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“You read English?”
He shook his head. “No. No. Not much. I read little.” Then he gave the paper to me.
Little?
I tucked it away. “Thanks. Shh on this though. Okay? It’s just what she likes me to do to her.”
“Yes? I guess I can shush but...” He shook his head while looking down at the sand. “I don’t know. It don’t seem right.”
Where was the line between reading little and reading enough?
I rubbed my forehead.
Words could be powerful when said to the right people.
I shrugged, annoyed, tired, and feeling sad about where my accidental decisions were taking me.
“My mother always told me to take care of my wife. You think you do that? By beating her? But hey.” He held up his hands and gestured, pushing the air outward. “Don’t want to interfere in your marriage with her. No. Your business, for sure, but I feel for your soul.” He thumped his chest.
This fisherman had principles. He was right, of course.
Drunk old bastard that he was. Like most people he deserved better than life had delivered to him.
That familiar tug awakened and pulled me between caring for Jazmine, loving her, and wanting to hurt her. I’d sat out by myself a few nights trying to reconcile this new facet of myself. Being a sadist was old news, wanting to do things the woman didn’t want and then doing them anyway? New. This freedom was making me have second and third thoughts.
“We have souls that gather dirt as we live our lives. Mine has many spots, I know this.” He nodded, lower lip curling out. “Is bad. Yours? Is yours dirty?”
For a drunken fisherman, he was giving Aristotle a run for his money.
“A soul?” I smiled weakly. “Sometimes I think I don’t have one of those.”
“You do! Some of you is a good man!” He snuggled his arm across my shoulders and breathed fumes in my face for a moment before his arm slid off. “Don’t want you going to your death with bad things weighing you down.”
“Uh huh.”
In the middle of nowhere and I was getting into a philosophical discussion with a fisherman.
“So why are you here? Hmm? This is nowhere.” He pulled a horrible face, wrinkles folding on wrinkles as he surveyed the beach. “Is pretty but shithole. Storm will blow you away, if the waves don’t get you.”
“A shithole? Damn, I could show you worse than this.” I chuckled despite everything.” I came here with her to...” I had a compulsion to tell him some of the truth. “Make sure we agreed on things.” Inside, I laughed again. That was sort of it.
“By beating her until she screams?” His eyebrows shot up. “Wow.”
“Wow?” What was wrong with giving this guy some of my time on this beach? Nothing. It wasn’t like I had an appointment to get to. “What’s your name?”
“I am Miok.”
“I’m Pieter.” I shook his hand. “Okay, here’s a pretend puzzle for you. Something bad has happened. If you do one thing, all your friends go to jail. Maybe for the rest of their lives. But...” Why was my heart beating so fast and hard? “One woman is freed from prison. Do the opposite and she is in prison but your friends are free. Which do you choose?”
“That’s a moral puzzle.” He took a swig from his bottle. “I know what morals are. Shit. And I know answer. I think.”
“Go for it.”
A late ghost crab scuttled past my toes along the sand. The waves gently shushed back and forth, shifting the gravel and sand. I was missing the best fishing time arguing morals with this guy but it had become important to me.
Swaying, he held up his finger. “Depends. Did she do anything bad? Did your friends?”
I thought a while. “Both. Her, it was accidental badness with some bitchiness too. The friends have done many deliberate bad things, but they’ve also done good.”
