Life #6. Diana Wagman

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СКАЧАТЬ her eyes, scratching in her chest as if she had swallowed the dish scrubber. She zipped up her new sweatshirt over her ever-present striped sweater. The sweatshirt was a gift from Doug. After dinner, before she and Nathan had left the boat to find Luc, Doug had given her the dark blue sweatshirt. It was a nice thick one that zipped up the front and had a sailboat on the back.

      “You’re c…c…cold all the t…time,” he had said. “That jacket isn’t w…warm enough.”

      “Wow. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

      “And… I hate your sweater.” He grinned as he said it.

      “Really? Luc’s sister gave it to me. It cost a lot.” Lola was the most beautiful and best-dressed woman she had ever met. Lola had chosen this sweater. The horizontal blue and white stripes were nautical, she had said, like cruise wear—whatever that was—and it had something called a boat neck that had made them laugh.

      “I r…r…really hate it.”

      Honestly, she never would have chosen the stripes for herself. She really did like the sweatshirt a lot more, but she didn’t like the way Doug looked at her, his open mouthed desire. She had Luc, only Luc. Besides, Doug was too old for her. He said he’d be twenty-nine on his next birthday. He loved birds and he lived in Arizona. Still, he was right about the sweater. The wool was itchy and the stripes made her look fat. The cuffs were already dirty. She felt like Nathan in that stained fisherman’s sweater he always wore, but it was the warmest thing she had. She wished again she’d brought her winter coat. She wished she could go home, not Lola’s apartment, but a home she could imagine, somewhere with heat and a tree outside the window and a nice rug on the floor. She could pack different clothes, start this whole trip over again.

      She heard a breathy whistling and Nathan came up through the hatch already smoking a cigarette. His hair hung in oily strings. He wore the same whale covered pants and filthy sweater he had on the day before and the day they arrived and even the night at that party where they’d met him in New York. Fiona could smell his dirty hair and body odor. As a dancer she was used to bodies smelling, but they hadn’t even left yet. How ripe would he be in four days? She sighed. She did not want to talk to him or have to field any more of his questions.

      She followed his gaze. A heavy curtain of darker clouds was closing to the northeast. The wind swirled and whipped under her collar, a dry icicle down her back. Her eyes watered. She felt a pressure on her shoulders and the back of her neck, the threat of something needing to explode.

      “What’s happening?” she asked.

      “One hour until departure.”

      “The weather.”

      “We’ll sail right out of it.”

      “Everyone is still asleep.”

      “Not for long.”

      She nodded. The sooner they left, the sooner Luc would have nowhere else to go. She didn’t even care about getting to Bermuda anymore, she just wanted to sail away. Anywhere that was away.

      She looked again to the clouds and the ominous sky and thought about the woman in the shop. “In November?” And the Harbormaster’s secretary when she’d stopped in for the weather report. “Send in your captain.” And the old guy at the grocery store. “You’re crazy to go now.” Their words rattled in her head.

      “Joren should go talk to the Harbormaster. The secretary said it was important.”

      Nathan gave a humpf. “Too late for that.”

      “Oh!” She suddenly remembered. “We have to go to the Coast Guard station for the three-day forecast. The Harbormaster didn’t have it. I’m so sorry I forgot yesterday. I’ll take the car and go right now.”

      “Doesn’t matter.” Nathan shrugged. “Que sera sera,” he sang. “Whatever will be, will be.”

      She reached into her back pocket. “I did get this.” She handed him a Xeroxed list:

       Items Necessary for an Ocean Voyage

       1. Fresh water

       2. Non-perishable food

       3. First-aid kit

       4. Flares

       5. Life raft—inflated and secured on deck

       6. Life jackets—one per person

       7. Two-way radio

       8. Charts

       9. Navigational systems

       10. Training in sailing

       11. Physical fitness

       12. Mental preparedness

      Nathan looked the list over. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much. This is very important. And I am going to put this somewhere special.”

      She was pleased until she saw him crumple the paper in his hand and chuck it into the water. Of course he knew all this stuff. She had probably insulted him.

      “’My soul is full of longing/ For the secret of the sea/ And the heart of the great ocean/ Sends a thrilling pulse through me.’” He lit a fresh cigarette and exhaled in her direction. “Know any Longfellow?”

      “Hiawatha, right? Paul Revere’s Ride?”

      “Bleh. The Top Forty of poetry.”

      “That’s what they teach us.”

      “School.” He said it with disgust. “I was too smart. Bullied. Teased. Always ate lunch alone. Boo hoo. Boo hoo. But I showed them, didn’t I? It feels so good to be a genius.” Nathan looked at her sideways and recited another fragment. “ ‘With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace/ She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hair.’ Lovely piteous head.”

      “Who’s that?”

      “Yeats. William Butler Yeats. I think he wrote it about you. You are so kind. And graceful. And you have a lovely piteous head, if white instead of red hair.” He squinted at her. “Your skin is so pale, almost transparent. I can watch your blood moving in your veins—there in your temples. You’re practically an albino.”

      “No, I’m not. I have normal pigment, blue eyes. I just haven’t slept.”

      “Your hair really is an unusual color. Absolutely your best feature.”

      She couldn’t say thank you, it was more dissection than compliment.

      “You could still skip this,” he said.

      “Skip what?”

      “Take the bus back to New York. You’re terrified. I can see it. Ha. I can smell it.” He picked his nose and flicked something into the sea. “Your boyfriend, Luc. Aren’t you worried about what he’s been doing? He could go to Bermuda with me, get clean, and fly back to you a new man.”

      “We’ve СКАЧАТЬ