had come up from the little trap door in the deck that led to the crews’ quarters. With his back toward her, he planted his bare feet on the wooden planks and sprayed himself full in the face, taking water into his mouth, then spouting it out as if through a whale’s blow-hole. His bathing trunks clung to his body, the hairs on his upper body and legs flattened and darkened. She moved away and went below quickly before he could see her there.
But the memory of his image was burned into her mind. Every simple scene here was imbued with momentous portent. Perhaps this was the meaning of travel: everything new, everything significant. Mystery and majesty everywhere, in a goat on a hill, in a tomato carved like a rose, in a crepe cooking on a tin pan over burning coals, in the view of her own body in the mirror in the bathroom of the gulet, a woman naked in a wooden boat floating like a cork in the midst of the Mediterranean Sea.
*
At dinner, as Morat passed the platters of lamb stew, rice, and spinach baked in pastry triangles, and while Barish brought the tray with a teapot, tea bags, sugar and cups, Fiona O’Hara clapped her hands and called for attention.
“Harrison and Gerta have a special announcement to make to us.”
Harrison, tall, thin, slickly handsome in his crisp white shirt, perfectly trimmed mustache, and wearing a heavy gold chain around his neck, stood and pulled Gerta to her feet. She blushed, she bent her head down. As usual, she had her waist-length hair braided to perfection and pinned up like a crown upon her head. Her full breasts, tiny waist, delicate hips were a reproach to every woman on board. But her shyness seemed to apologize for her beauty, and even for the way Harrison displayed her and paraded her before them.
“Well, this is our news,” Harrison said. “We’re going to have a baby!”
Lance yelled “Hurrah!!” and began to applaud, and the rest of them joined in.
“When is the blessed event to be?” asked Jane Cotton.
“In four weeks!” said Harrison. “Our little girl will be born in four weeks.”
They all stared at Gerta. Fiona O’Hara laughed, apparently pleased by everyone’s confusion.
“Izak, will you bring some wine to the table, please? We want to toast the parents-to-be?”
“Spill it,” Marianne said. “We don’t get it. This gorgeous girl is not pregnant in the least.”
“Oh, I see—you must be adopting,” Jane Cotton said.
“Not on your life,” Harrison told her. “Do you think we’d give up Gerta’s gorgeous genes and my genius genes for some unknown mystery kid?”
“So what’s going on?” Marianne stared him down. “What’s the joke?”
“Tell them,” Fiona O’Hara said. “You’ll never believe this.”
“You tell them,” Harrison said.
“Well, my son and Gerta are having their baby through a surrogate mother,” she said. “They’ve been working with a famous fertility doctor who got Harrison’s sperm and Gerta’s egg together—you know how they do that these days—and their baby daughter is growing in someone else’s belly. In a month she’ll be born. This way Gerta doesn’t lose her figure. And she doesn’t have the pain or danger of childbirth. It all works out perfectly.”
Lilly and her mother looked at one another. This was vanity in another dimension. This was insanity.
“So I guess you won’t be nursing,” Marianne said, dryly.
Gerta giggled.
“We wouldn’t want those glorious breasts of hers to lose their perfection,” Harrison said. Clearly he was serious and believed they all agreed with him.
Izak had just before this announcement brought small sugar cakes to the table and was setting them down on the table, one by one, beside each person. Lilly wondered if he had heard this revelation and had understood it.
What she would give to grow a baby in her womb. What she would give if…
But this fantasizing was pointless and useless. She filled her mouth with a sugar cake, stuffing it in,
But the memory of his image was burned into her mind. Every simple scene here was imbued with momentous portent. Perhaps this was the meaning of travel: everything new, everything significant. Mystery and majesty everywhere, in a goat on a hill, in a tomato carved like a rose, in a crepe cooking on a tin pan over burning coals, in the view of her own body in the mirror in the bathroom of the gulet, a woman naked in a wooden boat floating like a cork in the midst of the Mediterranean Sea.
*
At dinner, as Morat passed the platters of lamb stew, rice, and spinach baked in pastry triangles, and while Barish brought the tray with a teapot, tea bags, sugar and cups, Fiona O’Hara clapped her hands and called for attention.
“Harrison and Gerta have a special announcement to make to us.”
Harrison, tall, thin, slickly handsome in his crisp white shirt, perfectly trimmed mustache, and wearing a heavy gold chain around his neck, stood and pulled Gerta to her feet. She blushed, she bent her head down. As usual, she had her waist-length hair braided to perfection and pinned up like a crown upon her head. Her full breasts, tiny waist, delicate hips were a reproach to every woman on board. But her shyness seemed to apologize for her beauty, and even for the way Harrison displayed her and paraded her before them.
“Well, this is our news,” Harrison said. “We’re going to have a baby!”
Lance yelled “Hurrah!!” and began to applaud, and the rest of them joined in.
“When is the blessed event to be?” asked Jane Cotton.
“In four weeks!” said Harrison. “Our little girl will be born in four weeks.”
They all stared at Gerta. Fiona O’Hara laughed, apparently pleased by everyone’s confusion.
“Izak, will you bring some wine to the table, please? We want to toast the parents-to-be?”
“Spill it,” Marianne said. “We don’t get it. This gorgeous girl is not pregnant in the least.”
“Oh, I see—you must be adopting,” Jane Cotton said.
“Not on your life,” Harrison told her. “Do you think we’d give up Gerta’s gorgeous genes and my genius genes for some unknown mystery kid?”
“So what’s going on?” Marianne stared him down. “What’s the joke?”
“Tell them,” Fiona O’Hara said. “You’ll never believe this.”
“You tell them,” Harrison said.
“Well, my son and Gerta are having their baby through a surrogate mother,” she said. “They’ve been working with a famous fertility doctor who got Harrison’s sperm and Gerta’s egg together—you know how they do that these days—and their baby daughter is growing in someone else’s belly. In a month she’ll be born. This way Gerta doesn’t lose her figure. And she doesn’t have the pain or danger of childbirth. It all works out perfectly.”
Lilly and her mother looked at one another. This was vanity in another dimension. This was insanity.
“So I guess you won’t be nursing,” Marianne said, dryly.
Gerta giggled.
“We wouldn’t want those glorious breasts of hers to lose their perfection,” Harrison said. Clearly he was serious and believed they all agreed with him.
Izak had just before this announcement brought small sugar cakes to the table and was setting them down on the table, one by one, beside each person. Lilly wondered if he had heard this revelation and had understood it.
What she would give to grow a baby in her womb. What she would give if…
But this fantasizing was pointless and useless. She filled her mouth with a sugar cake, stuffing it in,
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