Amagansett by Mark Mills

By Mark Mills

Whilst a first-generation Basque fisherman pulls within the physique of an attractive younger lady, his close-knit manhattan neighborhood should be irrevocably replaced. As sweeping and haunting as its backdrop, Amagansett is an unforgettable evocation of life's epic forces.

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The woman was lithe and long-limbed, wearing a navy blue swimsuit. She was lying face down, her right foot cocked behind her left ankle, her right arm tight against her body, the left extended above her head, the fingers of her hand slightly splayed as if reaching for something. She moved. Conrad hurried forward. She was definitely moving. Seizing her cold, pale shoulder, he turned her over. An enormous monkfish bucked and flailed beneath her. The bloated lips of its grotesquely broad mouth seemed to be reaching for the woman’s, lunging for an embrace.

One ‘Conrad. Conrad…’ The first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon when Conrad was roused from his slumber by Rollo’s hollering. Conrad only ever slumbered, he never slept, not the sleep of a child, dead to the world, its oversized surroundings. One small part of his brain kept constant vigil, snatching at the slightest noise or shift in smell. It no longer bothered him. He accepted it for what it was: a part of him now, like the scar in his side and the remorseless throb of his damaged knee.

The boy gets accepted by West Point, has his friends up for the weekend to celebrate, big party on the beach. Swam for his college. Wasn’t drunk, his blood tested clean. ’ He nodded towards the van. ’ ‘From the rigor…less than twenty-four hours. ’ ‘I need a photo. ’ Nevertheless, he clicked his fingers at one of his assistants. ’ Clutching two four-by-five film holders, Hollis watched as the van pulled away. Almost immediately the spectators started to dissipate. The Basque was rolling a cigarette by the Model A; the Kemp boy appeared to have left already.

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