When the rippling swells started to undulate beneath the glassy surface of the water, breaking up the quiet reflections of clouds and spangly spires of sunlight, the Condor began his litany. “Oh shit! Oh Jesus!” he barked. “Oh pussy-cock Jesus-shit!” He jabbed at the air and jerked up and down in the deep water, gurgling and sputtering like a breastfeeding baby. His hands flew up in a slaphappy frenzy, pushing frothy waves at me in tiny, fierce sets and sending up spumes of spit. The tight black curls on his head got dunked and came up shining, then disappeared again. A couple of stoned-looking teenage boys peered over at us, drop-jawed, from their calm neighboring vista ten or fifteen yards south, then quickly looked away when I stared back at them, imitating their open-mouthed gapes. I treaded water and fantasized that the series of terse yanks taking hold of my father were being administered by a shark who had grabbed his leg underwater and was shaking its vicious, enormous snout, ripping through tendons and bone, tugging mercilessly at his tough flesh.
