Peril

EDDIE

Tony.

That was the name the silver-haired man wanted. But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t give Tony up. Because Tony was his friend and had always been nice to him, helped him out from time to time, told him that he was going to give him a raise so he could buy a new car. Eddie concentrated on these things while the man asked him over and over to give him a name.

He moved his naked toes because they were the only parts of his body that didn’t hurt, or didn’t feel some aching need for relief. His stomach cried for food, and his mouth sought water, and his whole body, except for his toes, recoiled at the slightest touch or sound. He remembered once opening a clamshell on the beach and touching the tender, pulpy inside with the tip of his finger. The clam had drawn in at that slight touch, and that was how he felt now, like a clam taken out of its shell, utterly vulnerable to everything.

And yet, at the same time, something very deep seemed whole and protected and beyond anything that could be done to harm it or cause it to collapse. He knew that Father Mike would call that part his soul, but he wasn’t sure that this was really what it was. Maybe it was just stubbornness or pride. No, he thought, it wasn’t that. It was just that he didn’t want to fly apart.

Years before, Father Mike had told him that a man was like a dandelion. Delicate. A breath of wind could tear it apart. But a man who knew himself was like that same plant, only made of steel. It still looked frail. It still looked as though it couldn’t stand up to much. But it had a coating around it. The coating was invisible, but it sealed all the small fibers in a case that nothing could break. And this invisible case that surrounded you was your soul, and when it was pure, nothing could get to all the little fibers that were inside it.

“Who do you work for?”

He closed his eyes and imagined himself as a dandelion blowing in the wind, all the ones around him tearing and shredding, but himself standing firm and whole and not ever giving in.