Archipelago: Ikonov's Grin
Starved; blocked. I couldn't write. Months passed and I still couldn't.
"How do you expect to write anything? Your well is empty. You must replenish it with experience."
Ikonov, in his usual dry tone and Russian accent, telling me what I should have known. Ikonov who had, just a year before, signed a million dollar book deal with Signets. I loved and hated him. My years at university meant shit compared to his experience.
"We will go, together. We will have ... an adventure. You will have plenty to write afterward, trust me."
I trusted him. We made plans; rented a ship: a catamaran as big as Ikonov's house on Rodeo Drive.
The captain and owner scared the shit out me. First sight, first glimpse. A hard man who'd apparently lived a hard life. I could sense the resentment immediately. He could smell the upper-middle class on me; the expensive college education. But he and Ikonov got along, like war buddies, like brothers. I didn't bother them when they were together.
We left the Port of Los Angeles the following month. Ikonov spent much of his advance to lease and supply the ship. I never noticed the man to be unhappy. Instead he looked out onto the world with a fierce grin. A grin like the one Heracles must have worn at Nemea, like the one Custer must have worn at Little Bighorn. A "fuck you" grin. An "I will eat you up" grin.
"How do you expect to write anything? Your well is empty. You must replenish it with experience."
Ikonov, in his usual dry tone and Russian accent, telling me what I should have known. Ikonov who had, just a year before, signed a million dollar book deal with Signets. I loved and hated him. My years at university meant shit compared to his experience.
"We will go, together. We will have ... an adventure. You will have plenty to write afterward, trust me."
I trusted him. We made plans; rented a ship: a catamaran as big as Ikonov's house on Rodeo Drive.
The captain and owner scared the shit out me. First sight, first glimpse. A hard man who'd apparently lived a hard life. I could sense the resentment immediately. He could smell the upper-middle class on me; the expensive college education. But he and Ikonov got along, like war buddies, like brothers. I didn't bother them when they were together.
We left the Port of Los Angeles the following month. Ikonov spent much of his advance to lease and supply the ship. I never noticed the man to be unhappy. Instead he looked out onto the world with a fierce grin. A grin like the one Heracles must have worn at Nemea, like the one Custer must have worn at Little Bighorn. A "fuck you" grin. An "I will eat you up" grin.
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