us.
Chris Knopf 35
"You're distracted," she said.
    "I am," I said, as I informed her of the pockmarked guy who greeted me at the docks, now following us in a pickup. "Don't look," I added.
    "Oh, for heaven's sake."
    We walked in silence for several minutes with the truck a nearly silent escort twenty or so paces behind. Then I heard the engine's rpms rev up and watched the truck slide around us and disappear around the curve ahead.
    "Asshole," said Amanda.
    "I seem to attract them," I said.
    "You do," she said, in a tone both sympathetic and matter-of-fact, which I didn't exactly know how to interpret. "Should we call the cops?"
    "Cop. There's only one. A New York State trooper. They rotate them in and out on six-month assignments. At least that's what I'm told. I've never seen him."
    "Or her."
    "Or her."
W hen we reached the Black Swan, Anika was out on the lawn, snipping with a pair of pruning shears at the hedge growing disobediently above a narrow flower garden filled with late season blooms. Like the day before, she was oddly dressed for the pursuit at hand, as young people are wont to do, something I'd learned from my daughter.
    I introduced her to Amanda, who complimented Anika on her leather choke collar. I'd lived among women long enough to know this was a peace ritual, an expressed hope for boundaries to be respected and good will shared among all. Anika responded with a demure glance toward the ground, a fondling of the observed object, and a suggestion that it would look far better on Amanda, given her long,
36 BLACK SWAN
slender neck. I wondered if I should now piss on the grass at Amanda's feet, anthropologically speaking.
    Instead I asked, "Did Eloise ever show up?"
    "She did," said Anika. "Thank you for asking. She slept on my face all night, something she does when she's upset. Don't know why. Maybe the smell of your dog."
    "Do you know a guy who hangs around the docks, a little younger than me, with a bad case of ancient acne?" I asked her.
    "Track?"
    "Who?" I asked.
    "Anderson Track. Runs the gas station and fuel dock."
    "He tried to chase me away. I wondered what his problem was."
    She looked down and shook her head.
    "It's what they do here. Sorry. I'll tell him you're our guest. Not that he'd care. We're still looked upon as interlopers. The last owners had nearly defaulted on the place after letting it basically crumble into the ground. But they were locals, so without fault."
    She snapped the shears with a lot of shoulder in it, yielding a large clump of hedge. There were piles of faded summer flowers on the ground, and what was left cleaved to the purple, gold and red of the late season.
    "Your flowers are beautiful," said Amanda. "Interesting colors."
    Anika stood back and shared in the admiration.
    "That's six thirty-two point five," she said, pointing to some clumps of lavender. Then she went along the narrow garden, saying, "Forty-two, seventy-six, more or less, and four ninety-six, a perfect number, by the way."
    "Numbering your plants," said Amanda. "Sounds like something Sam would do."
    "The owner of our boat is going to ship repair parts care of the Swan," I said. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but if you
Chris Knopf 37
could accept the shipment and let us know it's here, I'll get it off your hands as soon as I can."
    Anika dropped the shears and rested them on her thigh. She smiled a generous smile.
    "Don't be ridiculous. We don't mind accepting a package."
    Amanda thanked her and pulled at my sleeve, reminding me that we were starving and
Chris Knopf 35
"You're distracted," she said.
    "I am," I said, as I informed her of the pockmarked guy who greeted me at the docks, now following us in a pickup. "Don't look," I added.
    "Oh, for heaven's sake."
    We walked in silence for several minutes with the truck a nearly silent escort twenty or so paces behind. Then I heard the engine's rpms rev up and watched the truck slide around us and disappear around the curve ahead.
    "Asshole," said Amanda.
    "I seem to attract them," I said.
    "You do," she said, in a tone both sympathetic and matter-of-fact, which I didn't exactly know how to interpret. "Should we call the cops?"
    "Cop. There's only one. A New York State trooper. They rotate them in and out on six-month assignments. At least that's what I'm told. I've never seen him."
    "Or her."
    "Or her."
W hen we reached the Black Swan, Anika was out on the lawn, snipping with a pair of pruning shears at the hedge growing disobediently above a narrow flower garden filled with late season blooms. Like the day before, she was oddly dressed for the pursuit at hand, as young people are wont to do, something I'd learned from my daughter.
    I introduced her to Amanda, who complimented Anika on her leather choke collar. I'd lived among women long enough to know this was a peace ritual, an expressed hope for boundaries to be respected and good will shared among all. Anika responded with a demure glance toward the ground, a fondling of the observed object, and a suggestion that it would look far better on Amanda, given her long,
36 BLACK SWAN
slender neck. I wondered if I should now piss on the grass at Amanda's feet, anthropologically speaking.
    Instead I asked, "Did Eloise ever show up?"
    "She did," said Anika. "Thank you for asking. She slept on my face all night, something she does when she's upset. Don't know why. Maybe the smell of your dog."
    "Do you know a guy who hangs around the docks, a little younger than me, with a bad case of ancient acne?" I asked her.
    "Track?"
    "Who?" I asked.
    "Anderson Track. Runs the gas station and fuel dock."
    "He tried to chase me away. I wondered what his problem was."
    She looked down and shook her head.
    "It's what they do here. Sorry. I'll tell him you're our guest. Not that he'd care. We're still looked upon as interlopers. The last owners had nearly defaulted on the place after letting it basically crumble into the ground. But they were locals, so without fault."
    She snapped the shears with a lot of shoulder in it, yielding a large clump of hedge. There were piles of faded summer flowers on the ground, and what was left cleaved to the purple, gold and red of the late season.
    "Your flowers are beautiful," said Amanda. "Interesting colors."
    Anika stood back and shared in the admiration.
    "That's six thirty-two point five," she said, pointing to some clumps of lavender. Then she went along the narrow garden, saying, "Forty-two, seventy-six, more or less, and four ninety-six, a perfect number, by the way."
    "Numbering your plants," said Amanda. "Sounds like something Sam would do."
    "The owner of our boat is going to ship repair parts care of the Swan," I said. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but if you
Chris Knopf 37
could accept the shipment and let us know it's here, I'll get it off your hands as soon as I can."
    Anika dropped the shears and rested them on her thigh. She smiled a generous smile.
    "Don't be ridiculous. We don't mind accepting a package."
    Amanda thanked her and pulled at my sleeve, reminding me that we were starving and
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