The Minotaur Read Online Free PDF Page A

first semester as a lan-
guage instructor at Georgetown University. “They asked me to
teach this summer.”
    “What did you say?”
    ‘That I’d think about it.” She had been planning on spending
the summer here at the beach. Kicking her pumps off, she sat on
the sofa with her legs under her. “It all depends.”
    Jake poured himself coffee and sat down at the kitchen table
where he could face her.
    “I went to see Dr. Arnold this afternoon.”
    “Uh-huh.” Jake had refused to go back to the psychologist
    “He says if you don’t get your act together I should leave you.”
    “Just what does the soul slicer think my act is?”
    “Oh, cut the crap, Jake.” She averted her face. She finished her
coffee in silence, then rinsed the cup in the sink. Retrieving her
shoes, she went upstairs.
    The sound of water running in the shower was audible all over
the downstairs. Jake spread the airplane diagram on the table and
opened the instruction manual. Finally he threw the manual down
in disgust.
    He needed a drink. The doctors had told him not to, but fuck
them. He rummaged under the sink and found that old bottle of
bourbon with several inches of liquid remaining. He poured some
in a glass and added ice.
    The problem was that he didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t
want to retire and sit here and vegetate or find a civilian job. He
didn’t want to go to the Pentagon and immerse himself in the
bureaucracy. The Pentagon job had been the only one offered
when he was finally ready to be discharged from Bethesda Naval
Hospital. The politicians had made him a hero and checkmated the
naval establishment but the powers that be had still been smarting
from the way the official investigation had been derailed. Luckily
he had been damn near comatose in the hospital and everyone in
uniform knew he had nothing to do with the political maneuvering.
So he was still in the navy. But his shot at flag rank had vaporized
like a drop of water on a hot stove. Not that he really ever hoped to
make admiral or even cared.
    He lay down on the couch and sipped at the drink. Maybe the
whole problem was that he just didn’t care about any of it any-
more. Let the other guys do the sweating- Let them dance on the
tifhtrope. Let someone else pick up the bodies of those who fell.
pe put the glass on the floor and rolled over on his side. Maybe he
-was depressed—that soul doctor , . . Yes, depression, that was
probably . . .
    When he awoke it was two in the morning and the lights were
off. Callie had covered him with a blanket. He went upstairs, un-
dressed, and crawled into bed with her.
    The wind whipped the occasional raindrops at a steep angle and
drove the gray clouds at a furious pace as Jake and Callie strolled
on the beach. They were out for their usual morning walk, which they
took rain or shine, fair weather or foul. Both wore shorts and were
barefoot; they carried the flip-flops they had worn to traverse the
crushed-seashell mix that covered the street in front of their house
that led to the beach. Both were wearing old sweatshirts over
sweaters. Callie’s hair whipped in the wind.
    Jake critically examined the contours of sand around the piles
that supported a huge house some ignorant optimist had con-
structed on the dune facing the beach. The first hurricane, Jake
suspected, would have the owner tearing his hair. The sand looked
firm now. Shades obscured all the windows. The house was empty.
Only three or four other people were visible on the beach.
    Birds scurried along the sand, racing after retreating waves and
probing furiously for their breakfast. Gulls rode the air currents
with their noses pointed out to sea. He watched the gulls and tried
to decide if the Gentle Lady could soar with them. The moving air
had to have some kind of an upward vector over the sand. Perhaps
if he kept the plane above the dune. The dune was low, though. He
would see.
    Callie’s hand found his and he gave it a squeeze. He led her
down into the