Tortoise Shell Summer

Tortoise Shell Summer

By J.G. Simiński

Gerald walked out from the cool of the rented cottage onto the shaded porch and down to the small patch of lawn. The blinding hot of the late afternoon sun made his eyelids narrow, almost shut, so that he could see the lilting glisten of the waves as they traveled from the ocean toward the shore. It was hot, damned hot, but it was summer, and there’s nothing that compares to the mixture of sea, salt and sand on skin that’s been baked brown, and the way the mixture makes the crease at the elbow stick together.

He went over to one of the porch support beams and looked at the old thermometer nailed to it. It read 100 degrees.

“It can’t be,” Gerald said incredulously, under his breath.

He tapped on it a few times with his finger.

“Maybe I’ll swim,” he said, again talking to himself.

“Anyone want to take a dip?” He shouted out.

He turned back toward the cottage waiting for a reply.

The cottage came with two cats, tortoise shells that somehow found their way up to the hot roof and lay there for hours. Gerald could see the heat rising off the roof around them. How they could bask up there in the heat and humidity of the late summer Cape, left him perplexed almost to a degree of imagining he was suffering the symptoms of heat stroke. Yet, there they lay, nonplussed. He stared up at them in dumb amazement.

“They’re all females, you know, these types of cats” Kristen said, as she walked over and held up her hand like a visor shielding her eyes so that she could study the two lazy cats in the blazing sun.

“Really?” Gerald commented, not moving his gaze from them, “How’s that?”

Kristen shrugged her shoulders,

“Don’t exactly know. Some genetic mutation or anomaly of nature that produces only girls. Calicos can -- be both that is, but not Torties.”

He nodded, even though her answer didn’t really explain anything. “They’re beautiful though, aren’t they?”

“And smart as a whip,” Kristen added.

“But laying out there in this heat?” Gerald asked. “It’s easily the hottest day this summer. They must be simmering!”

Just then two small birds flew above the lolling felines, and as quick as Gerald could blink, the cats dashed from their spot, leaping from roof to tree with a grace and fluidity that leaves one in awe.

“How is that possible?” He asked, shaking his head. 

He took off his tee-shirt and sat on one of the Adirondack chairs on the little patch of lawn that separated the cottage from the sandy beach and leaned back on his elbows, feeling the sun’s heat on his face.  He tried to inhale that energy into the core of his being; carry it around with him and somehow bring it to the surface on those grey, cold days of winter when it seems impossible the sun will ever feel warm again, without dying from the heat of the moment.

Will came outside, letting the screen door slam behind him, and plopped down an enormous, whole watermelon on the drinks table.

“I’m thinking we can have watermelon martinis as today’s cocktail, whadda’ya think?” he asked.

“Edward isn’t much of a watermelon person, but I’ll give it a try,” Gerald said.

Will looked up once and then back to the watermelon as the unusually large knife in his hand came down on it with a distinctive thud.

“Not a watermelon person?” Will asked. “How un-American.” With a crunch, the melon fell apart into two bright-rosy halves.

Kristen scurried over and stuck her fingers in one side of the split melon and scooped out a piece.

“I wonder if that’s what it sounded like when they used to behead people back during Elizabeth’s reign?” she asked.

Will held the handle of the knife up to his chin, now dripping with the pink juice, as he pondered the question for a few seconds.

“There must have been a cracking sound, don’t you think?” he mused. 

Gerald squinched his eyes and squeezed his arms together. “God, that’s dreadful! Here we are in the waning days of summer, trying to enjoy this contemporary abstract of the ideal friends-on-vacation, and, and--”

“And what? What are you trying to say, Gerald? That everything said, everything done, should be all about summer vacation?” Kristen begged. “Stop being so controlling. Just let things unfold naturally.”

“We agreed,” Gerald said. “No iPhones, no iPads, no tablets, no election talk, no politics, no HipHop and none of the gruesome facts of life, but…”

“Kindles without wi-fi were allowed. I know,” Kristen said sarcastically, “Even though you preferred we all read from wasteful paper books.”

“People have read their summer books, all books, that way for years!” Gerald protested. “For centuries! Anyway, that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve said thus far, Gerald, from the no phones to the no politics, but why can’t I talk about beheading?” Kristen fumed. “It doesn’t make any sense!” “Sometimes people have a lovely summer holiday by the shore, just like we’re having, and one of the party goes for a swim and thwack! A shark comes along and bites off their head!”

“What?” Gerald said, incredulously. “What are you talking about? I think the heat is getting to you.”

“I think what she means is ‘life happens,’” Will said, patting Gerald on the shoulder, “even when you’re on vacation.”

One of the Torties came running towards Gerald with something unrecognizable in its mouth, while mumbling a cry.

“What is it Baby?” Gerald asked.

Kristen came over, knelt down and grabbed what was hanging from the cat’s mouth. She smiled with a look of satisfaction.

“Oh look, she brought you a present, Gerald” she said in a syrupy tone, “a bird without a head!”

Gerald gagged upon the realization, got up, and ran for the cottage, knocking a watermelon martini out of Will’s hand in the process.

“What’s up with him?” Will asked Kristen, perplexed.

Kristen picked up the remains of the dead bird, examined it, and then wrapped it in a napkin.

 “I think the heat got to him,” she said.