The Amish Spaceman

AS THEY APPROACHED Salt Lake City Dean saw more and more signs for the Great Salt Lake. Finally it appeared north of the interstate––a vast body of water that reflected the sky.

  “You know what? We’re making good time, and I’ve always wanted to see it,” said Dean, and took the next exit ramp.

  Emerson squinted at him. “See what?”

  “The Great Salt Lake.”

  “What’s so great about it?”

  Dean smiled. “‘Great’ means the lake’s very big, not that it wrote a Tony-award-winning play.”

  “Who is this Tony?”

  “It’s full of sea monkeys,” Lin murmured sleepily from the back seat.

  “Tony is full of sea monkeys?”

  Dean patted Emerson’s leg. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He drove the car through the meandering curves of a park surrounding the lake, and stopped in a gravel lot with a collection of other vehicles.

  Stern gray mountains ringed the lake. Apart from the tiny ripples made by a few swimmers, the water was as flat and smooth as a windowpane.

  Dean opened the door of the Impala and stood up, stretching his arms to the sky. He offered his hand to Emerson and she slid out of the car.

  “Let’s go swimming,” he said.

  Emerson waved at the silk of her red wedding dress. “But I’m wearing this!”

  “Aren’t you wearing anything under it?”

  Emerson pulled the edge of her veil over her chest. “Not even my husband should ask that question!”

  Lin’s sleepy voice came from the back seat of the car.

  “Let the poor girl wear your shirt, Dean.”

  “Yes, of course.” Dean began to undo the buttons. “It’s made of thick material. You won’t have to worry.”

  Emerson took the shirt and called to Fanta in Russian. The sea-green Impala’s suspension squealed as the round woman climbed out of the back and followed Emerson to a nearby changing hut.

  Dean left his clothes on the trunk of the car. Wearing only his boxer shorts, he squished and slipped through the mud to the lake.

  The green and brown water was far from clear. Blue bottle flies rode on patches of floating muck like stranded sailors, and tiny shrimp the size of question marks wriggled below the surface. Dean sank down and stared across water that seemed to stretch for miles without a ripple.

  A squeal came from the shore, and Dean turned to see Emerson standing knee-deep in the lake. Her black braids were pinned behind her head and she wore Dean’s shirt buttoned up to her neck.

  “There are things!”

  She pointed at the water between her pale legs.

  “It’s fine,” said Dean. “Trust me.”

  He splashed up to Emerson and led her by the hand deeper into the cool saltwater.

  “Are they going to hurt us?” she asked.

  “No, they’re just tiny shrimp. Come in deeper. The lake is full of salt, so it’s easy to float and swim.”

  “But my hair will be soaked!”

  Dean smiled. “You’ve got such a cute look on your face.”

  With prodding from Dean, Emerson waded deeper into the water. She held tightly to his hand, and they floated on their backs across the gentle surface of the lake. Dean watched a pair of tiny clouds float across the pale sky high above, and felt drowsy. He wondered if anyone had ever fallen asleep on the lake and drowned. That wouldn’t be a bad way to go, he thought.

  “Tell me your dreams,” said Emerson, in a quiet voice.

  “Usually I’m naked and in front of many people. So many people.”

  Emerson giggled. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean what is in your head when you sleep. I mean your dream, what you want in life.”

  “I just want to be happy, that’s it.”

  “Every person wants that. What does your happy look like?”

  Dean said nothing for a long moment as he floated on his back and watched the sky.

  “I’ve always wanted to live in a tiny house with a huge green lawn, on a hill overlooking the Ohio. I’d come home from work, kiss my beautiful wife, play with my children on the lawn, and later, when the nightjars are buzzing and the lightning bugs are blinking, I’d sit and watch the river go by.”

  “Why the river? America is a big country. Why not a house on the beach or in the mountains?”

  “Mountains are too cold, and a house near the ocean is like living in a washing machine. The river is best. It’s always there, always pushing along, summer or winter, covered in rain or filled with ice. This probably seems silly like every other metaphor people try to apply to life, but it reminds me of the slow passing of time and the inevitability of everything going away. Even though it gives me that feeling, a feeling that seems very melancholy, I’m not at all sad. I’m just happy to watch the river go by.”

  “That’s a good dream.”

  “How about you, the recently appointed Mrs. Dean Cook? What do you need to be happy?”

  Emerson sighed and splashed her feet. “I am not a complicated girl. In the orphanage I dreamed of having parents. Later I dreamed of having a job anywhere but the sock department. After the Duke forced me into engagement and also to clean the buildings of his sock collection, I dreamed of running away. If there is anything I want now, it is to feel safe with a man who loves me.”

  Dean thought over this last phrase. “Do you have someone like that?”

  Emerson said nothing for a long moment.

  “There is someone ... a boy who lives in West Virginia. With other people from Kamchatka, the village I have spoke to you about. He is nice boy. We have sent many text messages to each other.”

  Dean sighed. “Lovely.”

  “But even more than this,” said Emerson hurriedly. “I wish to have Louis Vuitton handbag and travel around the world.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “What? It is very good product.”

  “If you cared about handbags and money you would have married the Duke.”

  Emerson smiled. “Maybe you are right. But if I am safe with someone who loves me, the travel and handbag will be a cherry on the icing.”