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Show 185 I sit her up as best I can, rest her in a corner of wall and bed frame. Still her head falls forward. This ship, she says. I take off Paco's shirt. I push back her hair and use what is dry to wipe her face, then drop the shirt to the floor. I cannot take off her filthy sweater here. A fool, she says. The Five Star is beside me on the bunk. I pick it up and swallow the rest. Can you walk? I ask. Jerusalem, she says. I know the rest. I will take her to her cabin, help her off with her sweater and soiled dungarees. I will finally see her legs. I will put her to bed and then go alone to my cabin. I doubt she will get up until it is time for her to leave the Aurelia, and I doubt the storm will delay our arrival. Her head rolls from side to side with the motion of the ship and I lean forward, to help her up. I take her hands. She lifts her face and looks at me, looks at me as though she recognizes who I am, who I am not. Paco? she says. Paco? And I hear Alexis call out: Paco! But no, I pull her to her feet and I do not answer to anyone. And I am thinking Dubrovnik, Palermo, Lindos. I am thinking Alexandria. Genoa. Corinth. |