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in the sand. Her sudden stillness must stand out in the scene, for he
glances in her direction.
She turns around and begins to walk briskly along the beach, her
boots in her hand. She can hear nothing but the surf of foolishness
in her head: Whatever was she thinking to be so bold as to present
herself at the hotel? Knowing that she might encounter Haskell?
Knowing how inappropriate such a presentation would be? With her
body bent forward, she is determined to retreat to the other end of
the beach as soon as possible. And so it is that she does not at first
hear her name called, and it is only when she feels a restraining hand
upon her arm that she stops and turns.
 Olympia, Haskell says, breathless from trying to overtake her.
 I spotted you from the porch.
She drops her skirts.
He bends to catch his breath.  I have regretted not having had the
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chance to visit with you and your father, he says,  as I very much
enjoyed my stay with your family.
 And we as well, she says politely.
He rights himself and puts his hands on his hips.  And how are
your father and mother? he asks.  Well, I trust?
 Oh, yes, very well, she answers.  And Mrs. Haskell and the chil-
dren? Are they with you on this holiday?
 No, he says.  I must be at the clinic in an hour, and I have given
most of the others the afternoon off. It seemed pointless to send for
Catherine when I could not join her in the festivities. In any event,
I shall be with her in York tomorrow.
Olympia crooks an arm over her forehead to shade her eyes
from the light. She is forced to look up at Haskell in order to speak
to him.
 And how is your work at the clinic? she asks.
 Difficult, he says without hesitation.  There has not been suffi-
cient time for me to reorganize the staff in the way it must be done,
and I am still awaiting supplies and medicines from Boston, which
have been unpardonably late in arriving.
 I am sorry to hear that, she says.
 Oh, I think we shall manage all right. Although I shall be dread-
fully short-staffed this afternoon, he adds, putting his hands into
his trouser pockets. He seems to have recovered his breath.  May I
accompany you back to wherever you are going? he asks.  I should
welcome an opportunity to greet your father if he is here with you.
His eyes scan her face.
She turns, and they begin to walk toward the bonfire. The beach
slopes precipitously, and she is nearly as tall as he is. She imagines
that her gait is self-conscious, her movements stiff and unnatural, for
she feels unnerved in his presence. Haskell, however, seems consid-
erably more relaxed and occasionally bends to pick up a shell or to
send a flat stone skipping across the waves. After a time, he asks if he
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can stop for a moment since his boots are filling with sand. He puts
the boots down where they stand, out of reach of the incoming tide,
and says he will collect them later, which she thinks reflects rather
more trust in human nature than perhaps is prudent. They walk to-
gether again, and though there are a thousand questions she wants
to ask the man, she finds she is rendered silent. Voluble in her imag-
inings, she is inarticulate in his presence.
The sea that day is a brilliant aquamarine, a color seldom ob-
served off the coast of New Hampshire, where the ocean most often
presents either a deep navy or a gunmetal gray appearance. Indeed,
so rich and lovely are the water and sky and light together that
Olympia thinks that Nature, in her generosity, must be in a celebra-
tory mood herself on this, the one hundred and twenty-third an-
niversary of the country s independence.
 Have you eaten? she asks.
 The food at the Highland, I am sorry to say, is remarkably poor,
despite the high standard of the service. I think they need another
cook.
 You are in luck today, then, for the clambake is providing a sa-
vory meal for everyone. Do you know about this tradition?
 I heard about it at breakfast and have watched the staff slink
away in their finery all morning. I m quite glad to be offered a meal,
as I m sure the dining room is like a ship deserted. Your face is grow-
ing pink, he says.  I think you should have worn your hat.
They walk side by side, the walking irregular and slow-going in
the sand. Occasionally one or the other of them stumbles, and a
sleeve brushes a sleeve or a shoulder a shoulder. The heat causes a
prism of air above the sandy beach that distorts the view. Waves sur-
prise them, and Haskell yelps once from the cold, which is always a
shock upon the tender skin of the ankles, no matter how often one
visits this part of the coast of New England.
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fortune s rocks
In the distance, Olympia can see that the festivities have gathered
some momentum in her absence. Men and boys are playing with
balls and nets and racquets. Nearer to the water, where the sand is
harder, several couples have set up wickets and are engaged in cro-
quet, although it seems a fruitless enterprise since all the balls natu-
rally roll toward the sea. Beyond the seawall and the fish shanties,
hucksters hawk their wares from carts: ice-cold tonics, Indian bas-
kets, ice-cream cones, and confections of all sorts.
She stops suddenly, unwilling to reenter the crowd so soon.
Haskell strolls on for a few paces before realizing that she is behind
him. He walks back to where she is standing.
 What is it? he asks her.  What is wrong?
Her eyes skim the tops of his shoulders, his braces making inden-
tations in his shirt. She is perspiring all about her collar and wishes
she could unbutton it. She sees a blue-and-orange-striped balloon
rise above his right shoulder.
The balloon ascends slowly into the thickish air  a massive [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]