack faded in our ears. It had sounded like a football smashing into safety glass: it didn’t shatter, but formed a spider’s web. A dent. I felt his back. It began on his shoulder blades and ran along the muscles of his spine all the way down to the small of his back.
‘Oops,’ Splinter said.
I carefully slid him off me. When I set eyes on the damage, my gut tightened into a knot.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Fuck, no, no, no!’
I guess I panicked. I put my fingers on his back, withdrew them, ran my hands through my hair. Worst thing was that the spider’s web moved, up and down to the rhythm of his breathing. I could see the chunks of glass chafing together.
‘How bad is it?’ Splinter asked calmly. How could he be so calm? I jumped to my feet, told him to stay where he was, not to move, that I would go and get the glassblower, that I would be back in a flash. The more I said, the less sense I made.
Splinter grabbed my wrist. ‘There’s no point.’
I was stunned. ‘What the fuck, there’s no point?’ But I knew and tears welled up.
‘There’s nothing I don’t know about glass, Look. If the damage is any bigger than a large coin, replacement is the only option. And replacement is no option for me.’
‘Of course it is, he could blow another layer on top of it, fuck if I know!’
I said more, a lot more, but what I said was blubbered out by my sobbing. Splinter tried to get up. A square of glass, less than half an inch across, fell in. We both heard it clink as it bounced off glass organs and slid down the hollow of his leg. There was no doubt about it. Splinter was damaged
beyond repair and any movement would make it worse. He would break in two. Maybe he had twenty-four hours to live. Maybe less.
‘It was bound to happen, Look,’ he said. ‘You think I don’t know that? It’s not your fault. It could have happened anytime.’
But that’s not how it felt, not to me; it was my fault and tears poured down my cheeks. Splinter draped his glass arms around me and held me in a clumsy embrace while I burrowed my face in his neck.
‘It’s okay,’ he comforted. ‘I found out it doesn’t matter when you die. What matters is that you live before you do.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered, inconsolable. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to stay here with me tonight. I’d just like to be incredibly close for a bit longer.’
So we lay down and I held him in my arms as the last light faded in the west. I cried continuously, repeating over how sorry I was. Splinter said I wasn’t to blame, that for the first time in his life he’d been genuinely happy. My eyes got all swollen and sticky and sore. In the end I guess I cried myself to sleep, a restless sleep, full of dreams I couldn’t remember. Did I say dreams? Yeah. I dreamt. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up because Splinter was blowing his cooling breath on my eyelids. I think he sensed I was having nightmares.
When I woke up again it was getting light.
I jumped up. Splinter was gone. I looked around, called out his name, got no response. His things were still there, though. I scanned the beach below and was alarmed to see the tide coming in. Maybe I was afraid that he’d jumped, that somewhere down there I’d discover a heap of shards, but I didn’t see anything. I called his name again and then I heard him.
He staggered out of the forest, pulling a battered wooden cart covered with a ragged old blanket. I was shocked to see the state he was in. His skin had lost its lustre, was no longer reflective. He was worn out. No, dying.
The Apex Book of World SF Page 12
