Thursday, March 14, 2013

THE NIGHT I SLEPT WITH THREE




            
               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.    

No comments:

Post a Comment