Atlas Mooed
Grey waters closed in around the island. The visitor sporting a straw brim hat wound his way up the rocky footpath. He tapped his jacket pocket as he climbed, reassuring himself the enclosed package wasn’t dislodged with each overextended step.
Summiting, he walked a short distance before he reached the bluffs. There were two chairs circling a round blue table that stood on one leg. A woman sat on one chair, balancing a cigarette between pinky and thumb. A pile of red-stained work clothes composed itself artfully on the second chair. He lifted it up and set it on the table. The woman smoking the cigarette did not move. She had grey salt-combed hair, and a lip cant that had settled over the seasons.
A moo echoed down from a distance. She turned to him, and saw a sheepish grin under a straw brim hat.
“I knew you were coming today.”
“Did you?” He swung the chair out, sending gravel skittering along.
“I heard you in my dreams last night. Then Atlas told me to set out an extra cup of her milk for you. Drink.” She slid the cup to him.
He swished the white froth around. “Did she say why I’m here?” He drank deep and showed her the bottom of the cup, and then he set it down.
“Atlas isn’t long-winded these days. Today’s world is too much for one cow to bear.”
“Ah.” He took off his straw hat, and black hair tumbled out. He set the hat on the table, but it flitted, threatening to take off with the wind. The hat was clutched back onto his head without ceremony, and he secured the string under his chin.
He settled back in his seat and withdrew a bundle of unopened cigarette packs from his jacket.
“From the mainland, Leung-Ma. If you want them.”
The woman grunted and accepted the cigarettes. She peeled the plastic off a pack with her teeth. She removed a cigarette, and proffered it to her son.
He shook his head, then found he was leaning the chair forward. He pushed himself back into solid ground.
“What did you do since I saw you? Did you remember to breathe?”
He exhaled deep to show her. “Breathed a little, dreamed a little, died a little.” A dry chuckle that could be a cough. “Did you remember to breathe, Leung-Ma?”
She puffed out her wisps into the cold. “All I do is breathe, Heiji.” They stopped to appreciate the smoke straining up, vining with the wind. “I breathe my little fire so my cows know the way back home.”
They paused, listening for a distant moo. Atlas always knew when she was being talked about, but today she was shy. The wind came whistling again and shook the leg of the table. She outstretched a toe to steady it, but the wind had already passed.
