attended to for a pre-arranged hour. She had never considered it a possibility for herself. Her discomfort of mind would easily cancel the comfort her body might receive.
Izak was silent, working above her. The others had all disappeared toward the attractions of the crepe boat. She could hear their voices coming from the far end of the boat where they must be eating their crepes at the dining table, exclaiming about how delicious they were, yelling down to the boy and his mother in the boat for another round of them.
Where she and Izak were, there were tiny, quiet sounds, the slide of his hand along her spine, the tiny squish of her skin between his fingers. Above her, the rolled sails of the boat squeaked as the wind played with the wooden masts that held them wrapped tightly.
Izak moved up and down her back as if it were an instrument and he were playing it. Her ribs made muted music as his fingers slid along each bone of her rib cage. She gave herself up to his fingers, to the wind, to the towering sails above them and the sound of his breath.
She floated as she had in the sea, weightless under his weight. He moved lower on her body, sitting now to the side of her, using pressure on her calves, massaging her feet, moving his fingers, one by one, between her toes.
He had turned her to liquid by the end. She could not sit up, all her strength flowed outward, like a current of electricity. When he helped her to her feet, she could barely stand and certainly not walk.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Lilly. What you said—how we make family on boat. Here you be my family.”
What did he mean? She could only nod as he supported her jelly-limbs down the steps to her cabin, opened the door for her, guided her inside, sat her on the foam mattress of the lower bunk. “You rest,” he said. “I prepare the table now for lunch—though I tell Morat, not too much food for this meal after so many crepes.”
*
Lilly slept through lunch and through the afternoon till dinner, a sleep so deep she could hardly be roused by her mother whom she felt shaking her shoulders and saying, over and over, “Lilly, are you sick?”
“I think it’s jet-lag, it’s nothing—some kind of exhaustion came over me. Maybe too much sun.”
She struggled to her feet. There was hardly room for the two of them in the cabin. Her mother had named their stateroom “the big cupboard”—an upper and lower bunk, a tiny porthole near the ceiling (which was just inches over their heads), a small motor-driven machine under the bunk which was supposed to (but didn’t really) air-condition the room, and a tiny cabinet where Lilly and her mother had stuffed whatever could fit in it. All the rest of their belongings, their suitcases, their clothes, were strewn on the upper bunk.
“Let me shower, Mother. You go up to the deck. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
*
The entire bathroom was the shower. A hand-held sprayer, which served as the sink-faucet, could be pulled up on a coil and held over one’s head. When Lilly turned on the faucet, water flooded the tiny cubicle, making the floor dangerous and slippery. Unless she kept the spray pointing downward, the towels hanging on two hooks on the wall were also drenched.
She tried not to look into the toilet which had proven itself unreliable in its flushing capabilities. Waste water sometimes flowed between cabins.
Better not to be too fastidious here. Better to look out the small oval porthole above the sink and see what could be a watercolor of astounding beauty framed there—a view of the cliffs, of craggy rocks, of goats on the slopes, of trees stretching toward a sky purple with sunset.
Lilly pulled off her bathing suit and tossed it into the sink. As she sprayed her hair and felt it cling to her face, she recalled seeing Izak on deck yesterday, showering with a hose. She had just fastened some damp towels with clothespins to the coiled wires used for drying small items when he
Izak was silent, working above her. The others had all disappeared toward the attractions of the crepe boat. She could hear their voices coming from the far end of the boat where they must be eating their crepes at the dining table, exclaiming about how delicious they were, yelling down to the boy and his mother in the boat for another round of them.
Where she and Izak were, there were tiny, quiet sounds, the slide of his hand along her spine, the tiny squish of her skin between his fingers. Above her, the rolled sails of the boat squeaked as the wind played with the wooden masts that held them wrapped tightly.
Izak moved up and down her back as if it were an instrument and he were playing it. Her ribs made muted music as his fingers slid along each bone of her rib cage. She gave herself up to his fingers, to the wind, to the towering sails above them and the sound of his breath.
She floated as she had in the sea, weightless under his weight. He moved lower on her body, sitting now to the side of her, using pressure on her calves, massaging her feet, moving his fingers, one by one, between her toes.
He had turned her to liquid by the end. She could not sit up, all her strength flowed outward, like a current of electricity. When he helped her to her feet, she could barely stand and certainly not walk.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Lilly. What you said—how we make family on boat. Here you be my family.”
What did he mean? She could only nod as he supported her jelly-limbs down the steps to her cabin, opened the door for her, guided her inside, sat her on the foam mattress of the lower bunk. “You rest,” he said. “I prepare the table now for lunch—though I tell Morat, not too much food for this meal after so many crepes.”
*
Lilly slept through lunch and through the afternoon till dinner, a sleep so deep she could hardly be roused by her mother whom she felt shaking her shoulders and saying, over and over, “Lilly, are you sick?”
“I think it’s jet-lag, it’s nothing—some kind of exhaustion came over me. Maybe too much sun.”
She struggled to her feet. There was hardly room for the two of them in the cabin. Her mother had named their stateroom “the big cupboard”—an upper and lower bunk, a tiny porthole near the ceiling (which was just inches over their heads), a small motor-driven machine under the bunk which was supposed to (but didn’t really) air-condition the room, and a tiny cabinet where Lilly and her mother had stuffed whatever could fit in it. All the rest of their belongings, their suitcases, their clothes, were strewn on the upper bunk.
“Let me shower, Mother. You go up to the deck. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
*
The entire bathroom was the shower. A hand-held sprayer, which served as the sink-faucet, could be pulled up on a coil and held over one’s head. When Lilly turned on the faucet, water flooded the tiny cubicle, making the floor dangerous and slippery. Unless she kept the spray pointing downward, the towels hanging on two hooks on the wall were also drenched.
She tried not to look into the toilet which had proven itself unreliable in its flushing capabilities. Waste water sometimes flowed between cabins.
Better not to be too fastidious here. Better to look out the small oval porthole above the sink and see what could be a watercolor of astounding beauty framed there—a view of the cliffs, of craggy rocks, of goats on the slopes, of trees stretching toward a sky purple with sunset.
Lilly pulled off her bathing suit and tossed it into the sink. As she sprayed her hair and felt it cling to her face, she recalled seeing Izak on deck yesterday, showering with a hose. She had just fastened some damp towels with clothespins to the coiled wires used for drying small items when he
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