Ian M. Anderson

Fire escape: Mark Sonata stood here, naked but for thin briefs that the rain pasted to his skin. His hands squeezed the metal rail and showed white with the pressure; breaths came, his shoulders heaved, and the dawn heard his anger. Anger born of shame. A scream. *** There was a time in Mark's second life when the pain from this anniversary came easily -- when he would slip into a void, the anguish in his chest; agony was fitting, and it was apt to be crushed. But that was years ago. The mourning never fully ceased, but there came a new ability to cope that arose from the death of the shock, the first blow. Diana's death, Mark carried it with him, but the wound rarely reopened completely. And he hated himself for it. *** All morning long the sound of rain -- through Mark's open apartment windows, on the metal fire escape, on the outstretched beech branches along the street, and now on the folded newspaper he held over his head as he prepared himself for the me

There the ships go to and fro, and the leviathan, which you formed to frolic there. -- Psalm 104.26 "Call me Ishmael." These are the famous words that open  Moby-Dick . The words that scholars highlight and readers remember. The words that actually open the book are all but ignored. *** I said, "I need to rent a boat," and the air in the store changed, like I'd committed some major social blunder. I could see it in the cashier's eyes. She looked at me over her glasses, one eyebrow raised, her lips pursed, and her head cocked. "I'm from New Castle." I felt the customers behind me. They were no longer shopping. I waited for her to help me, but she didn't reply. I was hostage to her scrutiny until I talked. "Do you have boats to rent?" I knew they did. From where we stood, I could see the colorful sides of blue and red rowboats hanging on a rack that spanned the length of the store outside. The cashier's mou