In the Central plains a good many miles away from Marion, Heroman does not drive under the speed limit, yet Harry is irritable, certain that at the current pace, it will be late evening before they arrive back in Marion. At a bend in the road, Heroman swerves to avoid a man foolishly riding a bicycle in their lane, coming toward them. A turquoise-colored box is strapped above the front wheel of the bicycle. FISH is crudely painted in bright red on the front of the box. Harry spins around to look at the man as they pass. Heroman wants to know when, other than this trip to the island, was the last time Harry traveled this route. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, whiplashed by the past: the fish seller on the bicycle calling up the fact that his father, the drowned Seudath St. George, had taken his mother—or had he rescued her, kidnapped her, assisted her in leaving?—away from her family whom she never saw again. He is sure that if he were to utter a single word, he would vomit, his nausea caused by his unbearable impatience with the long ride back to his hotel, by the throbbing hope and improbability of a string of what-ifs, by the narrow winding road, the constant swerving to avoid potholes, bicyclists, pedestrians, and stray dogs or the bloated, putrid carcasses of animals lying on their back.
Shem’s words, relayed to him by Piyari, echo in Harry’s mind, not in her voice or diction, but in Shem’s, as if Harry had heard them pronounced himself: “What the ass is this? You have the servant taking message for you? … You forget who have the police and the law on his side … That yard boy—no place is far enough for him to hide … Hear me good: I will not let you or him destroy my family name.”
The threat implied is of concern. Harry thinks of his house and yard in Elderberry Bay. Of Howe Sound, the thick, cool gray mist that hangs at this time of year. The logging road to Carol Lake. Even in this present heat, the glacier there looms brightly in his mind. He thinks of his truck with all his gardening tools. Of the yards he has designed and of clients who held summer garden parties so that they could show off his work and introduce him around. He was indispensable to them. He pictures Anil, Partap, and the Once a Taxi Driver Wine Tasting fellows. In his mind he sees the winding mountainside road from Elderberry Bay to Squamish, a landscape that is no longer far enough away.
And Kay. Had no call come that early New Year’s morning from Cassie, and none again from Rose, what would have transpired between them? They might well have entered into a comfortable companionship. Some form of quiet passion might have developed in him for her. Perhaps a passion akin to the one he felt for Rose.
He knows that he will not return to Elderberry Bay, and succumbs to the pull of the old riptide.
At the end of that interminable drive, Harry, without revealing more than he must, informs Heroman that he will end the rest of his time on the island among friends.
“You still have friends here? You didn’t mention them before. I had of planned to drive you into Gloria for the evening. The capital come a real worldly place, yes. It have skyscrapers, buildings six stories tall, you know. And it have two nice shopping malls. They would be closed now, but they light up pretty in the night. And if you see how nice people does dress up in town. Guanagasparian women come nice-nice, too.”
Surprised to receive no sign of interest from Harry in touring the city, Heroman insists, “The capital come a first-class place, man. A lot of eating places, too. Not just Chinese food, but it have places you could sit down, and waitress that come and serve you hamburgers and milk shakes and that kind of thing. You don’t want to drink a coconut or take a oyster cocktail from the vendors in town? I ready to take you and show you the town now-now. It will take your mind off things.”
Harry can no longer hide his impatience. “I am not here for much longer. There are people I must look up. Family friends. Please tell your sister thanks for everything. You were both very good to me. I will write from Canada.”
Still unwilling to so easily release this foreign charge who has seeds of scandal sprouting about him, Heroman offers to fetch Harry wherever he is on the day of his return flight and to drive him to the airport. Harry is firm that friends will look after him from then on.
Once he is sure that Heroman has driven off and is nowhere to be seen, Harry checks out of the hotel and walks with his suitcase and shoulder bag to a taxi stand several streets away from the hotel. There he catches a Link Road taxi and travels, along with other passengers, in the long rush-hour traffic.