The Green Jewel

            He was shocked by what he saw. It was a beetle with folded wings. Fein waited, crouching down among the huge phantom acacia leaves, waited until the thing would fly. He anticipated red between the wings. Farther away, out of one eye but still in periphery, two of them were attached by their behinds, as it were. The front beetle lugged the back one like a tug boat chugging the barge on the brick surface, where the owner of the property had laid them in a box-like pattern.
            Fein had gained entrance to this site, which had a house and backyard, as he had others, with a hook. He told them all the property could be worth much more money than they paid for it.” What he really meant was if the arm of the Federal agency he represented was interested in the wildlife, they would make an offer the owner could not refuse.
            “Incredible,” Fein sighed.
            Only a few years ago the U.S. government didn’t care for anything but the gross national product. And now. It was all about the environment, even if that meant hoarding up countless acres of privately-owned land. The island’s large size made it enviable of smaller island communities and large continental countries alike because what was unmanageable there was possible here.

Aquatomana. He had heard the word a year ago, sunning himself on his Florida Keys porch, on a radio advertisement.
            Tired of the effects of global warming—of the progressively worse hurricanes which ripped through his home and sanctuary—he had taken a leave of absence from the Conservation Commission, feeling the ennui of one who had little belief in the effects of his work, and put his feet up for a change.
            His wife, Marie, had to quell her disquietude, but couldn’t help washing the dishes with fury when she arrived home from her demanding orchid protection job. As she disrobed her gun harness, her water world boots, and the jumpsuit that covered every inch of bare skin save her head and hands, she railed into Fein.  Why couldn’t he get back to work… this… that… Why didn’t she get it, he wondered.

They had met among orchids and raptured in the wild habitat of Florida’s tropical foliage, shared a love of wine coolers and a disdain for the outlaws who wanted to disturb the precious nearly-extinct breeds they both conserved, her the flowers and he the insects. What had they come to, in the wake of his new-found leisure? His knees were burned from all this leisure, she contended.

He looked down at his knees now. A year had passed and he was doing what he dared not hope for. He had a position any environmentalist would envy, cultivating an entire country’s insect population, albeit a small one. He had made a name for himself in the national nature magazines and had gotten two offers of speaking engagements to promote the cause, the first coming the following month.

The beetle flickered in the sun, its grey-black reflective coat fine enough for an evening out on the town, Fine thought, rubbing his sore head. Last night’s events pushed down on his eyebrows. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep and felt woozy. He had finally decided after months here with a book or newspaper, or the odd movie in town, whose theater changed the marquee every few months, that he needed to see a woman’s face, whatever that meant. He could go out all the time, so generous way his stipend, but he didn’t the irony—financially he was free, his wife unimportant, but he had withdrawn like a fern frond into itself.

He had put on a clean button-down shirt, short sleeve, casual but not overly so, and a pair of khaki shorts. He cleaned his glasses with a tissue and brushed the lint away with the tail of his shirt.

Lancie’s bar lay a mile down the road. Starting out on foot at a good pace at 7 o’clock, he arrived by 7:30. He didn’t want to appear eager, nor did he want to get drunk. The last time anything severe had happened with liquor was at a college party with his elite group of upper classmen, when his eyes had crossed.

A yellow light emanated from Lancie’s, the kind reminding him of old car headlights, which these days glared white. The music from within tempted him, a samba, yet made his heart race. He picked a stool near the end of the bar, towards the dimmer side of the square room and ordered a martini. To either side empty booths commanded a view of the floor, where a sole woman danced to the music, arms outstretched, as if a partner shuffled along with her.

“Da da da, da da da,” she sand wordlessly to the tune.

She wore an orange hibiscus flower on the side of her deep brown hair, and her white dress shimmied from side to side with her hips. It was all Fine could do to not stare at this vision. Aman sat at the bar, a few seats away in the wash of lights which illuminated the dance floor. His two-piece suit appeared orange under the yellow light he sat under, but Fein surmised it was probably not so absurd a color.

“Savage,” the man said.

Startled out of his reverie, Fein realized the man was addressing him. “Excuse me?” he said.

The man held out his hand, still sitting on his stool.

“Oh,” Fein said, rising. The man rose, towering over him. He was used to being taller than the men around here, who usually stood a foot shorter. “Fein, Samuel Fein.” He shook the man’s hand.

“Won’t you join me? I’m about ready for another,” the man said.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“Chickie, order me one,” the woman chimed in.

“Yes, my little pineapple,” the man echoed.

Fein hesitated for a moment before ordering more of the same for them both.

“Savage, you say?” Fein took another sip of his very dry martini. He expected the bar to fill up by now, as it was almost 9, but he had never been there, so what did he know.

“Ahha! My first name is Altos, but my friends call me Al. My mother played a little trick on me because she was an opera singer.”

Unsolicited information, Fein thought. Little did the man know how unsympathetic an ear he had found. Fein’s mother had tortured him with opera as a small child, booming it from the living room stereo. His room was on the other side of the wall and he stuffed his ears with ripped up pieces of tissue ,or if he was in bed, he put the comforter over his ears.

The man was still going on about opera. Fein recoiled from the heavy warble of women opera singers as they rested on their vibrato.

“I understand you’re interested in property,” said the man.

“No… not exactly.” Did the man know who he was? “Wildlife’s my game.”

“I see. I see,” said the man, smoothing his mustache.

“I hear you’re looking at old Ambrose’s land right now,” he said.

“Word does get around,” said Fein, shifting on his stool.

The man handed the woman a martini.

“Oooh, thank you, Dearie,” she said to him.

Then she appeared suddenly at Fein’s arm, her fingers trickling up his shirt sleeve.

He jerked away from the itchy sensation. Up close, her dress was a light blue and the hibiscus in her hair turned yellow, the wash of artificial yellow light no longer hitting her full force the shadowed area of the bar.

“Call me Tooshie,” she smiled widely, exhibiting a neat row of elephantine incisors.

“Fein, at your service, Miss.”

“Miss! Did you hear that Chickie? He called me Miss!” Her eyes rolled back and she stuck out her pursed lips and hit him on the cheek with them.

Fein’s palms were moist and he felt dizzy. Normally he had a high tolerance. How could he be this drunk after two measly drinks? The room looked full, suddenly, as he looked around at the bar, the booths, and the tables on the floor. The band played too loudly, some old Big Band standard, strangely appropriate for this tiny locale. When had all these couples arrived. Decked out in bird-like outfits, they swayed to the music.

“Come on. Let’s dance,” she said, pulling him onto the floor.

His feet lingered behind while his body motioned ahead. She was a woosh of orange before him. Someone kicked him from the side. Someone else jabbed him with an elbow.

“Careless dancers you have here,” he said to her.

“Honey, we know whose stepping a little off, don’t we? But you’re cute, real cute.” She squeezed one of his ears, and then engulfed him in her arms.

The music had slowed somehow in the time they had been shuffling around, and out of breath, all he could do was let her hold him up, as they continued dancing, too closely for his taste. Weren’t they together, she and the man?

She smelled of old perfume, the kind his grandmother used to wear, from flowered that must have been dried and dead for ages before bottled.

He found himself being led back to the bar.

Stumbling, his legs jellyfish, Fein fell into the man’s arms. Fortunately neither one was holding a drink, as they had set them on the bar. He righted himself and regained his composure.

“I had better be going,” he said to them both. His voice sounded hoarse to himself, as he tried to overcome the decibel of the room. The booths were all full of more than couples—full parties haunted those dark spaces.

“Let me give you a lift,” Savage entreated. Without waiting for a response, a heavy arm lifted Fein by the shoulders as if he were a feather. With Savage on one side and the woman on the other, Fein had no will left. They made their way to the door, carrying him over the frame and down the steps, and to their large car in the parking lot. It reminded him of his father’s Studebaker.

In the morning, he had found himself splayed out on his couch without his shorts on, lipstick on his shirt. His head spun, and the light coming through the front window was mid-day light, too bright. He could not remember anything at all after being set in the back of the seat of the old jalopy. Horrified, he tossed the shirt in the trash and spoke of the incident to no one. The adventure had not solved his lack of female company. What would his wife say now?

The beetle’s wings remained closed. He knew it was the Green Jewel, but without a full examination, he couldn’t fill out the report, and therefore couldn’t recommend the property. He would return the next day.

“The house is unnecessary—what we want is the land.”

Fein knew the voice. The hairs in his ears prickled.

Out walked the man from last night with Mr. Andersen. They both held a glass of what looked like lemonade, and Andersen appeared to be in a trance, staring at his companion and unable to speak. The man continued his conversation, now pointing in Fein’s direction.

“As I was saying, this is the man I’ve been talking to about your property, and I’m sure we can come to an arrangement based on the square yards—”

“Excuse me,” Fein interrupted, standing up, approaching them.

The man looked surprised, but continued, ignoring Fein.

“A fair price to use…”

“Look here. You’re not getting the land, and if you think you can drug someone—”

The man loomed largely before him now. “Watch what you’re insinuating, Sir.”

“Sir, indeed. I have a requisition from the government which takes precedence over anything you can offer.”

“Hah! The government.”

Anderson stood on the sidelines, watching this ping pong game. He said, “true, the government takes a while to act. But realtors, you don’t have to wait.”

“Not anymore,” Fein said. Realtors? Is that was this creep was? A lowly agent? He could be vying for the land for himself or someone else.

It was then that Fein realized how loudly they were all talking. Screaming.

“What, do you have a magic wand?” yelled the man.

They all stopped talking as a wash of white filled the air. It reminded Fein of dandelion frizz, but it was denser than that. He couldn’t see the others. It was as if they had disappeared.

The wind flew up out of nowhere. Then the water came, throwing him onto the ground and pulling him along the bricks over against a tree trunk, where he lay on his side, unable to move, pinned down by the force of the hurricane.

When he arose he realized it must have been more than a few minutes. Water seeped out of his shirt and pants, squished out of his shoes. The backyard had transformed into a marsh, long grass reeds upright and flowing. It was strangely silent. No bird song. No trees rustling. The wind had completely disappeared. The others were gone, blown away somewhere.

The grass shone in the sunlight. He stood, taking in the sight. He moved closer. Got down on his knees. It—they—a whole field of beetles! He couldn’t believe it. The hurricane had come and gone, and had given him a wealth of jewels. All he could do was sit there, his hands on his knees, and laugh.