spoon on Earth.”
Jack and Veronica had not had breakfast so the diner idea appealed to them. They followed Uncle Browne up from the ferry terminal parking lot and crossed the road to enter a path in the field that bordered the still sleeping town of Chimera. A pleasant sea breeze came off the water and they inhaled the briny sea air. They walked with the sun rising higher over the sound behind them, feeling generally uplifted by the fresh quality of a new day on the island. The quiet streets of Chimera were empty but for a few early risers out for breakfast or to walk their dogs. Uncle Browne, Veronica, and Jack were the only ones walking on their side of the street. They passed a series of closed shops on Chimera Way.
Chimera was the whimsical equivalent of the quaint fishing village of Cythere where Uncle Browne and his wife lived. It had become a kind of artist’s colony in the last decade. And it was unusual with its gingerbread houses in as many bright colors as there are crayons in a crayon box; an antique ·but still functioning carousel; a main street loaded with esoteric boutiques. Jack hadn’t been there in three years but particularly remembered one shop, a glass blowers shop that had enthralled him. He looked for it as they walked along Chimera Way.
They passed a series of other unique shops with everything and anything artistic and eclectic: a bead store, a rare book store, a medieval dress shop. Then Jack spotted the glass blower’s shop. Uncle Browne and Veronica walked ahead chatting, so Jack paused by himself to look at the shop.
Through the front window he could see some pieces displayed that returned the exuberant feeling he’d had the last time he’d come to the shop. He’d gone into it then. Today, he had to settle for what he could see in the display window.
A piece containing swirls of orange suggestive of desert sand caught his eye. It was as if sunlight over the sand at dusk had been glazed for posterity and now remained forever captured in the surface of a table top. Next was a glass lampshade of silver delicacy, spun in a spiral, surrounding muted light. This shade resembled a pine tree enameled by crystals of ice shining on a winter night. Another piece, a honey-colored vase, touched by dots of glistening mica, stood out without flowers as if itself in bloom-the white-silver specks of mica rising in relief from the honey plane like pearl droplets on a suntanned hand. All of these nuances of light, these specks of gold the artist must have known and drawn upon, Jack thought, as he gazed at them. He wanted to see more. He tried entering but the door was locked. Then he heard Veronica calling, and moved quickly to catch up. At the end of Chimera Way they turned onto a short, narrow, street and walked toward a different dock. They came to a cobble-stoned alley fronting the water and there The Doc’s Diner sign hung, creaking in the slight wind. The sign was dark blue and rusty around the edges. The diner faced the water, which was calm and sunlit. Above the water a swirl of small birds swept the sky in what looked like a pointillist’s black hand as they flew in perfect synchronization this way and that before disappearing somewhere. Jack admired the pattern the birds made while Uncle Browne lifted his nose; nostrils flared, and took in the aroma of coffee.
“My God,” he said, “I love that smell.” He walked into the diner without hesitation, smiled at those he knew, and sat down on a stool at the long counter. He spun a little on the stool so that he could see Jack and Veronica entering. Then he patted the stool next to him for them to sit down.
They sat on stools at the counter of this railroad-car like diner. Bacon sizzled on a huge, grease-smeared grill. It smelled wonderful. A tall man, thin, with a pony tail tucked under his baseball cap worked the grill like a magician. His tattooed forearms moved in repeated patterns and his large hands fetched and broke and spilled what seemed like half a dozen eggs at a time onto the sizzling skillet when they weren’t stirring and turning and flipping the flapjacks or eggs or grabbing slabs of bacon to separate and fry.
“What’ll it be, Browne?” the cook asked.
“Whatever’s most decadent, but don’t tell my cardiologist,” Uncle Browne retorted.
“I’ll give you the artery clogger special,” the cook said.
“Delightful,” said Uncle Browne with a devilish smile.
“Doc,” he said, addressing the cook, “I’d like you to meet my nephew, Jack, and his girlfriend, Veronica.”
“Nice to know you; vacationing?” the cook asked.
“We’re taking a few days, yeah,” said Jack.
“You came at a good time,” the cook said. “It was just announced, Illumination Night is this week.”
“Is that right?” said Uncle Browne. “I thought it’d be. You two will enjoy that,” Uncle Browne said earnestly. “Jack just graduated from Duke,” Uncle Browne said next.
“Impressive,” the cook said, “know what you’re going to do?”
“I’m thinking things over,” Jack said.
“Good idea,” said the cook.
“He’s thinking about Wall Street,” Uncle Browne said, giving the cook a long contemplative expression, acting very dignified in the process.
“Are you?” the cook asked, and then softly, “I used to work on Wall Street.” He moved down the counter after that, working the line of customers. He came back to them when they had finished eating.
“Enjoy your food?” the cook resumed.
“You’re going to kill me,” Uncle Browne said, and then like a vaudeville comedian, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure, Browne,” the cook said, “I’ll prepare something equally deadly for you.”
“What did you do on Wall Street?” Jack inquired, his interest piqued.
“I have a doctorate in economics,” the cook answered.
Uncle Browne seemed delighted with this. Jack and Veronica reacted with surprise, looking at each other as if to say do you believe this?
“That’s why it’s The Doc’s Diner,” Uncle Browne said.
Once outside Jack pressed Uncle Browne. “Does that guy really have a doctorate in economics?”
“Absolutely. Next time we go in I’ll get him to show you his diploma. I think it’s hanging in the pantry.”
“And did he really work on Wall Street?”
“For ten years, I think. Hated it. Loves this, though,” Uncle Browne said.
“That’s amazing,” Veronica said.
“So why the diner?” Jack queried.
“Doing something he likes.” Uncle Browne sounded slightly more serious.
“Wow, an economist working a diner,” Jack said. “I guess he used what he’d studied on Wall Street. I guess he did what he had to.”
“Uses it now, too,” Uncle Browne put in. “He tells me he can figure out, way ahead of time, how many eggs the summer will eat.”
6
Uncle Browne took the Island Road out of Chimera and headed for Cythere. The road passed through forests and then back into a clearing before
