They speak and things are born from them on the fly: a novel

Part I: Bottoms Up

Ash dreams the dream of swimming. In the dream he is deep in the Kosciuszko pool. In the dream the pool is located behind his Quincy Street apartment, in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, New York. He forgot to take his eyeglasses off, in the dream, and they sank beneath the turquoise surface into the bottom. The frames are clear and lost to view, in the dream his vision is gone with them. But it is okay, because God is with him and so Ash doesn’t have to see so clearly.

He wakes not to water but green branches waving outside his bedroom window and a deep sense of calm.

For a few long seconds, or minutes maybe, Ash watches the shadow of branches moving on his ceiling. He listens to Lucia clank pans in the kitchen, singing to herself as she gets ready for work. She is singing in a language Ash doesn’t understand. Portuguese, most likely, though she’s been teaching herself Arabic at night. Sometimes Ash can’t tell the difference and he feels ashamed because he’s never traveled, and his voice seems to invite chaos. Lucia’s voice is full-throated and bottomless. A whole deep ocean of fire. He listens until Lucia’s footsteps creak down the stairs and she has gone. When he goes into the bathroom, her jasmine oil is still there and a twisted, damp towel on the floor.