The Night I Slept With Three From Memoir, A Dot In Time
The ferry's lounge buzzed with
activity. People from our tour group sitting, standing, speaking loud, excited
at making the crossing from Palermo to Naples. Carryon luggage and backpacks
cluttered floor and seats. While some sipped their bottled water many held that
demitasse espresso with its muscled
scent. My heart skipped, pulled by strings of happy thoughts. Still in Italia!
Then my
husband came to sit by me with a look of concern upon his face.
"There's something I didn't
tell you, yet." He brought out
papers and spread them out.
"We won't be sleeping alone
tonight. On this trip you have to reserve a cabin for two, well in advance. He
pointed to the paper. We didn't. It's ok."
I stared into his face
unbuttoned my jacket and uncrossed my legs. "What?"
"Two other people in our
tour will sleep in our cabin tonight," he said, giving me an impish smile.
"It's only one night. We'll keep our clothes on of course," he said,
as he still channeled the imp.
His words and face had turned
it on. A cauldron inside, with my Cuban juices on the way to boil. The Cosmos
tour had started a few days before. We hardly knew the people. Sleep with
strangers in our room? Que loco! What an awkward thing.
He folded the papers and stood
up to go. "Oh, no, where do you think you're going?" I said, my cauldron
ready to overflow.
"I'm sending you the two
who will be with us," as he hurried on toward deck doors.
The fellow came to sit across from me,
extended his hand, and smiled. "My name is Evan. Mrs. Rassler?"
He had black hair and fair skin. My memory recalls how he wore a lot of
navy blue through the whole trip.
I sensed my cauldron cooling a
bit. "Yes, I'm Mrs. Rassler, but call me Marggie, please. So where're you
from?"
"From the Shetland Islands.
Islands off Scotland." I watched him put his navy blue backpack on
the floor. He placed his palms on his legs and leaned back in the chair.
"Off Scotland, what is it like to live there? What
do you do?" I said.
"I take care of sheep. What
is it like? A bit lonely," he said. And, in that moment something about
him made me think of him as a small boy. A blue boy. We talked for a short while
and then he left. My heart, though, made fuller by a peek into the life of the
man in blue.
Then, the young handsome fellow
with lit cigarette in hand, came to sit by me. Tall, dark, curly brown hair and
of strong build ... dressed in earthy colors that he wore well. He told me he
was a chef from Chicago. "My mother died of cancer a few months ago. She
said I was to come to Italy to find our kinfolks. I miss her," he said
I observed him looking away from me and felt
something inside me collapsing.
"Did you contact them
yet?"
He turned and looked at me, his eyes, full
pools. "They said their hellos but are too busy to see me." He
brought out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
"Thank you, Mrs. Rassler.
Good to share the cabin with you tonight." He got up to leave.
"I'm sure your mom is very
happy you tried. I know I would be very happy ... and proud." He nodded
and smiled. "Thank you," he said.
The
cabin was small with stamp size beds to match. Bunks above us.
I lay in my traveling
clothes. My husband soon fell asleep on the bed next to the wall on the other
side. And the two fellows? Evan, came in
shortly after and took the bunk above me in the four-berth cabin. Tony, the chef,
came in hours later.
That night I remained awake for
quite awhile. What a treasured opportunity of
having met those two men. How
could I ever forget that night? Once again,
strangers touched my life. I smiled to myself. My husband's imp had transferred
to me. What would my Cuban mother say when I would tell her of the night I slept with three.
Crosses crocheted by my mother in 1981.