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fury and assaulted him with a water carafe, he’d been
forced to flee for his life, leaving her to pay the bill. Once
again, he had to phone Isabel to come fetch him.
    The next week, he engaged a lawyer and began
the process of dissembling his former life. In exchange for keeping
her hands off his fat government pension, Martha got the house on
Browning Avenue and Stanley got peace of mind. Slowly he let the
news trickle out to friends and family, and he began to show up
publicly hand-in-hand with Isabel, whose oozing sexuality caused a
swirl of speculation, envy and recrimination within his social
circle.
    A creature of habit, Stanley quickly resumed
the routines that had laid the foundation of a successful life. He
worked a diligent 8-hour day, which in government circles qualified
him as an over-achieving brown-noser. He followed a prudent diet,
foregoing fast foods for brown-bag lunches of whole grains, lean
meat, fresh veggies and fruits rich with anti-oxidants. And every
day he rose at six AM to go for a one-hour jog along the tree-lined
streets of Rosedale.
    Except once a month, usually right around
the time of the full moon, he went for a run down into the Don
Valley, where a wooded trail led to a quiet place on the
river...
     
    ~~~~~~~~~

 
Specimen
     
    The island appeared in the distance, a smear
of tan and green between the dark blue sea and the pale blue sky.
It looked to be only a dozen miles in length, lying very low on the
horizon as if hoping to escape notice.
    Peter Flutterman in a white cotton suit and
a straw hat stood on the foredeck, one hand gripping the deck
railing as the boat crept up on the island. At his feet were a
large suitcase, two portfolio-sized briefcases and a tubular case
that looked as though it might contain a fishing rod.
    As the boat approached the landing, a man
came down to the end of the dock. He was wearing faded blue pants
and a white shirt whose tails hung loose from his belt. A pith
helmet sat low on his forehead. He looked to be in his mid-forties,
the same age as Peter, although it was hard to judge with a full
beard covering so much of his face. In any event, he looked
well-preserved, unlike the typical islanders weathered by sun and
wind.
    The boat bumped up against the dock. A
deckhand slung a rope that slithered snake-like across the dock.
The bearded man picked it up and wrapped it around a capstan. As
soon as the boat was secured, the deckhands formed a line and began
transferring a series of boxes, barrels and bales from the hold to
the dock. From the cabin, the captain waved silently to the bearded
man, lighted his pipe and shook out a newspaper to read.
    Peter picked up his tubular case and stepped
over the gunwale. The bearded man reached out a hand to steady him
as he stepped onto the dock. One of the deckhands added his
suitcase and briefcases to the chain of dock-bound items.
    The bearded man embraced Peter. “It’s been a
long time, brother.”
    “Walter? Is it really you, with a beard like
a pirate?” Peter shook his head in wonder.
    “And what about you, with cheeks like a
baby’s bottom?” Walter touched the back of his hand to Peter’s
face.
    Peter tried to conceal his embarrassment. He
wasn’t used to being hugged and touched, even by his long-lost twin
brother. “Where’s your staff? We need help with this luggage.”
    “We’ll manage all right by ourselves.”
Walter picked up Peter’s two briefcases, leaving his heavy suitcase
where it lay.
    “I’ll need that,” Peter said.
    “My staff will fetch it when they bring up
the load of provisions. Let’s go up to the house and get you
settled in.”
    They walked up a footpath towards a large
house framed by palm trees. Beyond the house was a quadrangle
formed by long sheds. As they approached the house, a butterfly
gyrated across their path. Peter dropped his case and chased it
with his hat but it rose into the air and fluttered into the trees.
Peter donned his hat in dismay, feeling