Read Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) Online
Authors: Travelers In Time
"Look,
you've
frightened
my
birds,"
she
complained
indignantly. "Never
mind
the
birds—they
can
see
you
whenever
they
want.
I can't.
Inés,
haven't
you
changed
your
mind
about
coming
with
me?" She
shook
her
head.
"Inés,
please,
please
listen!
Even
if
we
drown
out
there
together, wouldn't
it
be
better
than
this?"
"Oh,
yes,
if
we
drowned.
But
we
should
not
drown.
We
should come
back
here—to
Micah—and
then
our
lives
would
not
be
worth living."
"My
life,"
he
said,
"isn't
worth
living
now,
not
while
I
have
to
see you
with
that
creature
night
and
day." "Be
quiet,"
she
warned
in
a
low
voice.
Patterson
turned,
following
her
eyes.
Behind,
only
just
out
of
earshot,
stood
the
Captain,
watching
them
sardonically.
The
breeze lifted
the
skirts
of
his
green
taffeta
coat,
ballooning
them
about
hi$ slender
body.
The
green,
too,
seemed
reflected
in
his
face,
so
pale was
it;
paler,
more
waxen,
even,
than
a
corpse-candle.«
"Are
you
also
feeding
the
birds,
Patterson?"
inquired
the
Captain softly.
"No.
I
am
looking
for
turtles'
eggs."
"How
many
have
you
found?"
the
Captain
wanted
to
know.
Patterson
felt
rather
foolish.
"None-yet."
"Then
you
had
better
make
haste,
unless
you
wish
to
fast
for
dinner.
Come,
my
rose."
And
Captain
Thunder
turned
away
indifferently,
followed
by
Doña
Inés,
who
walked
behind
him
obediently,
her
head
bent,
with no
backward
look.
That
night
Patterson
thought
he
heard
weeping
in
the
hut
that
lay only
a
few
hundred
yards
from
his
own,
and
he
crouched,
perspiring, sleepless,
for
many
hours,
until
it
was
dark
no
longer,
and
bars
of rose
and
lemon
streaked
the
sky.
Then
he
got
up
and
went
forth
to the
woods
to
complete
his
preparations
for
escape.
He
had
rigged
up
a
sail
upon
his
raft
and
had
already
floated
her on
a
narrow
lagoon
that
led
towards
the
sea.
He
was
taking
with
him three
barrels
of
water,
a
barrel
of
bread,
his
fishing-tackle,
a
blanket, and
a
flint
and
tinder.
He
knew
he
would
not
starve,
since
fish
were plentiful,
but
he
was
aware
that
he
would,
probably,
unless
he
were fortunate
enough
to
end
in
a
shark's
belly,
die
of
a
thirst
that
must endure
for
many
days
of
torment
in
a
pitiless
and
scorching
heat.
Yet
he
could
not
wait;
he
must
start
at
once,
before
the
sun
was
up, before
the
first
sign
of
life
from
that
hut
nestling
on
the
cliffs
behind him.
And
so,
at
a
moment's
notice,
he
took
his
departure,
nervous and
weary
and
taut
with
anxiety,
drifting
with
his
raft
like
some
dark bird
against
the
misty
violet-blue
of
the
lagoon
at
dawn.