Seville and spun out.
I caught a glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror
just before turning onto the street. He was sitting
on the asphalt, head in hands, rocking back and
forth and, I was pretty sure, weeping.
THE BIG black and gold koi was the first to surface,
but the other fish soon followed his lead and within
seconds all fourteen of them were sticking whiskered
snouts out of the water and gobbling down
food pellets as fast as I tossed them in. I knelt by a
large smooth rock fringed with creeping juniper
and lavender azaleas and held three pellets in my
fingers just beneath the surface of the water. The
big one caught the scent and hesitated, but gluttony
got the better of hiTM and his glistening muscular
body. snaked its way over.-He stopped inches from
my hand and looked up at me. ! tried to appear
trustworthy.
The sun was On its way down but enough light
lingered over the foothills to catch the metallic
glint of the gold scales, dramatizing the contrast
with the velvety black patches on his back. A truly
magnificent kin-kioutsuri.
Suddenly the big carp darted and the pellets
were gone from my hand. I replaced them. A red
27
hnd white kohaku joined in, then a platinum ohgon
in a moonlight-colored blur. Soon all the fish were
nibbling at my fingers, their mouths soft as baby
kisses.
The pond and surrounding garden xefuge had
been a gift from Robin during the painful months
of recuperation from the shattered jaw and all the
unwanted publicity. She’d suggested it, sensing the
value of something to calm me down during the
period of enforced inactivity, and knowing of my
fondness for things oriental.
At first I’d thought it unfeasible. My home is one
of those creations peculiar to southern California,
tucked into a hillside at an improbable angle. It’s
an architectural gem with spectacular views from
three sides but there’s very little usable flat land
and I couldn’t envision room for a pond.
But Robin had done some research, sounding out
the idea with several of her craftsmen friends, and
had been put in touch with an inarticulate lad from
Oxnardma young man so outwardly stuporous his
nickname was Hazy Clifton. He had arrived with
cement mixers, wooden forms, and a ton or two of
crushed rock, and had created an elegant, meandering,
naturalistic pond, complete with waterfall and
rock border, that weaved its way in and around the
sloping terrain.
An elderly Asian gnome materialized after Hazy
Clifton’s departure and proceeded to embroider the
young man’s artistry with bonsai, zen grass, juniper,
Japanese maple, long-necked lilies, azalea, and
bamboo. Strategically placed boulders established
meditative spots and patches of snowy gravel-sug-gested
serenity. Within a week the gardenlooked
centuries old.
BLO01- TEST
the deck that bisected the two
levels of the house and look. down on the pond,
letting my eyes trace patterns etched in the gravel
· by the wind, watching the koi, jewellike and tan’.
gid in their movement. Or I could descend to the
floor of the garden and sit by the water’s edge
eeding the fish, the surface breaking gently in concentric
waves.
It became a ritual: each day before sunset I tossed
pellets to the koi and reflected on how good life
could be. I learne, d how to banish unwanted images–of
death and falsehood and betrayal–from my mind
with Pavlovian efficiency.
Now I listened to the gurgling of the waterfall
and put aside the memory of Richard Moody’s
debasement.
· The sky darkened and the peacock-colored fish
grayed and finally melted into the blackness of the
water. I sat in the dark, content, tension a vanquished
enemy.
The first time the phone rang I was in the middle
of dinner and I ignored it. Twenty minutes
later it rang. again and I picked it up.
“Dr. Delaware? This is Kathy from your service.
I had an emergency call for you a few minutes ago
but nobody answered.”
“What’s the message, Kathy?”
“It’s from a Mr. Moody. He said it was urgent.” “Shit.”
“Dr. D?”
“Nothing, Kathy. Please give me the number.”
She did and I asked her if Moody had sounded