Wild Man Island by Will Hobbs Page A

like I’d made a conscious decision. It was just knowing that people eat mussels in restaurants from coast to coast, and imagining myself being lucky for once.
    I would eat just one, nibble it at first, see what happened. If I felt that tingling sensation Julia talked about, I would quit.
    Out of its shell, the mussel was about as long as my little finger and slimy like a raw oyster. I couldn’t afford to slide the whole thing down my throat. I had to be careful.
    I chewed slowly. No tingling sensation, no numbness. It was tough going. Maybe after the first few I would pound them with a rock to soften them up like I did with the cedar bark.
    I chewed the whole thing up and swallowed it. I ate a second one.
    It was when I was chewing the third one that I feltthe tingling. Just a little tingling on my tongue and along my gums and the inside of my lips.
    As fast as I could, I spit the slimy stuff out. I tried to retch what was already in my stomach but I was unsuccessful. I stuck my finger way down in my throat, again and again—that didn’t work either. I wondered if the poison was numbing my senses, like the shot you get before an operation.
    Suddenly, everything felt strange. My vision started to swim, and I felt myself losing my balance. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spear and the knife and dragged myself off the beach so the rising tide wouldn’t drown me.
    Before I could get to tree cover, I was struck down. Just struck down like falling timber.

10
    W HEN I CAME TO, darkness engulfed me. It took a while before I figured out I was looking up at the sky. I could see stars and the ragged edge of a cloud bank lit by moonlight. Other than flat on my back, I had no idea where I was.
    The faint lapping of surf jogged my memory. I remembered the mussels, the tingling, the numbness, and I remembered running.
    I tried to roll over but I couldn’t move, not at all. There was no sensation in my legs or my arms. I tried to curl my fingers into a ball but I felt nothing. Nothing at all.
    Blink, I told myself.
    I couldn’t. The word came to me, the word that would describe what had happened. Paralyzed. I was completely paralyzed.
    It began to drizzle. The rain fell into my open eyes.
    I knew that I must be breathing, maybe just enough to stay alive, but I couldn’t hear my breathing. I could hear the surf and the birds, I could see the sky, and I could think. That was all.
    My mind was on my mother. Anytime now, mybreathing could shut off completely. Then I would die, I would simply die.
    In case that was going to happen, I had to concentrate on my mother. I willed myself to think only of her. After she lost my father it was just the two of us, and now she was going to lose me. Forgive me, I thought. I am so, so sorry.
    I must have blacked out and fallen into dreams. I was with my father, and he was teaching me flintknapping. I was using an antler tip to fleck small chips from a spearpoint. It was already fluted down the center on both sides; we were making a Clovis point.
    Suddenly I saw that he had changed. He had long gray hair and a long gray beard. “You look different,” I said, and he replied, “Well, you know, I’ve been dead a long time.”
    None of this quite made sense, but I was happy just to be with him.
    â€œWould you like to go on a journey with me?” he asked.
    â€œYou know I would,” I said, “but I should let Mom know I’m going to be gone.”
    â€œOh, I’m not so sure you can do that.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause it’s against the rules. I’m under a certain set of rules here. I have to go on the journey, but if you want to stay, I will understand.”
    â€œNo,” I said desperately, “I want to go with you.”
    My father grabbed up the spear we’d just made. Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, he’d attached thepoint to a long wooden shaft. I was disappointed that I’d missed him doing