Throughout the year that followed, Alexis managed to make just enough money to get by. Initially, she and Marcy spent three weeks on Ohio Key, and later Alexis found a job back in Key West as a waitress. Her artistic talents inspired her to buy a few simple hand tools, and she used them to make souvenirs out of beach debris, driftwood, dried flowers, and shells which were sold to tourists whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Although Marcy was not similarly affected by Luke’s death, Paul's had a profound effect on Alexis, having never lost anyone close to her before. She continued to write in her journal, finding small comfort in the written word.
I've drawn your face
On napkins in restaurants across the island
Tracing your smile with my index finger,
Making your hair just so
Until now you're more of what I want you to be
Than what you are.
I can paint your eyes blue and say
This is where I have lived
For twenty minutes or more.
I order grapefruit, and pay for the ruined napkins.
And between morning and evening,
I draw your face a little fainter every day.
* * * *
There were many bars in Old Town, all within a few blocks of Mallory Pier. Sloppy Joe's had been Ernest Hemingway's favorite haunt; Captain Tony's was the infamous gay bar, and Lou's had the best live music, but the Old Anchor Inn was still the place to be.
One evening just after sunset, Alexis passed by the Anchor Inn and saw an old East Indian man standing outside. With a long black beard and nut-brown skin, he noticed her, and broke into a toothy grin. Behind his bald pate, long frizzy hair extended half way down his back. He was tiny, lean and spry, weighing less than a hundred and twenty pounds. As she returned his smile, she saw Marcy walk up to him and kiss him on the cheek.
"Hi, Ron," Marcy said. "What's going on with you?"
"Just cooling off, darling," he said. Marcy noticed Alexis standing across the street and called to her. "Hey, girl, come over here and meet one of the finest people on the island. This is Indian Ron."
"Oh, so you're Indian Ron," said Alexis, walking over. “Ron from Ceylon. I’ve heard of you; I hear you're a wonderful storyteller."
"He's also got the best ganja on the island," added Marcy.
"Now that part is absolutely true," Ron admitted, "and I would be happy to confirm it if you lovely girls would care to join me for a smoke back at my place?"
The breeze was balmy as the three of them walked down Elizabeth Street to Ron's second floor apartment. As they ducked under the yellow tie-dyed curtain, they could smell the lingering scent of sandalwood and curry. The orange ball-shaped paper lantern suspended from the high ceiling gave off soft muted light. A legless sofa had a low table in front, and a lava lamp glowed in a far corner. Beautiful oriental drawings decorated the walls and large pillows indicated that all Ron's guests sat on the floor.
“Excuse me for one moment while I put on some music and change into something more comfortable. Then I'll prepare us something to drink." He parted the strands of beads in the doorway and stepped into his bedroom. A minute later Ron came back, having traded his jeans and T-shirt for a one-piece garment deftly tucked in about the waist. "I enjoy my American clothes but they are very restrictive. In the evenings I like to put on my dhoti," he said. "Shoes are even worse because I am cursed with these Pisces feet. I guess I'm still Sri Lankan at heart, even after all these years in the United States. I suppose I should honor my ancestors with some good Ceylon Black, but living in Key West has given me a passion for Cuban coffee. I hope you don’t mind."
After serving the refreshments, he sat cross-legged, opposite from Alexis and Marcy, holding an elegantly carved box of ebony and brass. Taking out a small amount of marijuana, he crushed it reverently and packed it firmly into a straight clay pipe. Before lighting it, he lifted it to the sky.
"Bom Shankar," said Ron, as he passed the pipe. “It’s a sort of blessing. The closest translation is probably ‘God, here we come.’” As they passed the chillum again, Indian Ron began to tell a story:
There once was a journeyer seeking a vision, a great truth to live by .The traveler crossed hot deserts and trampled through forests and swamps. Throughout his wanderings he encountered the wicked and the good, found victory and suffered defeat. He won at love, only to lose it again. Through time and space, he learned and grew. At last, the seeker came to the top of a hill where he rested against the base of a large tree overlooking a beautiful valley.
As Indian Ron spoke, Alexis noticed his long and supple fingers, his sculpted hands communicating what words alone could not express. She and Marcy were transfixed by his imagery; his eyes were full of fire and magic.
The traveler saw a vision of rolling green fields before him, as if freshly washed by the summer rain. The sky, in a gentle overcast gray, intensified the grass green hue. Then people appeared, all dressed in shining white robes, standing there in the fields, as though also washed in the summer rain. There were thousands upon thousands of them, as if all the people who had ever lived and all those yet to be born were there before him. He saw faces of all colors, bodies of all stature, people of all ages and eras, from every part of the world. Each looked into the sky with the light of their inner spirit glowing in anticipation. They stood there waiting. Then, before his eyes, each person began to melt like a bright candle until, of each one, there remained only a small nugget of gold.
Ron paused as his guests sat breathlessly at his feet.
Now before the traveler lay the green valley, and upon it rested all the souls of those who had known Earth. Suddenly a divine wind started to blow, causing all those golden souls to rise together on the same plane. The journeyer realized his own golden essence was rising with them, that he was a part of it all. As they rose, a whirlwind began in the center, pulling them inward toward each other. They began to melt together forming into one great mass.
The traveler looked below for a last glimpse of Earth. The green fields were gone. Instead, he saw the horrifying ruins of what had once been the Earth: its surface now covered by twisted sheets of rusted iron and tortured steel. It was burning, smoking, and foul. With no sign of life, the remains of the Earth fell away into a mist, and were gone.
Then the gray sky turned brilliantly blue all around them. The golden souls of the people drew relentlessly toward the center, joining together. In a last enormous rush of the wind, they amassed as One. And, together, they formed God.
Although Marcy was not similarly affected by Luke’s death, Paul's had a profound effect on Alexis, having never lost anyone close to her before. She continued to write in her journal, finding small comfort in the written word.
I've drawn your face
On napkins in restaurants across the island
Tracing your smile with my index finger,
Making your hair just so
Until now you're more of what I want you to be
Than what you are.
I can paint your eyes blue and say
This is where I have lived
For twenty minutes or more.
I order grapefruit, and pay for the ruined napkins.
And between morning and evening,
I draw your face a little fainter every day.
* * * *
There were many bars in Old Town, all within a few blocks of Mallory Pier. Sloppy Joe's had been Ernest Hemingway's favorite haunt; Captain Tony's was the infamous gay bar, and Lou's had the best live music, but the Old Anchor Inn was still the place to be.
One evening just after sunset, Alexis passed by the Anchor Inn and saw an old East Indian man standing outside. With a long black beard and nut-brown skin, he noticed her, and broke into a toothy grin. Behind his bald pate, long frizzy hair extended half way down his back. He was tiny, lean and spry, weighing less than a hundred and twenty pounds. As she returned his smile, she saw Marcy walk up to him and kiss him on the cheek."Hi, Ron," Marcy said. "What's going on with you?"
"Just cooling off, darling," he said. Marcy noticed Alexis standing across the street and called to her. "Hey, girl, come over here and meet one of the finest people on the island. This is Indian Ron."
"Oh, so you're Indian Ron," said Alexis, walking over. “Ron from Ceylon. I’ve heard of you; I hear you're a wonderful storyteller."
"He's also got the best ganja on the island," added Marcy.
"Now that part is absolutely true," Ron admitted, "and I would be happy to confirm it if you lovely girls would care to join me for a smoke back at my place?"
The breeze was balmy as the three of them walked down Elizabeth Street to Ron's second floor apartment. As they ducked under the yellow tie-dyed curtain, they could smell the lingering scent of sandalwood and curry. The orange ball-shaped paper lantern suspended from the high ceiling gave off soft muted light. A legless sofa had a low table in front, and a lava lamp glowed in a far corner. Beautiful oriental drawings decorated the walls and large pillows indicated that all Ron's guests sat on the floor.
“Excuse me for one moment while I put on some music and change into something more comfortable. Then I'll prepare us something to drink." He parted the strands of beads in the doorway and stepped into his bedroom. A minute later Ron came back, having traded his jeans and T-shirt for a one-piece garment deftly tucked in about the waist. "I enjoy my American clothes but they are very restrictive. In the evenings I like to put on my dhoti," he said. "Shoes are even worse because I am cursed with these Pisces feet. I guess I'm still Sri Lankan at heart, even after all these years in the United States. I suppose I should honor my ancestors with some good Ceylon Black, but living in Key West has given me a passion for Cuban coffee. I hope you don’t mind."
After serving the refreshments, he sat cross-legged, opposite from Alexis and Marcy, holding an elegantly carved box of ebony and brass. Taking out a small amount of marijuana, he crushed it reverently and packed it firmly into a straight clay pipe. Before lighting it, he lifted it to the sky.
"Bom Shankar," said Ron, as he passed the pipe. “It’s a sort of blessing. The closest translation is probably ‘God, here we come.’” As they passed the chillum again, Indian Ron began to tell a story:
There once was a journeyer seeking a vision, a great truth to live by .The traveler crossed hot deserts and trampled through forests and swamps. Throughout his wanderings he encountered the wicked and the good, found victory and suffered defeat. He won at love, only to lose it again. Through time and space, he learned and grew. At last, the seeker came to the top of a hill where he rested against the base of a large tree overlooking a beautiful valley.
As Indian Ron spoke, Alexis noticed his long and supple fingers, his sculpted hands communicating what words alone could not express. She and Marcy were transfixed by his imagery; his eyes were full of fire and magic.
The traveler saw a vision of rolling green fields before him, as if freshly washed by the summer rain. The sky, in a gentle overcast gray, intensified the grass green hue. Then people appeared, all dressed in shining white robes, standing there in the fields, as though also washed in the summer rain. There were thousands upon thousands of them, as if all the people who had ever lived and all those yet to be born were there before him. He saw faces of all colors, bodies of all stature, people of all ages and eras, from every part of the world. Each looked into the sky with the light of their inner spirit glowing in anticipation. They stood there waiting. Then, before his eyes, each person began to melt like a bright candle until, of each one, there remained only a small nugget of gold. Ron paused as his guests sat breathlessly at his feet.
Now before the traveler lay the green valley, and upon it rested all the souls of those who had known Earth. Suddenly a divine wind started to blow, causing all those golden souls to rise together on the same plane. The journeyer realized his own golden essence was rising with them, that he was a part of it all. As they rose, a whirlwind began in the center, pulling them inward toward each other. They began to melt together forming into one great mass.
The traveler looked below for a last glimpse of Earth. The green fields were gone. Instead, he saw the horrifying ruins of what had once been the Earth: its surface now covered by twisted sheets of rusted iron and tortured steel. It was burning, smoking, and foul. With no sign of life, the remains of the Earth fell away into a mist, and were gone.
Then the gray sky turned brilliantly blue all around them. The golden souls of the people drew relentlessly toward the center, joining together. In a last enormous rush of the wind, they amassed as One. And, together, they formed God.
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