Pearl Diver

Tony was babbling again by the time his father came out onto the back porch with the phone to his ear. He was on the phone with his mother, Tony’s grandma.

“What is that noise?” Tony’s grandma had asked.

Tony’s father said, “That’s just Tony babbling.”

Tony’s face reddened. He stopped babbling until his father got off the phone.

Tony had been a babbler ever since he could talk. Words flowed out of him. His mind was a rainstorm and his mouth was a downspout.

He was a biter too if that matters.

Tony didn’t even know what he was saying most times when he started babbling. A line in a song or a piece of conversation would catch his attention and he would repeat it over and over. He had favorite words and phrases and he would sometimes intersperse them in too.

Tony wasn’t sure if his mind worked the same as everyone else’s. It was a question he had never asked. He was afraid to know the answer.

“Was that Close-by Grandma on the phone?” Tony asked his father. That was what his siblings called their grandmother. Before, they had called her Brown-haired Grandma. You can imagine the pressure that puts on an aging woman. Brown-haired Grandma was a very non-confrontational woman but she had eventually caved and asked them to find another name for her.

20 years later, Close-by Grandma still colors her hair. Does it matter why?

“Yup,” said his father. “She was inviting us over to watch the Tech game today.” He went back inside to put the phone back on the hook.

Tony stayed outside and thought about how embarrassed he’d been. Then he started babbling again.

At Close-by Grandma’s house that afternoon watching the Tech game, Tony sewed his mouth shut and stayed glued to the screen. He could tell you the name of Tech’s backup quarterback and why he was the backup. He was a sharp kid.

The first half ended. Tech was winning but not by much. The TV was off because the cheerleaders were doing an immodest halftime dance.

Tony went outside and headed for the trail behind Close-by Grandma’s house that led to the golf course. He loved collecting lost golf balls from along the course.

He thought golfers must be lazy because they left so many balls behind. That was one of the many thoughts in his mind. His mouth gave shape to them all.

Before he knew it he was all the way at the 16th hole. He had never been this far before. The 16th hole was a water hole; it had a big pond right in front of the green.

Tony didn’t remember taking off his shoes. He must have, though, because the pond bottom felt warm and fleshy against his bare feet. He took a deep breath and submerged himself.

Tony’s hands groped blindly along the pond bottom. He thought of Ceylon pearl divers charming away the sharks. He thought of Edmond Dantes with a weight tied to his feet thrown into the ocean from the Chateau d’If.

Tony came up holding three balls. He stuffed them in his jeans pocket and wiped his eyes.

Just then, Tony heard someone yell “Fore!” Then he heard a small splash and looked around. A golf ball was slowly sinking beside him. He grabbed it and put it into his pocket.

A minute later, a man emerged from the trees lining the 14th hole. He was muttering to himself. Tony heard him say, “Sliced the hell out of it.” He heard him say, “You’ll never get any better, Doug, so why even keep trying?”

Tony was sitting by the pond tying his shoes. The man heard him too. Do I even need to explain?

“Are you blind?” the man shouted. “This is a golf course. You could be killed sitting there!”

This is what Tony was saying: “Edmond Dantes ripped open a shroud. Became a dead man, kept his vows.” He said it again. He saw a vein start to pulse on the man’s forehead.

“The hell is wrong with you?” yelled the man. “Did you at least see where my ball landed?”

Tony fished the ball out of the pocket. He held it up.

“Why the hell did you pick it up?” roared the man. “I should report you. Give it here!” He reached out his arm. “Damn motormouth retard.”

Tony popped the ball into his mouth and ran.

Tony knew the trail from the golf course like the back of his hand. Behind him, the man’s yells were getting fainter already. Brackish water flew off his jeans as he sprinted along.

It was hard to talk with a golf ball in his mouth but Tony made it work. This is what he was repeating:

“You’ll never get any better, so why even keep trying?”