An Eclipse at the End of the World

Ryan Hume

March 2006

Sebastian was late as I remember it. Johanna looked at me from across the plastic table, rain-spotted and glowing of the sun, all nervous smile. Our chairs were moist and tepid, and it didn’t help. This was the first time we’d been alone since, I think, and the ocean was off in the distance making most of the conversation, evaporating.

"It’s so hot today," she said.

It was almost noon and we were drinking: nothing fancy, two Mimosas; it was supposed to be breakfast, but Sebastian was absent.

"Thanks for stating the obvious." I finished my drink and looked for NASA. He wasn’t on the patio. Our waiter, a gimp, walked with the grace of an askew astronaut suffering a loss of gravity; able to carry a tray over his head, slowly, defying a number of rules of physics and physiology. His one hand carted the weight, while the other – slight: the gimp, the space arm – with the three protruding, malformed digits manhandled the glasses, or possibly the food we never ordered. His left leg, ankle flaccid, drug an imaginary tortoise, and he was nowhere to be seen nor heard. He may not have taken kindly to the nickname.

So we talked. About things, mostly. A lot of nouns we used to have in common. People, places and things make the world go round. Our cats were doing fine at their place. Her plants were dead, I told her, again, I think.

I wanted to feel silent, but I couldn’t stop talking, looking over my shoulder for NASA.

"So how’s you’re place?" she said.

"My place? Really?" I scratched my head. "It’s pretty much the same, you know? Barrel full of laughs. I’ve taken in a circus since you left with the cats. They have a bear. It rides a unicycle and plays an accordion and sings songs about it’s bear mother and what it was like to be a cub, except that she sings them in ‘bear’ and I can’t understand them mostly – I mean I get the gist of it, cause I took Russian in college – but the adjectives are lost on me. You know how it is with translation."

"Liar," she giggled.

"Well, yeah – no," I looked over my shoulder for the space program. "I think it was in the 19th or 18th century in Russian – the language, and, you know, the people too, that spoke the language. They changed the word from ‘bear’ to a euphemism for, well, ‘bear.’ It’s something like – медведь, I think. I’m not sure. Doesn’t matter. The cool thing’s the reason they changed it. It was out of fear, necessity. They thought if anyone said the word ‘bear’ – you know, before it was медведь – that they would conjure a bear. It would appear right before them. The beast – you know, the burden, the whatnot..." I laughed uncomfortably, then choked on ice. Where the fuck was NASA? "I don’t know, it’s a linguistic myth."

"You’re still a liar," she said. "But that’s funny. I always tell people you’re the smartest person I know."

Nothing at all to say, all Mimosa smiles, bear euphemisms, I’m not alone. Not really. I remember the peculiarities of her genitals, the eccentricities of the naked body. I’ve seen her ass, her breasts, put it everywhere. In her mouth, her cunt. The same way she put it to me. I even have that right now, so long after: there’s four feet of red checkered tablecloth separating us, but I can feel the way she used to graze my ear with only her bottom teeth.

"The smartest person you know?" I replied. "Still?"

"Sure, you are."

Right.

Afterwards, I never want to see someone I’ve fucked for a very long time. She’s never anyone I wanted to see again.

But I do. Almost everyday.

Everything’s been said, done.

But I do almost everyday again.

"So how’s Sebastian?" I say. "Still a fucker, I hope? Just a big fucker that doesn’t pay rent, or do much? Right? Just like he used to be?"

"No," she smiled at my jealousy. "He’s fine. Loves his job – "

"What was that again?"

" – Advertising. You know that."

"That’s right, he’s in advertising. Scum."

"You used to be best friends."

"I know."

"He’s fine." She ignored my hostility, castrated it. "He just got a promotion."

A fine sand blew over the patio wall. It was sticky with wet salt from the ocean and smelt of sun-ripened seaweed. I licked it off of my lips and felt the uneven grains on my teeth and gums. I swallowed dry.

"So do you ever – "

"No," she said flat. The table between us grew exponentially, the distance greater than it had been before, a sea of red checkers, and the ocean crashing behind us.

"Jesus, Sebastian!" Johanna scolded. "Where’ve you been? We’ve been here for over an hour."

"Oh." Sebastian’s face grew terse as he took his seat. "You guys haven’t heard."

"Heard what?" Johanna asked.

"It’s the end of the world," Sebastian said.

I realized we hadn’t seen NASA in a while, and I had stopped looking for him. In fact, it was a beautiful day and the patio was totally empty save the three of us.

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