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Show 62 there were many passengers, she wouldn't even have a bench to herself, but would have to sit up for the entire twelve hours. Christ, he thought, why did I have to get her deck passage? It was unkind enough that he wasn't going with her to Athens, to see her off at the airport. "Look, maybe we can still get you a berth. Sometimes they save them back. Or maybe there's been a cancellation. When we get down to the pier we'll check, okay?" "I'll live," she said, tightening her lips. Suffer, you mean. You'll suffer mightily and need to remind me now because I won't be there later. He watched as the last piece of luggage was hoisted to the top of the taxi and the driver began securing the load with a length of blond rope; dark hands weaving the line through leather and plastic and cardboard grips until they came to the long canvas straps of Darcy's two bags. Big shapeless canvas bags that zippered shut. The brown one on which she had painted a smiling dragon, because dragons are good luck, David. Stuffed with two changes of clothing and the peacoat with its anchor buttons. The other one, the faded yellow one, filled with long-stemmed brushes and charcoal pencils, her collection of cheap silver rings and bracelets and earrings, the big Dali book, sketches and unfilled canvasses rolled inside cardboard tubes. Crazy canvas bags that he told her she was crazy to buy, because they had no body, wouldn't hold up. What do you mean, no body? she had asked. Don't be stupid, he had said. |
