The old man with the third hand sat on the beach and watched the waves wash over the sand.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d seen him before. Everyone had. Some people assumed he was crazy. Others thought he was just lonely, sitting out there by himself day after day, staring at where the ocean seemed to merge with the sky. Not very many people found the third hand growing out of his back terribly interesting. This was, after all, the town that had produced the infamous Inside-Out Girl.<\/p>\n
All the same, there was something about the old man with the third hand, something about the way he sat in the same old rocking chair, rocking back and forth almost in sync with the waves that made the townspeople stay away from him. Nobody ever went down to the stretch of beach on which the old man sat and stared at the sea.<\/p>\n
But I did.<\/p>\n
I had to, you see. I was playing catch with Deidre, who is a terrific catcher but can\u2019t throw a ball to save her life. The ball went sailing over the top of my head, bouncing down the rocks toward the beach, and I followed it without thinking.<\/p>\n
The rocks were hard and slippery with lichen, and the descent was difficult. More than once I nearly went sprawling. I should have turned back, I know, but that ball was the only thing my brother gave me before he went off to fight the Frog Men from Outer Space, so I turned not back and soon found myself on the beach.<\/p>\n
The sand here was almost unnaturally smooth. There were no human footprints like there were on every other beach I\u2019d been to. It was easy to pretend I was in the middle of the Sahara, except for the sea.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t find my ball.<\/p>\n
I searched and searched for what felt like minutes but was probably only…well, minutes. I saw no sign of my ball. All the while the old man with the third hand gently rocked in his chair and watched me.<\/p>\n
I walked up to him, hands behind my back, tears gathering in my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cUm, sir?\u201d I asked, my head hanging, my eyes fixed on the ground, on the long expanse of sand broken only by the footprints I left behind me and the deep divots the old man\u2019s rocking chair left in it. \u201cI…I lost my ball and can\u2019t find it. I was wondering if you\u2019d seen it?\u201d<\/p>\n
For a long time the old man did not say anything. The silence spun itself out until I lifted my head and looked him in the face. And for a long time after that I only stared.<\/p>\n
His face was hidden in the shadow cast by the wide-brimmed hat sitting on his head, and perhaps it was that interplay of shadows on the lines of his face that made it seem that the old man had a face like weathered rock. It was full of lines and hollows, two of which held his eyes like precious secrets. His nose was flat and broad, his mouth a thin line. He looked like he hadn\u2019t smiled in a long time. He looked like he\u2019d forgotten how to.<\/p>\n
But he wasn\u2019t scary. In spite of his face and the third hand growing out the middle of his back, hanging behind him like it didn\u2019t have anything better to do, the old man wasn\u2019t scary.<\/p>\n
On the contrary, he looked very lonely.<\/p>\n
Perhaps that is why I stayed.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said, answering my question in a voice that had once, I supposed, been young. He did not say anything else, but he did not look away either. And neither did I. I wondered how long it had been since he had had someone to talk to. I certainly couldn\u2019t remember seeing anyone with him before.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was playing catch with Deidre, but she threw the ball too hard,\u201d I found myself saying. \u201cShe\u2019s not very good at throwing.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old man nodded like he understood, but he still didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n
I said, \u201cDeidre\u2019s my friend. She\u2019s…imaginary. That means I made her up.\u201d<\/p>\n
And I waited for the reaction. I waited for the look of pity to creep into his eyes. I waited for him to shake his head sadly. I waited for him to ask me where my parents were.<\/p>\n
But the old man with the third hand did none of these things. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was in the presence of someone who did not think me odd.<\/p>\n
So I sat down in the sand and drew my knees to my chest and just sat there, watching the sea dance and the sun dip in the sky. The old man said nothing to me. We just sat in silence, both of us no longer alone, at least for one afternoon.<\/p>\n
I forgot all about my ball.<\/p>\n
The next day I went back down the beach.<\/p>\n
The old man was right where I\u2019d left him the day before. He was not rocking today, but he was still looking out at the water. He turned to glance at me as I walked down the beach. He did not speak to me, but he stood and used his third hand to shift his rocking chair ever so slightly to the side to make room for me to sit, and that was enough.<\/p>\n
That day I told him about the book I was trying to write, how I\u2019d spent a year-and-a-half on it and still felt like I was getting nowhere; I told him about the despair of getting words down, looking at them and feeling like everything I\u2019d written was stupid and boring and had probably been said before\u2014and better\u2014by people I probably wouldn\u2019t like if I met them, and I told him how that was nothing compared to the despair of not getting any words down at all.<\/p>\n
I even told him about the people I was attracted to and how I wanted to have sex with all of them (and there were a lot<\/em> of them) even though I knew it wouldn\u2019t be fulfilling for very long.<\/p>\n The old man with the third hand listened patiently as I opened up certain parts of me that hadn\u2019t seen daylight in so long. He did not interrupt or ask questions. He just listened.<\/p>\n By the time I was done the day was nearly dead. Before I went home I thanked the old man for listening.<\/p>\n The next day the old man started talking to me in return. <\/p>\n \u201cWhy do you sit here every day?\u201d I asked him. \u201cAre you waiting for someone?\u201d<\/p>\n He told me no, he was not waiting for anyone. Then he pointed out to the sea and said: \u201cThat is where I came from. That is my home.\u201d<\/p>\n I followed the line of his hand and looked at the ocean, saw how it undulated, rocking itself gently.<\/p>\n \u201cThe sea?\u201d I asked the old man.<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d he said. In his deep and rolling voice he told me the story of his birth, how he grew up among his people in the depths of the ocean, never seeing the sun till he was grown. He told me of his people; of Leviathan, whose throne is the deep, and of Cthulhu, old beyond imagining.<\/p>\n The old man with the third hand told me these things, and when he was done I asked him why he was here, on land, and not in the sea with his people.<\/p>\n He didn\u2019t answer me for a long time. I assumed mine was a question he did not want to answer, so I turned away and looked out at the ocean, imagining, somewhere in its depths, the many claws of the Leviathan stretching from continent to continent. I imagined what it would be like to live inside the sea. I wondered if anybody I knew would ever find me there. They probably wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n I wanted to go live in the sea.<\/p>\n After a while, the old man answered my question.<\/p>\n \u201cI left my home,\u201d he said, \u201cand my people, to explore the dry lands. I did not tell anybody I was leaving, and I have since lived a long time on the land. I have seen mountains and kingdoms rise and fall and rise again. I have seen man. I have come to know the extent of his kindness and his cruelty, and I have seen how often one becomes the other overnight. I have seen this and more. I have seen all I wanted to see and much more I did not. I have seen everything there is to see under the sun.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd now I am afraid to go back home, for I do not know if my people will forgive me for leaving.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd so you sit here,\u201d I said, somewhat redundantly.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd so I sit here,\u201d the old man agreed.<\/p>\n We said nothing more that day till evening, when the setting sun drew us a portrait of light in the heavens.<\/p>\n \u201cMany things have I seen many times over,\u201d said the old man, whose third hand was already beginning to look as natural to me as the birthmark on the side of my neck, \u201cand I do not care to see many of them again. But there are three things I never grow tired of seeing.<\/p>\n \u201cOne is the light in the eyes of a man or woman in love. The other is the setting of the sun.\u201d \u201cAnd the third?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n He made a sound in his throat that might have passed for a hmm?<\/p>\n \u201cYou said there were three things. But you\u2019ve only mentioned two. What\u2019s the third?\u201d <\/p>\n The old man said simply: \u201cLittle children.\u201d<\/p>\n I thought about what he said, and then I told the old man: \u201cI have never been in love.\u201d <\/p>\n He told me he had never been, either.<\/p>\n I did not go to see the old man for two days after that. My parents took me to see my grandmother, who lived many hours away. I\u2019d been close to my grandmother when I was young, but the years and the cancer had distanced us. It\u2019s not easy to get close to someone who might not be there tomorrow.<\/p>\n For the duration of the trip my parents tried to get me to spend as much time with my grandmother as possible. They told me things like how death was a natural part of life and how sooner or later we all had to go and that was how I realized my grandmother was growing tired of fighting. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. I tried to call Deidre, but she wouldn\u2019t come.<\/p>\n My parents told me they were worried about me. <\/p>\n I told them I wanted to go home.<\/p>\n \u201cI thought you wouldn\u2019t come again,\u201d the old man said as I walked down the beach.<\/p>\n \u201cOf course I\u2019d come,\u201d I said, sitting down beside him in my usual spot. There was a beach towel neatly folded and placed on the sand. I sat on it. It was very comfortable.<\/p>\n I told the old man about my trip, and about my grandmother, and as I talked I cried, and did not feel ashamed.<\/p>\n The hours went by.<\/p>\n I asked the old man questions. He answered. He asked me questions. I answered.<\/p>\n We talked.<\/p>\n A few days later I returned home to find my parents waiting for me.<\/p>\n Home was a big house that looked out at other big houses along and across the street. There was nothing particularly unique or interesting about it; it was a rich house on a street where everybody was rich, and as such was unremarkable.<\/p>\n My parents stood side-by-side in our front room. They were holding each other as I walked in.<\/p>\n \u201cWe need to talk,\u201d my father said.<\/p>\n No one ever says that unless something is wrong.<\/p>\n I noticed the other people in the room then. There was a woman in oversized glasses sitting by herself in the corner of the room, one long leg crossed over the other. She looked vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn\u2019t remember where I\u2019d seen her before. Maybe she just had one of those faces. Standing on either side of her were two men in matching jackets and boots. They stood with their hands behind their backs, avoiding my gaze. Something about them made my head hurt when I looked directly at them, so I turned back to my parents.<\/p>\n \u201cTalk about what?\u201d I asked my father. A funny thing happened when I spoke: my mother started to cry. She sounded on the verge of breaking down, like she was only just holding it together. I looked again at the strange-but-familiar woman in our house and wondered what she had done to my mother.<\/p>\n \u201cDee, look at me, please,\u201d my father said.<\/p>\n Nobody had ever called me by that name before, but he was looking at me when he said it so I figured it must be me he was talking to. I looked back at him.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere have you been all day?\u201d he asked me.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been at the beach,\u201d I answered truthfully.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd…\u201d my father began, then stopped, then tried again. \u201cAnd what were you doing there?\u201d<\/p>\n I paused for a while before answering, but I could see no way around the question without lying. I didn\u2019t want to lie. \u201cI was with my friend,\u201d I said, and of course the next question that came my way was:<\/p>\n \u201cWhat friend?\u201d<\/p>\n I had kept my friendship with the old man secret up till now. This was partly because I suspected my parents would not approve and partly because my friendship with him was something precious to me and I felt like the more people that knew about it the less it would mean.<\/p>\n I saw no way to keep it a secret now. Something about the woman with the huge glasses and the two men flanking her like bodyguards and my parents standing together like they would crumble and turn to dust if they let each other go made me think the best thing I could do was tell the truth.<\/p>\n \u201cI was with the old man with the third hand,\u201d I said. \u201cThe one who sits down on the beach in his rocking chair. I lost my ball on the beach and went to get it and we got to talking and…well, now we\u2019re friends.\u201d<\/p>\n I kept my head down as I talked, but now I lifted it because a deathly silence had fallen in the room. Nobody moved\u2014including myself. My parents looked like they\u2019d been carved from rock, they were so still. So, too, were the three strangers. Although…was it my imagination, or had the two men moved ever so slightly in my direction?<\/p>\n The silence became too loud. I broke it.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d I asked my parents. \u201cWhy are you looking at me like that?\u201d<\/p>\n My mother made another sound in the back of her throat, and it took me a second to realize that she was crying. \u201cOh Dee,\u201d she sobbed. \u201cOh Dee…\u201d<\/p>\n There it was. That name again.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is this?\u201d I asked. \u201cWhat\u2019s the meaning of this?\u201d<\/p>\n As expected, it was my father who spoke. All the money in our family comes from my mother\u2019s side, you see. Because of this, my father has always tried to compensate by taking it on himself to be the proactive one, the one always taking charge. And my mother, for her part, lets him.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve lived in this town for close to twenty years,\u201d he said, \u201cand never in that time has there ever been an old man in a rocking chair on the beach.\u201d<\/p>\n What was he talking about? \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d I asked, incredulous. \u201cOf course there has. He\u2019s always there. Everyone<\/em> knows about him. He has an arm growing out of his back, for Christ\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPeople don\u2019t grow arms out of their backs, Dee,\u201d my father said. He let go of my mother and took two steps toward me. I took two steps back.<\/p>\n \u201cIs this a joke?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWe hoped it was, Dee, but we can\u2019t keep pretending anymore. We can\u2019t keep letting you<\/em> pretend anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d I asked. I noticed now that the two strange men had definitely moved closer to me. One of them kept looking beyond me, like he was trying to figure out a way…<\/p>\n …to flank me.<\/p>\n \u201cFirst it was the Inside-Out Girl,\u201d my father said. \u201cThen it was the Frog Men from Space…\u201d<\/p>\n Outer Space<\/em>, I corrected.<\/p>\n \u201c…and now it\u2019s an old man with a third arm growing out of his back. None of them is real. This has got to stop, Dee.\u201d<\/p>\n That fucking name. I couldn\u2019t take it anymore.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy do you keep calling me that<\/em>?\u201d I yelled at him. For once, my father was shocked speechless. I felt a moment of savage pleasure, seeing him lost for words like that.<\/p>\n But then my mother spoke, and ruined it.<\/p>\n \u201cBecause that\u2019s your name,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s what we\u2019ve always called you, Deidre.\u201d<\/p>\n I thought to myself: My parents have gone crazy.<\/em><\/p>\n How did I know this? Three reasons:<\/p>\n One: They claimed to have never seen the old man with the third hand before, never seen him on his rocking chair watching the waves find the land, and that could only mean one of two things: they were either both lying to me\u2014but to what purpose?\u2014or they had somehow blanked any memory of the old man from their minds.<\/p>\n Two: Ditto with the Inside-Out Girl and the Frog Men, who even as we spoke might be planning their final offensive on Planet Earth.<\/p>\n And three: my parent had somehow convinced themselves that Deidre, my imaginary friend, was real. And that I was her.<\/p>\n My head spun. I couldn\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n My father said, \u201cDeidre…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t call me that!\u201d I snapped. I didn\u2019t mean to; it just came out. My parents looked stunned, like I\u2019d slapped them when they weren\u2019t looking. \u201cThat\u2019s not my name.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes it is,\u201d my mother said quietly.<\/p>\n No, it wasn\u2019t. Deidre was a name I chose, a name I picked for my imaginary friend. It wasn\u2019t my<\/em> name. My name was… It was…<\/p>\n Okay, maybe I couldn\u2019t remember it just then. Maybe I still don\u2019t remember it now. It doesn\u2019t matter. What mattered was my parents…and the strange woman in our house.<\/p>\n \u201cYou did this,\u201d I said, turning to face her.<\/p>\n \u201cDee, my baby,\u201d my mother said, \u201cI know you\u2019re confused, but…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s time to stop pretending,\u201d the strange woman said, cutting in smoothly. \u201cWe can help you. If only you\u2019ll let us.\u201d Her voice was slow and measured and soothing and it made me think of poisoned honey.<\/p>\n I was suddenly afraid of her.<\/p>\n \u201cMom? Dad?\u201d I said slowly, trying to match the woman for voice tone, \u201cWho is this?\u201d<\/p>\n My mother broke into fresh sobs. My father took a deep breath.<\/p>\n \u201cHer name is Dr. Hutton,\u201d he said to me like I was seven years old. \u201cShe can help you, Dee. Dr. Hutton is here to take you to a special place where you can be helped.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s an institute, Deidre, for people like you. People who…sometimes see things that aren\u2019t there.\u201d<\/p>\n He may have said something else, but I didn\u2019t hear him. I didn\u2019t have to.<\/p>\n The strange woman in our house, flanked by two men. Two men in matching clothes. I knew where they were from. I knew what type of institute my father was talking about.<\/p>\n My mother screamed when I started running, as though this was what she\u2019d feared would happen all along. My father did not make a sound. The strange woman cried, \u201cGrab her!\u201d<\/p>\n Thick boots scuffling on the floor as the two men gave chase. It was lucky for me that I didn\u2019t lock the front door when I came in.<\/p>\n Right before I slammed the door in the faces of my two pursuers\u2014trying to buy myself a second or two\u2014I risked one last look back. I saw my parents standing together once again, holding each other like I hadn\u2019t seen them do in so, so long. Two islands watching in silence as the sharks chased their daughter.<\/p>\n That is how I remember them still.<\/p>\n Then the door was shut and I was off in the darkness, trying desperately not to trip and fall in the driveway. The minutes after that are a blur even now. I remember jumping over a hedge or two or three, sticking to twisting roads loaded with as many obstacles as I could find, trying to avoid a straight run down an empty street, where the men might run me down with their longer legs.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t remember how I got to the beach.<\/p>\n Looking back, maybe that was always where I was headed. Maybe the beach pulled at me the same way the moon pulled at the waves. Maybe.<\/p>\n It was not a part of the beach that I was very familiar with, though, and in the darkness I missed my footing and went tumbling in the sand. I was on an incline when it happened, and so I rolled almost all the way down to the sea. The tide was in; an errant wave washed through my hair. I remember that clearly.<\/p>\n And then they were all over me. Rough hands grabbed me, lifted me to my feet, pinned my hands behind my back. \u201cNo!\u201d I screamed. \u201cLet me go!\u201d I screamed. \u201cI won\u2019t go with you! Let me go!\u201d The men ignored me.<\/p>\n The sea went about its business and the moon watched impassively, like they\u2019d both seen more interesting things. One of the men took out a syringe and uncapped it; the needle glinted, a singular fang filled with poison.<\/p>\n I summoned a final, desperate burst of strength and broke free of my captor. I tried to run again. He stuck his foot out and tripped me. There was a rock, hidden under the wet sand. It met my head as I fell.<\/p>\n After that I just lay there and looked up at the stars while my vision blurred and faded. The two men stood over me. The one with the needle knelt and reached for my hand. As he did so, all their attention was on me.<\/p>\n So it was that I was the only one who saw the shadow rising from the sea, almost impossibly large, blotting out a third of the stars I could see, dripping water from its silvery scales. Rising silently from the water. Eyes like stars themselves. Reaching down with claws like ancient stone pillars, its tail like a mighty serpent twisting through the air.<\/p>\n I felt the needle in my arm and felt ice flowing inside me, coursing through my veins, making my eyelids too heavy to hold open.<\/p>\n The shadow\u2019s great hand reached down toward us.<\/p>\n And then, right before my vision went dark, I saw that what I had taken for a tail was not a tail at all, for it was growing out of the shadow\u2019s back.<\/p>\n The world went black. <\/p>\n Then I heard the screams. <\/p>\n And then I was gone.<\/p>\n When I woke up, it was morning and I was alone on the beach, except for the birds on the rocks and the ones swooping over the waves. I sat up slowly, looked around me. I saw no one.<\/p>\n But there, on the sand in front of me: an empty syringe, its needle caked with fine grains of sand. I picked it up and examined it closely. I turned and looked out at the sea. It was so calm today. So peaceful.<\/p>\n I got to my feet and started walking.<\/p>\n The old man with the third hand was sitting right where I\u2019d left him the day before. He was rocking gently in his chair, head turned toward me, watching as I approached. My blanket, as I\u2019d already come to think of the beach towel, was spread out on the sand beside him.<\/p>\n I sat down by the old man. His third arm rested casually over the back of his rocking chair. The breeze ran through his clothes, making them flutter on his frame. I leaned back and felt the sun on my face, my neck, my arms. I pushed my toes into the sand and wriggled them. A beach, I realized, is an in-between place. Neither sea nor land, it belongs to both and it belongs to neither. It belongs to no one, but it belongs to everyone.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t go back home,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n The old man with the third hand looked down at me, and then he smiled, and then he said, \u201cYou can stay here with me.\u201d<\/p>\n After that, we just sat on the beach and looked out toward the sea.<\/p>\n The old man with the third hand sat on the beach and watched the waves wash over the sand. I\u2019d seen him before. Everyone had. Some people assumed he was crazy. Others thought he was just lonely, sitting out there by himself day after day, staring at where the ocean seemed to merge with the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":211,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[344,343],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nI didn\u2019t want to ask. But I had to. \u201cWhat kind of place?\u201d<\/p>\n\u00a9 Kofi Nyameye<\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"