This blog is not about San Jose, really, its not! This is an experiment in the form of stream of consciousness...
Thursday, February 24, 2011
John Cheever Says . . .
Mme. Troyan left the ship at Gibraltar the next morning, when her husband was to meet her. We got there at dawn–very cold for April–cold and bleak with snow on the African mountains and the smell of snow in the air. I didn't see Brimmer around, although he many have been on another deck. I watched a deckhand put the bags aboard the cutter, and then Mme. Troyan walked swiftly onto the cutter herself, wearing a coat over her shoulders and carrying a scarf. She went to the stern and began to wave her scarf to Brimmer or to me or to the ship's musicians–since we were the only people she had spoken to on the crossing. But the boat moved more swiftly than my emotions and, in the few minutes it took for my stray feelings of tenderness to accumulate, the cutter had moved away from the ship, and the shape, the color of her face was lost.