572
PARTISAN REVIEW
the New London newspaper.
CHILD'S SAILBOAT SURVIVES
DE–
STRUCTION OF NEW ENGLAND COAST.
My brother, and my
father and I made a pact. That the three of us were going to live for–
ever and ever in Essex, because it was the most beautiful white town
in the world . . ."
Suddenly, I stop. I actually hear what I have been saying. And
I see the ROOSEVELT needlepoint with which I am working.
But
you can't remain that child, measuring the world by Plum Island. How didyou
manage to find a Daniel- the very person who would sail you so near to it?
Maybe you have wanted to go home, Elena. Okay, all the human race wants
that, now and then. But to have blindly, submissively, followed the wrong
man. To have gone about it like a sleepwalker. Because you could never admit
to yourself the simple news. You wanted to go home. You wanted the grown-ups
to remain uncomplicated, to be true blue, to hold. Remember those old RKO
newsreels when FDR waved and smiled? He seemed to you then like God. Ah,
Roosevelt, where are you now?
And the tears come down my cheeks.
"Elena, I didn't mean to make you cry." Daniel leaps up. He
associates tears with Adelina and instantly envisions sorrow turning
into disaster.
"I miss Lewis," I say finally. That is a concrete emotion which
Danid could understand .
But you are crying for yourself
"I never meant to scare you. Just wanted to teach you how to
handle the
Adelina
II.
In the Navy you learn that the only safe way
to teach greenhorn sailors about the sea is through the use of small
doses of fear ."
"In the Navy? Daniel ... are you referring to World War II?
Now?"
The yawl whirls, rocks . Daniel gets into my bunk, bad neck,
bad back and all . We start to play steamy childlike games. The smell
of the salt air mixes with the salt and dampness of our own bodies .
"Let's do a cornball, Hershey-bar type movie fantasy," Daniel says.
"We are back twenty-five years. You walk into Braden's Press .. .
just the way you did in real life then. I remember the first time I met
you. A snooty, uppity kid. With that damned thing you wrote about
the end of American innocence. Or whatever it was about. I don't
remember anymore. But there is no Lewis, no Adelina, no compli–
cations. And you turn me on. The way you keep saying, yes, Mr.
Braden , with that look . Your 'You should drop dead Mr. Braden,'
look . . . And I make a pass at you."
"In Braden's press? With all those nice old ladies around? Why,
Mr. Braden," I join in the script, "I am shocked. Boston has failed
me ."
