BARBARA PROBST SOLOMON
573
"Meanwhile the old ladies have been called away from Braden's
press. The mayor of Boston has died and the women are attending
his funeral."
"While ... meanwhile ... at Braden's Press . .. we are . .."
"Copulating."
"Suddenly?"
"As soon as you walk into that office.
Promptly."
"Then what?"
"We fall in love . And I take you for a sail out of Boston harbor
on, say, a twenty-footer. Now there's a fine grade-B movie fantasy ."
When he stops talking, Daniel reaches for me. "Let's go," he shouts
in coital ecstasy, while I grip the sides of the bunk. The yawl is rock–
ing. Spinning like an out-of-control carousel. "The dinghy's going
under!" Daniel yells. And comes, and hurls himself up the hatch.
•
•
•
New London:
We sail past the bleak outline of summer cheapo
beach houses. The New England coast looks end-of-summer sad.
September fog. The July-August boats have pulled in weeks ago.
We pass a few lonely lobster trawlers, they glide by us like pirate
ghost ships . I listen to the clanking of rusty buoys, the mewling of
fog horns. On the day we pass near Plum Island, further down the
coast, I can't see her outline because the fog is bad. On our last real
run, after hours of going by the compass, we finally see, dimly, the
slopes of Long Island. The yawl has been pitching and rolling all
day, but toward evening we get the right wind . I feel sure I have the
Adelina II
under some control. Daniel is in the head. I'm no longer
fighting the yawl, nor she me : it's working. When Daniel comes up
the hatch , he stares for a moment at me steering, just the way he has
taught me to do. "Five degrees off. Well, you do steer pretty good.
Some people never get the feel of a compass. Still, steering ain't sail–
ing. But if you don't get seasick today-with this pitch and roll-you
ain't never going to get seasick. Some do, some don't," he pauses.
"Elena, you are making yourself positively useful." He raises the
binoculars to find the next buoy. Suddenly he fumbles and rubs his
eyes . He takes the wheel and hands me the glasses. "Elena, you try."
Your eyes have twenry years on his. You can't pretendyou can't locate the
buoy because he needs to find it.
If
you don't know the rules of the game, don't
play.
So I point. I look up at Daniel. "You're doing fine," he says. I
think our affair, now, is over.
•
•
•
