From the Bookshelf of Around the World in 80 Books…

“Unnhhh,” the Minotaur says, just loud enough to be heard. He wants to be part of the conversation. But when all the waiters and waitresses stop talking to each other and look at him, he doesn’t really know what to do next. More than anything he wants them to know that he saw what they saw, that he felt what they felt.

“What’s that, M?” Robert asks. “Did you say something?”

Somewhere in the kitchen the Minotaur hears a cooling fan cycle on. In the wait station the time clock moves solidly into the hour. The Minotaur can hear the ice in his glass melting, caving in on itself. The waiters and waitresses look expectantly at him, and their expectation is excoriating.

“Kelly,” he says, the ls thick and clunky in his mouth, and someone laughs at his effort. “Kelly,” he says, shaking his heavy head from side to side, hoping that he won’t have to say more, hoping the gesture will suffice. Someone draws deeply on a cigarette; each threadlike strand of tobacco roars as it burns; the exhalation storms his eardrums with gale force. Someone, out of disinterest or pity, works decisively at a calculator, fingertips slamming at the keys, fingernails clicking against the plastic. The Minotaur can hear the current charging through the circuitry.

“Jesus Christ, M, what the hell are you talking about?” Adrienne asks, not really wanting an answer. But the Minotaur can’t answer anyway. He doesn’t really know what he means, only that he means no harm to Kelly. The silence spills out of the bar where the wait staff sits and the Minotaur stands. It rises from the floor over his thin calves, up the walls, above his waist, into his mouth and lungs, fills the restaurant. It is all the Minotaur can do to move his body through it, out the door and into the night.

Lucky-U Mobile Estates is a kind of haven. Although defining Sweeny’s tenants in terms of similarities is difficult, generally speaking they are all part of a diaspora of sorts. A nebulous group compromised by situation, by strings of bad decisions each perpetuating the next, or compromised simply by the circumstances of their births, these are settlers.

To settle. Settled. Settling. To fix or resolve definitely and conclusively; to agree upon (as in time or conditions). To place in a desired state or in order. To furnish with residents. To quiet, calm or bring to rest. To stop from annoying or opposing. To cause (dregs, sediment, etc.) to sink or be deposited. To dispose of finally; close up. To decide, arrange or agree. To come to rest, as from flight: The bird settled on a bough. To gather, collect or become fixed in a particular place, direction, etc. (Of a female animal) to become pregnant; conceive. To become established in some routine, especially upon marrying, after a period of independence or indecision. To apply oneself for serious work. To settle for; to be satisfied with: To settle for less.

All of which suggests an intent or a determined quality that is not manifest in their lives. A gritty resignation permeates Lucky-U and its inhabitants, the Minotaur included.

Josie got out of the car, remarkably calm, and opened the hood. When she bent forward under it the Minotaur watched pale sickles of flesh appear as her buttocks spilled out of her shorts. The Minotaur turned his head away but then looked again. He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but she stayed beneath the hood for a few minutes. Then Josie stood up and, using the same sort of well-rehearsed motion as with her top, slid her index fingers up under the hem of her shorts on either side of her hips and beneath the elastic leg band of her panties; with a wiggle and a roll of her hands she covered the exposed flesh of her bottom with twin swaths of lacy black fabric.

“Unngh,” the Minotaur said, more or less involuntarily. He had seen too much. He took his cup to the sink and began washing it.

... the Minotaur sits and watches the five—no, six—fish move about the aquarium that all but covers the top of an old buffet on the opposite wall. Thirty gallons at least, the Minotaur thinks; he’s usually good with capacities. The fish are beautiful. Big as fists, they swim through the crystal-clear water effortlessly, ...

There, in the horseshoe drive, Kelly, gullible and mortal Kelly, awaits an explanation from a bedraggled immortal. The Minotaur accepts this temporary blessing for all it is worth. There are few things that he knows, these among them: that it is inevitable, even necessary, for a creature half man and half bull to walk the face of the earth; that in the numbing span of eternity even the most monstrous among us needs love; that the minutiae of life sometimes defer to folly; that even in the most tedious unending life there comes, occasionally, hope. One simply has to wait and be ready.