American Taliban Read Online Free PDF Page A

born-to-surf Katie.
    They’re sponsoring me today. If I win, they might be interested in sponsoring me for the year. Sylvie has the same deal with Billabong, and Jilly with Roxy. I went with Chickabiddy because I like their colors best.
    Considering that Chickabiddy was only recently launched as a business, John wondered about the savviness of her decision. Women’s surfing was said to be the fastest-growing sport in the country, maybe even the world, therefore the field was wide open, and what happened in this competition today could make the difference between corporate sponsorship and not, which could determine whether Katie’s surfing would remain a passion or go on to become her profession. But it was a sign of character that she went for what she liked best.
    Sylvie and Jilly slipped into their own rash guards, and John was treated to a fashion show put on by the three most promising female surfers on the Outer Banks.
    Got yer eyes full? Jilly teased, turning and preening.
    He was a lucky man, and he knew it. These neon colors, he said, wanting to say something, will make you infinitely visible.
    And then they slipped out of their rash guards in synchronized performance, as if they’d rehearsed, and were once again in their string bikini tops and contrasting board pants, worn low on their hips, waistband rolled over so as to reveal the tops of their bikini bottoms, a style, the girls informed him, known as the Clinton-Lewinsky. It was late summer, and Katie’s hair was sun bleached white, her skin was dark honey, and seeing her after their night apart, he couldn’t help it, his penis stood erect. She was a total hottie, all muscle and energy, with nothing imperfect to forgive, though he liked to, or liked to think of himself as humanly forgiving. Surely this was love, he thought, which Barbara warned should make him very afraid.
    Love, she said, quoting Nietzsche, is the state in which man sees things most of all as they are not.
    But why should he be afraid of love? He would go where it led. He would go forth, and live and learn and become.
    It was time to report on deck. Katie & Co. stood, brushed sand off their bums, and he walked with them toward the flags, where they received their competition jerseys, still wet from the previous heat. He gave Katie his best good-luck kiss, and Jilly and Sylvie each a hug.
    Just be yourself and have fun, he said, sounding like Barbara.

 
     
    KNOWING HOW SWELLS PERFORMED was a smart surfer’s advantage, and though he wouldn’t be in the water today, not for hours anyway, he walked as close as he could get and settled in to watch the sets, count the number of waves in a set, tracking at what point they started to increase in size, and when they started to diminish. Every set had a rhythm, a kind of natural internal clock that could tell you everything, if you knew what to look for. To Katie this knowledge came naturally, as involuntarily as she breathed. She fathomed the shape of the ocean floor by the shape of a swell, its heave, drop, and close, and since every surfer made contact with the ocean floor at some point, knowing where the rocks and reefs were could save your life. She thought of waves as personalities and got to know them as easily as she made friends. For her it was all innate intuition; she did no planning, lost no sleep. Nights, she sent up prayers to Lono, closed her eyes, and slept with the innocence of the heavenly cherubim.
    The whistle sounded. The girls took off. Katie’s first challenge, every surfer’s first challenge, was to get under and past the white water with a minimum of energy. First to arrive got first place in the lineup, which made all the difference, especially in East Coast waters, where perfect waves were not plentiful.
    All three charged with confidence. They leaped onto their boards, paddled hard and fast to the outside. From where he stood, it lookedas if Katie and Jilly were in first and second place, with someone he didn’t