That Which Is Flesh

Page 290

289 onto the metal tracks. Although the channel was only a few hundred yards wide, out here in the middle nothing of either shore could be seen-not a vague out­line, not a suggestion of a light. Only the thick, drifting fog, and the small surrounding patch of ocean on which she was moving. Where was she? Here, in her present. Yes. So that behind her, in the thick fog, was her past. Hazy, unreal. It existed in strange ways; it did not always exist. And ahead, before her, was her future. Just as hazy, just as unreal. And it, too, existed in strange ways; and it, too, did not always exist. Yes. So there was only this small surrounding patch of ocean, across which she was moving, buttressed by the tide. And herself. Her pres­ence. Yes. And then the lights of the landing ramp appeared from out of the fog. And then the vague outline of the ramp itself. The ferry was put into reverse, the engine suddenly revving up to a higher pitch, so that the forward motion was quickly slowed-the powerful propellers fighting against it. And then the engine was cut, they were drifting, drifting, with the quick wash of the water. Until they nestled into the ramp. It was a moment which she would remember for the rest of her life.