The Wooden Sea

“What’s a blind spot?”

Floon ignored the kid, all the while gri

“My goodness, Caz, you’re actually smiling now. I didn’t think you knew how.”

Sliding a stubby hand across the roof of the car, he patted it affectionately. The sound was louder than usual because everything else around us was very quiet. “Seeing this brings back nice memories. I was twenty-nine and working for Pfizer. They gave me a raise and at the time all I wanted in the world was one of these. I thought if you owned a car like this you could rule the world: You would be so cool you could eat lions for breakfast. Remember when a car could fill your life, McCabe? I distinctly remember the day I realized I could afford to buy one—in exactly this color. But I purposely waited two weeks before going to the showroom. It was like standing outside a candy store with a pocket full of money. You put off going in as long as you can bear it just to prolong the pleasure of anticipation. I had been mooning over the catalog for months. I’d memorize all the details and the specifications I wanted on my car. I still remember most of them to this day.” He stopped talking. Staring at the car, he let the good memories wash over him.

Unimpressed, Junior crossed his arms and frowned. “I still think it looks like a frog.”

Floon started to walk around the car. I tensed, not knowing what he was about to do.

“I’d only had the car two months when I backed into someone at a parking lot because of that ridiculous blind spot. It was a really stupid flaw in the car’s design. I put a big dent right—” Bending down, his head disappeared behind the other side of the car. Things got even quieter and stayed that way. Finally the boy and I looked at each other and simultaneously walked around the car to see what was going on.

Floon had squatted down and was busily ru

“Whacha doin’ there, Caz?” I said it as gently as I could, not at all sure where the hell his mind was at that moment.

When he looked up his eyes didn’t tell a happy tale. “This is exactly the same dent.” He tried to stand, winced, stopped. Putting a hand on his lower back, he rose much more slowly. Without a word he shuffled toward the front of the car and opened the driver’s door. Surprised by his calm chutzpah, I was about to play cop and say hey, you can’t do that but this looked too interesting. I decided to wait and see what he’d do next.

Floon climbed into the car. Instead of sitting down, he stayed on his knees on the driver’s seat and appeared to be searching for something on the floor. Then he started talking to himself. Not just a word or two but whole long sentences. When I got close enough to hear what he was saying I couldn’t understand anything because he spoke in a guttural foreign language. It sounded like German but later turned out to be Dutch. Every word sounded like he was trying to clear his throat. Everything he said came out sounding like a loud distressed mumble; the kind of a

“Telema

“Floon!”

“Wait!”

Because I was such a nice fellow I’d give him a few more seconds to find whatever he was looking for. Besides it was interesting seeing him melt down into a molten nutcase.

In English he said, “Hah, there it is! I was right.”

“What’s he doing?” Junior came over and went up on his toes for a better view.

Deepening my voice, I tried to sound like Orson Welles, “I’m afraid the man’s coming unhinged.”

“Huh? Waddya mean?”

“Just hold on. We’re waiting to see what he’ll do next.” I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder. He quickly shook it off and stepped away from me.

“Fra

Looking up, I saw George standing on his porch next to a stranger. At first I didn’t know the other guy. A young man, he looked vaguely familiar. Then recognition came like a ca

He kept rummaging and mumbling but would not turn around.

“Floon!”

That got his attention. He glared at me over his shoulder. There was something in his hand but his body blocked my view of it. Anyway I was in a hurry to tell him and watch his reaction.

“What do you want, McCabe?” The words came out too loudly; his voice was full of hatred and hurry.

Pointing a finger at him like a gun, I spat back just as meanly, “Don’t talk to me like that, you piece of shit. Look at the porch. Just look over there.” I threw my arm wildly in that direction. Anything to get his goddamned eyes to look that way.

“What did you say?”

“Look on the porch, Floon!”

“I ca

“Okay, that’s it. Get out of that car. Come here—” I reached for him but he was faster. The next thing I knew, Caz de Floon had a new pistol in his hand and was pointing it at me. Where did he get that? It almost didn’t matter because what he was about to see was a lot more powerful than a gun.

“Get away from me, McCabe.”

I stepped back, hands up. “Please look at the porch?”

Twisting back and forth, he awkwardly worked himself out of the car. The gun remained pointed at my heart the whole time. Only when he was standing again did he look where I’d said. The stranger next to George watched all of this with a kind of vaguely curious passivity. What was happening was sort of interesting but not enough to make him excited.

These two men looked at each other. Watching I got a chill up my back because to my great surprise, the expressions on their faces didn’t change a bit. The younger man seemed engaged but aloof. The old man was just plain pissed off.

“Don’t you know who that is? For Christ’s sake even I know who it is! How can you not recognize him, Floon? It’s you! It’s you when you were young!”

“I know. I knew he was here as soon as I saw the dent in the car. That’s why I was looking around inside it. I knew this was my car. I always kept this gun under the passenger’s seat. I taped it there the day I brought it home from the dealer.”

I remembered Floon in Vie

George followed by the thirtysomething Caz de Floon clumped down the porch steps and toward us. Neither Floon seemed particularly interested in the presence of the other. Their coolness at this meeting astonished me. Then I realized it was one-sided because Floon Junior could not possibly know who this white-haired man with a gun was. Because if you look in a mirror and try to imagine what you’ll look like in thirty years, I don’t think your guesstimate will be right. Mine certainly wasn’t when I saw myself in a mirror in Vie

But there was a piece to the Floon puzzle I didn’t know about that was going to reveal itself and change everything.

The younger man had the same big head of hair (only his was chestnut-brown), army officer posture, and thick stubby hands. But what fixed the resemblance between the two was the tone of voice when he spoke—it was identical. “Father? Why are you here?”

Floon said to Floon. Young to old. The floor was all theirs now—the rest of us were just house lights dimming for the begi