The lobby of the Omni Bayview, entered from under a wide maroon1 marquee through sliding glass doors tinted3 opaque4 like limousine5 windows, knocks you out, virtually blinds you with its towering space and light, its great prismatic chandelier and splashing fountain and high rear wall of plate glass flooded with the view of Deleon Bay: beach in the foreground and sea like a scintillating6 blue?green curtain hung from a horizon line strung between two pegs7 of land, rich men's islands. "Wow," Judy breathes at Harry8's side. Pru and Roy, coming behind them, say nothing; but the shuffle10 of their sandals slows and hushes11. They feel like four trespassers. The woman at the black?marble front desk is an exotic color, her skin mixed of Negro and Indian or Oriental tints12 and stretched tight over her cheekbones and nosebone; her eyelids13 have been painted a metallic15 green and her earlobes covered by ribbed shells of gold.
Harry is so awed17 he makes a mistake in uttering the magic name of admission, saying "Silberstein."
The woman blinks her amazing metallic lids, then graciously tells him, "You must mean Mr. Silvers. He is this morning's beach supervisor18." With merciful disdain19 she directs them across the lobby, her ringed hand gesturing like a Balinese dancer's, without letting go of a slim gold pen. He leads his little party into the vast air?conditioned space, across a floor of black marble inset with strips of brass20 that radiate out like rays of the sun from an aluminum21 fountain suggesting a pipe organ, beneath a remote ceiling of hanging rectangles of gilded23 metal like those glittering strips farmers hang to?scare away birds. A flight of downward stairs is marked To POOL AND BEACH in solemn letters such as you see on post?office facades24. After taking a wrong turn in the milky25?green terrazzo corridors on the ground floor and confronting a door marked STAFF ONLY, Harry and his group find Ed Silberstein's son Gregg in a glassed?in, straw?matted area on the way to the hotel swimming pool ? pools, since Harry sees there are three, fitted together like the blobs in an intelligence test, one for waders, one for divers27, and a long one marked in lanes. Gregg is a curlyhaired man brown as an Arab from being off and on the beach all day. In little black elastic28 European?style trunks and a hooded29 sweatshirt bearing the five?sided Omni logo, he stands less tall than his father, and his inherited sharp?chinned accountant's jaw30 has been softened31 by a mother's blood and a job of holiday facilitation He smiles, showing teeth as white as Ed's but rounder: Ed's were so square they looked false, but Harry has never seen them slip. When Gregg speaks, his voice seems too young for his age; his curls hold bits of gray and his smile rouses creases32 in the sunbeaten face. He shouldn't still be horsing around on the 'beach.
"My father said you'd be coming. This is Mrs. Angstrom?" He means Pru, who has come instead of Janice, who after all that tramping around yesterday wanted to stay home and catch up on her errands and go to her aerobics33 class and bridge group and spend a little time with Nelson before he goes home. Harry is stunned34 that Ed's son could make this blunder but then thinks he must deal all the time with men in advanced middle age who have younger wives. And anyway Pru is no longer that young. Tall and fairskinned like he is, she might well be his.
"Thanks for the compliment, Gregg," Harry says, pretty smoothly35, considering, "but this is my daughter?in?law, Teresa." Teresa, Pru ? she is like him even in having two names, an inner and an outer. "And these are my two handsome grandchildren, Judy and Roy."
Gregg tells Judy, "So you're the one who wants to be a sailor girl."
Her eyes when she lifts them to Gregg's face flood here by the pools with a skyey light that washes out their green and makes her pupils small as pencil leads. "Sort of."
Moving and speaking in a relaxed thorough way that suggests his whole day could happily be devoted36 to them, Ed's son leads them back into the terrazzo corridors and arranges for locker37 keys for them with a boy at a desk ? a young black with his hair shaved into one of those muffin?tops they do now, an ugly style, with bald sides ? and then leads them to the locker?room doors, and tells them how to exit directly onto the beach, where he will meet them and manage the Sunfish rentals38. "How much do I owe you for all this?" Harry asks, half?expecting it will be free, arranged for by Ed in compensation for the twenty Harry dropped to him at Wednesday's golf.
But Gregg sheds a little amiability39 and says, "The boats are exclusively for the use of hotel guests and get included in their charges, but I think about a hundred twenty for the four of you would cover it, with the lockers40 and beach access and two Sunfish for an hour each."
Pru speaks up. "We don't want two. I'd be terrified."
He looks her up and down and says with a new thrust in his voice, a little friendly lean in from a guy who deals with a lot of women in this job, "No need to be terrified, Teresa. They can't sink, and lifesavers are compulsory41. Worst case and you feel you have no control, just let go of the sail and we'll come out for you in the launch."
"Thanks but no thanks," Pru says, a bit perkily Harry thinks, but, then, she and this guy are about the same age. Baby boomers. Rock and roll, dope, Leave It to Beaver42, physical fitness. And wait till they discover they both come from Ohio.
Gregg Silvers turns to him and says, "Ninety should about do it, then."
The sum seems an invitation to tip him ten, but Harry wonders if this wouldn't be insulting, since he is here as a family friend, and waits for Gregg to fetch the bill from the muffin?topped boy at the desk. When Rabbit and Roy are alone in the locker room, he tells the child, "Jesus, Roy, that just about cleaned out poor old Grandpa's wallet!"
Roy looks up at him with frightened inky eyes. "Will they put us in jail?" he asks, his voice high and precise, like wind chimes.
Harry laughs. "Where'd you get that idea?"
"Daddy hates jail."
"Well who doesn't!" Harry says, wondering if the child is quite right in the head. Roy doesn't understand you should loosen the string of bathing trunks to pull them on, and while he fumbles43 and struggles his little penis sticks straight out, no longer than it is thick, cute as a button mushroom. He is circumcised. Rabbit wonders what his own life would have been like if he had been circumcised. The issue comes up now and then in the newspapers. Some say the foreskin is like an eyelid14; without it the constantly exposed glans becomes less sensitive, it gets thick?skinned and dull rubbing against cloth all the time. A letter he once read in a skin magazine was from a guy who got circumcised in midwife and found his sexual pleasure and responsiveness went so far down his circumcised life was hardly worth living. If Harry had been less responsive he might have been a more dependable person. Getting a hard?on you can feel the foreskin sweetly tug44 back, like freezing cream lifting the paper cap on the old?time milk bottles. From the numb45 look of his prick46 Roy will be a solid citizen. His grandfather reaches down a hand to lead him out to the beach.
Harry and Janice after their first year or two in Florida, when in their excitement at being here they bought a telescope for the balcony and three or four times a week would drive the two miles to the Deleon public beach for a walk and picnic supper if not a swim, gradually stopped visiting the Gulf47. So it hits him now as something fresh, unforeseen, this immensity of water, of air, of a surface of flux48 battered49 into a million oscillating dents50. The raw glory of it all overpowers for a moment the nagging51 aches and worries in his chest and releases him into self?forgetfulness. Such light?struck and level grandeur52 is like nothing he knew in the Pennsylvania landscape, hemmed53 in by woods and hills and housetops, a land dingy54 with centuries of use, where even the wild patches, the quarries55 and second?growth woodland and abandoned factories and rnineshafts, had been processed by men and discarded. Here, all feels virgin56, though in fact there is a history too, of Indians and conquistadores and barefoot mailmen who served the mosquito?plagued coastal57 settlements. On the right and left of the horizon are islands where the millionaires used to come by private railroad car for the tarpon fishing in April. Spanish and French pirates once hid among these islands. Gold is still buried in their sands. They are flat and seem very distant from where Harry and Roy stand on the beach wall. It is all so bright, so open, the world feels created anew, in synthetic58 elements. Sailboats, windsurfing rigs, those motorcycles that buzz along on top of the water, plastic paddleboats, and inflated59 rafts dot the near water with colors gaudy60 as a supermarket's. A distance down the beach, in front of another hotel, someone is flying a kite ?a linked pair of box kites that dip and dive and climb again in unison61, trailing glittering orange ribbons. For a mile in either direction, a twinkling party of tan flesh and cloth patches is assembling itself, grainlike live bodies laid on top of the beach of sand.
Pru and Judy come out of the hotel to join them and they descend62 concrete steps. The hour has passed ten o'clock, and at their backs the tall hotel, shaped like an S fifteen stories high, fringed at each story with balconies like fine?toothed red combs, still has its face in shadow, though its shadow has shrunk back to the innermost of its pools. The sand is freshly raked underfoot; yesterday's footprints and plastic glasses and emptied lotion63 bottles have been taken away and the wooden beach chaises stacked. Today's sunbathers are arranging themselves and their equipment, their towels and mystery novels (Ruth used to read those, and what she got out of them was another mystery) and various colorcoded numbers of sunscreen. Couples are greasing each other. Old smoothies already the color of leather are rubbing oil into their bald heads, the hair of their chests pure white. The smell of lotion rises to intertwine with the odor of salt air, of dead crab65, of seaweed. As he leads his group across the sand Harry feels heads lift and eyes behind sunglasses slide; he feels proud and strange to be seen with this much younger woman and two small children. His second family. Or his third or fourth. Life moves through us family after family.
At the water's slapping, hissing66, frothing edge sandpipers scurry67. and halt, stab. the foam68 for some morsel69, and scurry on. Their feet and heads are so quick they appear mechanical. Roy cannot catch them, though they seem like toys. When Harry takes off his unlaced Nikes, the sand bites his bare feet with an unexpected chill ? the tide of night still cold beneath the sunny top layer of grains. The tops of his feet show wormy blue veins70, and his shins are all chalky and crackled, as if he is standing71 up to his knees in old age. A tremor72 of flight comes alive in his legs. The sea, the sun are so big: cosmic wheels he could be ground between. He is playing with fire.
Gregg is waiting for them at a but of corrugated73 Fiberglas on the beach, back from the water near some palms with their roots exposed. He has taken from the but a rudder, a centerboard, and two life jackets of black foam rubber. Rabbit doesn't like the color, the texture74; he wants old?fashioned Day?Glo kapok75 from Thomas Edison's kapok trees. Gregg asks him, "You've done this before?"
"Sure."
But something in Harry's tone leads Gregg to be instructive: "Push the tiller away from the sail. Watch the tips of the waves for the direction of the wind. When the wind gets behind you, hold the mainsheet loose."
"O.K.., sure," Harry says, having not quite listened, thinking instead, resentfully, of Ed Silberstein's bogey76 on the first hole yesterday and how its being enough for a win got the whole round off to a lousy start.
Gregg turns to Pru and asks, "Your little girl can swim?"
"Oh, sure," she says, picking up Harry's lazy word. "She was the champion in her swimming class at summer camp."
"Mom," the girl pleads. "I came in second."
Gregg looks down at Judy, the sun at his back so bright that the shadow on his face has a blue light ofits own. "Second's pretty close to champ." Still needing to talk to Pru, Gregg says, "I wouldn't advise your little boy to go. There's an offshore77 breeze today, you can't feel it in the lee of the hotel here, but it takes you out there pretty fast. There's no cockpit, it's easy to slip off."
She gives Gregg Silvers her crooked78 wry79 grin and shifts her weight, as if the closeness of this man her own age makes her awk-wardly aware of her near?nakedness. She is wearing a tie?dyed brown dashiki over her one?piece white suit with those high sides that expose leg up to the hipbone. The cut means you have to shave the sides off your pussy81. What women go through. There's even a kind of wax job you can have done to make it permanent. But suppose bathing?suit fashions change again? Rabbit preferred that pre?Reagan look of the two?piece bikini with the lower half like a little skimpy diaper slung82 under the belly83, like Cindy Murkett used to slosh around in. Still, this new style nicely lengthens84 Pru's already long legs and keeps her thickening middle in. "He's going to stay with me right on the beach," she tells Gregg Silvers, and by way of emphasis bows down, so her red hair flings forward, and pulls off her dashiki, revealing string straps85 and white wide shoulders mottled with pale freckles86.
"How long do I have it for?" Harry, feeling ignored, asks Ed's son. Those tight little European?style bathing trunks definitely show the bump of a prick.
"One hour, sir." The "sir" just popped in absentmindedly and the boy tries to revert88 to friendly casualness. "No sweat if you don't bring it in on the dot. There's not much action today, a lot of people don't like taking them out in this much wind. Take number nineteen, on the end there."
As Harry moves off, he hears Gregg ask Pru, "Where're you folks from up north?"
"Pennsylvania. Actually, I'm from Akron, Ohio."
"Hey! You'll never guess where I was raised ? Toledo!"
The boats are up on the dry sand in a line, along with some other big water toys ? those water bikes, and squarish paddle-boats. Harry pulls at the nylon painter attached to the bow and the hull89 is heavier than he thought; by the time he's dragged it forty feet through the sand his breathing feels shallow and that annoy-ing binding90 pain has begun to flicker91 on the left side of his ribs92. He gives the boat one more heave and sits down in the sand, near where Pru is settling herself on a beach chaise Gregg has dragged down from the stack for her. Another beachgoer has momentarily called him away. "You like those?" Rabbit pants. "Don't you like feeling the sand under your ? you know, like sort of a nest?"
She says, "It gets into the bathing suit, Harry. It gets in every-where."
This needless emphasis, when he had got the picture, excites him, here in the bewildering brightness. He dimly remembers an old joke in high school about women making pearls. Cunts like Chesapeake oysters93. That sly old Fred. He tells Judy, "Give me a second to get my breath, couldja honey? Go for a quick swim in the water so it won't be a shock when we're out on it. I'll be with you in one minute."
He should try to talk to Pru about Nelson. Something rotten there. Roy is already gouging94 at the sand with a plastic shovel95 Janice thought to buy him at Winn Dixie. Frowningly the child dumps the sand into a bucket shaped like an upside?down Garfield. Pru says, since Harry seems unable to begin, "You're awfully96 nice to have arranged all this. I was astonished, how much he charged."
"Well," he says, feeling slowly better as his bare legs absorb heat from the top layer of sand, "you're only a grandfather once. Or twice, in my case. You and Nelson plan any more?" This feels for-ward, but not in a class with the sand getting in everywhere.
"Oh no, my God," she too swiftly answers, in a trough of silence as one long low wave follows another in and breaks in a frothy cresting97 of glitter and a mechanical scurrying98 of sandpipers. "We're not ready for any more."
"You're not, huh?" he says, not sure where to take this.
She helps him, her voice in his ear as he gazes out into the Gulf. He doesn't dare turn his head to look at her bare feet, their pink toe joints99 and cracked nail polish, and her long legs lifted on the chaise, exposing contrasting white pieces of spandex crotch and soft flesh underside. These new bathing suits don't do much to hold a woman's ass2 in. She confesses to Harry, "I don't think we're doing justice to the two we've got, with Nelson how he is."
"Yeah, how is he? He seems jumpy, and only half here."
"That's right," she says, too enthusiastically agreeing. That's all she says. Another wave collapses100 and shooshes up the sand. She has pulled back. She is waiting for him to make an inspired guess.
"He hates Toyotas," he offers.
"Oh, he'd complain if they were jaguars," Pru says. "Nothing would satisfy him, the way he is now."
The way he is. The secret seems to be in that phrase. Was the poor kid with his white?around?the?gills look dying of something, of leukemia like that girl in Love Story? Of AIDS he caught somehow ? how, Harry can't bear to think ?hanging around that faggy Slim crowd Lyle the new accountant is part of. But it all seems distant, like those islands where pirates hid gold and rich men caught tarpon, mere101 thickenings of the horizon from this angle three feet above sea level. He can't focus on it, with the sun on his head. He maybe should have brought a hat, to protect his Swedish complexion102. His suspicion has always been he looks foolish in a hat, his head too big already. Roy has filled the bucket and pretty carefully, considering he's only four, dumps it upside down and lifts it off. He expects to have a sand Garfield but the shape is too tricky103 and crumbles104 on one side. A bad principle, fancy shapes. Stick with simple castles and let the kids use their imaginations. Harry volunteers, speaking into the air, not quite daring to turn his head and face Pru's crotch, and those nameless bits exposed by the way her legs are up, "He was never what you'd call a terrifically happy child. I guess me and Jan are to blame for that."
"He's willing to blame you," Pru admits in her flat Ohio voice. "But I don't think you should reinforce him by blaming yourself." Her language here, as when she spoke105 about cholesterol106 the other night, seems to him disagreeably specific, like a pet's fur that is coarse and more prickly than you expect when you touch it. "I'd refuse," she says firmly, "to let a child of mine send me on a guilt107 trip."
"I don't know," Harry demurs108. "We put him through some pretty wild scenes back there in the late Sixties."
"That's what the late Sixties were for everybody, wild scenes," Pru says, and goes back into that coarse semi?medical talk. "By continuing to accept the blame he's willing to assign you, you and Janice continue to infantilismon him. After thirty, shouldn't we all be responsible for our own lives?"
"Beats me," he says, "I never know who was responsible for mine," and he pushes himself up from the trough his body has warmed in the sand, but not before flicking109 his eyes back to that strip of stretched spandex flanked by soft pieces of Pru that have never had enough sun to freckle87. Little Judy has come back from swimming, her red hair soaked tight to her skull110 and her navy?blue bathing suit adhering to the pinhead bumps of her nipples.
"You promised a minute," she reminds him, water running down her face and beaded in her eyelashes like tears.
"So I did," he agrees. "Let's go Sunfishing!" He stands, and the Florida breeze catches in every comer of his skin, as if he is the kite down the beach. He feels tall under the high blue sky; the elements poured out all around him ?water and sand and air and sun's fire, substances lavished112 in giant amounts yet still far from filling the limitless space ? reawaken in him an old animal recklessness. His skin, his heart can never have enough. "Put your life jacket on," he tells his granddaughter.
"It makes me feel fat," she argues. "I don't need it, I can swim for miles, honest. At camp, way across the lake and back. When you're tired, you just turn on your back and float. It's easier in saltwater, even."
"Put it on, honey," he repeats serenely113, pleased that blood of his has learned ease in an element that has always frightened him. He puts his own jacket on, and feels armored, and female, and as the kid says fat. His legs and arms have never gained much weight, only his abdomen114 and his face, strangely; shaving each morning, he seems to have acres of lather115 to remove, and catching116 himself sideways in a reflecting surface in glassy downtown Deleon he is astonished by this tall pale guy stuffed with kapok. "You keep an eye an us," he tells Pru, who has risen to solemnize this launching. Near?naked as she is, she helps pull the hull to the water's agitated117 slipslopping edge. She quiets the flapping sail, which wants to swing the boom, while he sorts out the lines, more complicated than he remembers from the time he went Sunfishing in the Caribbean years ago with Cindy Murkett and her black bikini, and clips in the rudder. He lifts Judy up and on. Little Roy, when he sees his sister about to go somewhere without him, screams and stalks into a wave that knocks him down. Pru picks him up and holds him on her hip80. The air is so bright everything seems to be in cutout, with that violet halo you see in movies where the scenery is faked. Harry wades118 in up to his waist to walk the boat out, then heaves himself aboard, barking his shin on a cleat, and grabs at the line attached to the aluminum boom. What did Cindy call it, that piece of nylon rope? The sheet. Sweet Cindy, what a doll she once was. He steadies the rudder and pulls the sail taut119. The boat is dipping and patting the waves one by one as the offshore breeze, in the dreamlike silence that comes within the wind, moves the boat away from the solidity of land, of beach, of Pru in her high?sided white suit holding screaming Roy on her hip.
Judy is stationed on this side of the mast, poised120 to push the centerboard down its slot; Harry sits awkwardly on the wet Fiberglas with his legs bent121 and one hand behind him on the tiller and the other clutching the sheet. His mind begins to assemble a picture of directional arrows, the shining wind pressing on the sail's straining striped height. Certain tense slants122 begin in his hands and fan out to the horizon and zenith. Like a scissors, Cindy had said, and a sensation of funnelled123 invisible power grows upon him. "Centerboard down," he commands, a captain at last, at the mere age of fifty?five. His scraped shin stings and his buttocks in his thin wet bathing suit resent the pressure of bald Fiberglas. His weight is so much greater than Judy's that the hollow hull tips upward in front. The waves are choppier, the tugs124 on the sail ruder, and the water a dirtier green than in his enhanced memory of that Caribbean adventure at the very beginning of this decade.
Still, his companion is happy, her bright face beaded with spray. Her thin little arms stick gooseburnped out of her matte?black rubber vest, and her whole body shivers with the immersion125 in motion, the newness, the elemental difference. Rabbit looks back toward land: Pru, the sun behind her, is a forked silhouette126 against the blaze of the beach: Her figure in another minute will be impossible to distinguish from all the others tangled127 along the sand, the overprinted alphabet of silhouettes128. Even the hotel has shrunk in the growing distance, a tall slab129 among many, hotels and condos for as far as he can see in either direction along this stretch of the Florida coast. The power he finds in his hands to change perspectives weighs on his chest and stomach. Seeing the little triangular130 sails out here when he and Janice drove the shore route or visited their bank in downtown Deleon had not prepared him for the immensity of his perspectives, any more than the sight of men on a roof or scaffold conveys the knee?grabbing terror of treading a plank131 at that height. "Now, Judy," he says, trying to keep any stiffness of fear from his voice, yet speaking loudly lest the dazzling amplitudes132 of space suck all sense from his words, "we can't keep going forever in this direction or we'll wind up in Mexico. What I'm going to do is called coming about. I say ? I know it seems silly ? `Coming about, hard alee,' and you duck your head and don't slide off when the boat changes direction. Ready? Coming about, hard alee."
He is not quite decisive enough in pushing the tiller away from him, and for too many seconds, with Judy crouched133 in a little acrobatic ball though the boom has already passed over her head, they head lamely134 into the wind, in a stillness wherein the slapping of water sounds idle and he feels they are being carried backward. But then an inertia135 not quite squandered136 by his timidity swings the bow past the line of the wind and the sail stops impatiently luffing and bellies137 with a sulky ripple138 in the direction of the horizon and goes tight, and Judy stops looking worried and laughs as she feels the boat tug forward again, over the choppy, opaque waves. He pulls in sail and they move at right angles to the wind, parallel to the color?flecked shore. In their moment of arrested motion the vastness all around had transfixed them as if with arrows from every empty shining corner of air and sea, but by moving they escape and turn space to their use; the Gulf, the boat, the wind, the sun burning the exposed tips of their ears and drying the spray from the erect141 pale body hairs on their goosebumped arms all make together a little enclosed climate, a burrow142 of precise circumstance that Harry gradually adjusts to. He begins to know where the wind is coming from without squinting143 up at the faded telltale at the top of the mast, and to feel instinctively144 the planes of force his hands control, just as on a fast break after a steal or rebound145 of the basketball in the old days he would picture without thinking the passing pattern, this teammate to that, and the ball skidding146 off the backboard into the hoop147 on the layup. Growing more confident, he comes about again and heads toward a distant green island tipped with a pink house, a mansion148 probably but a squat149 but from this distance, and pulls in the sail, and does not flinch150 when the boat heels on this new tack64.
Like a good grandfather, he explains his actions to Judy as they go along, the theory and the practice, and both of them become infected by confidence, by the ease with which this toy supporting them can be made to trace an angled path back and forth151, teasing the wind and the water by stealing a fraction of their glinting great magnitudes.
Judy announces, "I want to steer152."
"You don't steer it, sweetie, like you steer a bicycle. You can't just point it where you want to go. You have to keep the wind in mind, what direction it's coming from. But yeah, O.K., scrootch your, like, backside back toward me and take hold of the tiller. Keep the boat pointed153 at that little island with the pink house out there. That's right. That's good. Now you're slipping off a little. Pull it a bit toward you to make it come left. That's called port. Left is port, starboard is right. Now I'm letting out the sail a little, and when I say `Ready about,' you push the tiller toward me as hard as you can and hold it. Don't panic, it takes a second to react. Ready? Ready, Judy? O.K. Ready about, hard alee."
He helps her push through the last part of the arc, her little arm doesn't quite reach. The sail slackens and flaps. The boom swings nervously154 back and forth. The aluminum mast squeaks155 in its Fiberglas socket156. A far freighter sits on the horizon like a nickel on a high tabletop. A bent?winged tern hangs motionless against the wind and cocks its head to eye them as if to ask what they are doing so far out of their element. And then the sail fills; Harry tugs it in; his hand on top of Judy's little one sets the angle of the tiller for this tack. Their two weights toward the stern lift the bow and make the Sunfish slightly wallow. The patter of waves on the hull has settled into his ears as a kind of deafness. She tacks157 a few more times and, seeing that's all there is to it, grows bored. Her girlish yawn is a flower of flawless teeth (the chemicals they put in toothpaste now, these kids will never know the agony he did in dental chairs) and plush arched tongue. Some man some day will use that tongue.
"You kind of lose track of time out here," Harry tells her. "But from the way the sun is it must be near noon. We should head back in. That's going to take some time, since the wind's coming out against us. We don't want your mother to get worried."
"That man said he'd send a launch out."
Harry laughs, to release the tension of the tenderness he feels toward this perfect female child, all coppery and bright and as yet unmarred. "That was just for an emergency. The only emergency we have is our noses are getting sunburned. We can sail in, it's called beating against the wind. You work as close to the wind as you can. Here, I'll pull in the sail and you try to keep us pointed toward that hotel. Not the hotel at the very far right. The one next to it, the one like a pyramid."
The merged158 bodies on the beach have lost to the distance their flecks159 of color, the tints of their bathing suits, and seem a long gray string vibrating along the Bay for miles. The water out here is an uglier color, a pale green on top of a sunken bile green, than it seems from the shore.
"Grandpa, are you cold?"
"Getting there," he admits, "now that you ask. It's chilly160, this far out."
"I'll say."
"Isn't your life jacket keeping you warm?"
"It's slimy and awful. I want to take it off."
"Don't."
Time slips by, the waves idly slap, the curious tern keeps watch, but the shore doesn't seem to be drawing closer, and the spot where Roy and Pru wait seems far behind them. "Let's come about," he says, and this time, what with the child's growing boredom161 and his own desire to get in and conclude this adventure, he tries to trim the wind too closely. A puff162 comes from an unexpected direction, from the low pirate islands instead of directly offshore, and instead of the Sunfish settling at a fixed140 heel in a straight line at a narrow angle to the direction they have been moving in, it heels and won't stop heeling, it loses its grip on the water, on the blue air. The mast passes a certain point up under the sun and as unstoppably as if pushed by a giant malevolent163 hand topples sideways into the Gulf. Rabbit feels his big body together with Judy's little lithe164 one pitch downward feet?first into the abyss of water, his fist still gripping the line in a panic and his shin scraped again, by an edge of Fiberglas. A murderous dense165 cold element encloses his head in an unbreathable dark green that clamps shut his mouth and eyes and then pales and releases him to air, to sun, and to the eerie166 silence of halted motion.
His brain catches up to what has happened. He remembers how Cindy that time stood on the centerboard and the Sunfish came upright again, its mast hurling167 arcs of droplets168 against the sky. So there is no great problem. But something feels odd, heartsuckingly wrong. Judy. Where is she? "Judy?" he calls, his voice not his out here between horizons, nothing solid under him and waves slapping his face with a teasing malice169 and the hull of the Sunfish resting towering on its edge casting a narrow shade and the striped sail spread flat on the water like a many?colored scum. `Judy!" Now his voice belongs entirely170 to the hollow air, to the heights of terror; he shouts so loud he swallows water, his immersed body offering no platform for him to shout from; a bitter molten lead pours instead of breath into his throat and his heart's pumping merges171 with the tugs and swellings of the sea. He coughs and coughs and his eyes take on tears. She is not here. There are only the dirty?green waves, kicking water, jade172 where the sun shines through, layered over bile. And clouds thin and slanting173 in the west, forecasting a change in the weather. And the hollow mute hull of the Sunfish hulking beside him. His bladder begs him to pee and perhaps he does.
The other side. She must be there. He and the boat and sail exist in a few square yards yet enormous distances feel ranged against him. He must dive under the hull, quickly. Every second is sinking everything. The life jacket buoys174 him but impedes175. Currents in the water push against him. He has never been a natural swimmer. Air, light, water, silence all clash inside his head in a thunderous demonstration176 of mercilessness. Even in this instant of perfectly177 dense illumination there is space for his lifelong animal distaste for putting his head underwater, and for the thought that another second of doing nothing might miraculously178 bring it all right; the child's smiling face will surface with saltwater sparkling in her eyelashes. But the noon sun says now or never and something holy in him screams that all can be retrieved179 and he opens his mouth and sucks down panicked breath through a sieve180 of pain in his chest and tries to burrow through a resistant181 opacity182 where he cannot see or breathe. His head is pressed upward against something hard while his hands sluggishly183 grope for a snagged body and find not even a protuberance where a body could snag. He tries to surface. Fiberglas presses on his back like sharkskin and then the tiller's hinged wood, dangling184 down dripping, scrapes his face.
"Judy!" This third time he calls her name he is burbling; gobbets of water make rainbow circles in his vision as he faces straight up into the sun; in these seconds the boat is slowly twirling and its relation to the sun, the shadow it casts on the water, is changing.
Under the sail. She must be under the sail. It seems vast in the water, a long nylon pall185 with its diagonal seams, its stitched numbers and sunfish silhouette. He must. His bowels186 burn with an acid guilt; he again forces himself under into a kind of dirty?green clay where his bubbles are jewels. Against the slither of cloth on his back he tries to tunnel forward. In this tunnel he encounters a snake, a flexible limp limb that his touch panics so it tries to strangle him and drag him down deeper. It claws his ear; his head rises into the sail and a strained white light breaks upon his eyes and there is a secret damp nylon odor but no air to breathe. His body convulsively tries to free itself from this grave; he flounders with his eyes shut; the sail's edge eventually nuzzles past his drowning face and he has dragged along Judy into the light.
Her coppery wet hair gleams an inch from his eyes; her face makes a blurred188 clotted189 impression upon him but she is writhingly alive. She keeps trying to climb on top of him and locking her arms around his head. Her body feels hot under its slippery glaze190. Dark water persistently191 rebounds192 into his eyes and mouth, as if a bursting spider keeps getting between him and the sun. With his long white arm he reaches and grasps the aluminum mast; though it sinks to a steeper angle with the addition ofweight, the sail and the hollow hull refuse to let it sink utterly193. Harry gasps194 and in two jerks pulls them higher up, where the mast is out of the water. Joy that Judy lives crowds his heart, a gladness that tightens195 and rhythmically196 hurts, like a hand squeezing a ball for exercise. The space inside him has compressed, so that as he hangs there he must force down thin wedges of breath into a painful congestion197. Judy keeps hanging around his neck and coughing, coughing up water and fright. The rough motion of her little body wrenches198 twinges out of his tender, stunned chest, where something living flutters and aches. It is as if amidst all this seawater his chest is a beaker of the same element holding an agitated squid.
Perhaps a minute has passed since their spill. After another minute, she has breath enough to attempt a smile. Her eyewhites are red from within, from the tears of her coughing. Her long little face sparkles all over, as if sprinkled with tinsel, and then a slow twirl of the Sunfish places their heads in the narrow clammy band of shadow the hull casts. To his eyes she looks in her breathless frightened pallor less like Pru than Nelson, fineboned and white around the gills, and with shadows under her eyes as if after a night of sleeplessness199.
Though his pains continue underwater he can speak. "Hey," he says. "Wow. What happened, exactly?"
"I don't know, Grandpa," Judy says politely. Getting these words out sends her into another spasm200 of coughing. "I came up and there was this thing over me and when I tried to swim nothing happened, I couldn't get out from under."
He realizes that her fright has its limits; she thinks that even out here nothing more drastic than discomfort201 can befall her. She has a child's sense of immortality202 and he is its guardian203.
"Well, it worked out," he pants. "No harm done." Besides the pain, that will not let go and is reaching up the arm that clings to the mast, there is a bottom to his breathing, and from lower down a color of nausea204, of seasickness205 it may be, and enclosing that a feebleness, a deep need to rest. "The wind changed on us," he explains to Judy. "These things tip over too damn easy."
Now the grand strangeness of where they are, hundreds of yards from shore and hundreds of feet above sea bottom, begins to grab her. Her eyes with their perfectly spaced lashes111 widen and her carefully fitted thin lips begin to loosen and blur187. Her voice has a quaver. "How do we get it back up?"
"Easy," he tells her. "I'll show you a trick." Did he remember how? Cindy had done it so quickly, diving right under the boat, in those glassy Caribbean waters. A line, she had to have pulled on a line. "Stay close to me but don't hang on me any more, honey. Your life vest will hold you up."
"It didn't before."
"Sure it did. You were just under the sail."
Their voices sound diminished out here in the Gulf, flying off into space without lingering in the air the way words spoken in rooms do. Treading water takes all of his breath. He mustn't black out. He must hold the sunlit day from dropping its shutter206 on its head. He thinks if he ever gets out of this he will lie down on a firm dry stretch of grass ? he can picture it, the green blades, the thatchy gaps of rubbed earth like at the old Mt. Judge playground ?and never move. Gently he lets go of the mast and with careful paddling motions, trying not to jar whatever is disturbed in his chest, takes the two nylon lines floating loose and, with an effort that by recoil207 action pushes his face under, tosses them over to the other side. The waves are rough enough that Judy clings to his shoulder though he asked her not to. He explains to her, "O.K. Now we're going to doggie?paddle around the boat."
"Maybe that man who liked Mom will come out in his launch."
"Maybe. But wouldn't that be embarrassing, being rescued with Roy watching?"
Judy is too worried to laugh or respond. They make their way past the tiller, the ugly wooden thing that scraped his face. The tern has left the sky but floating bits of brown seaweed, like paper mops or wigs208 for clowns, offer proofs of other life. The slime?stained white hull lying sideways in the water seems a corpse209 he can never revive. "Back off a little," he tells the clinging child. "I'm not sure how this will go."
As long as he is in the water, at least he doesn't weigh much; but when, taking hold of the line threaded through the top of the aluminum mast, he struggles to place his weight on the centerboard, at first with his arms and then with his feet, he feels crushed by his own limp load of slack muscle and fat and guts210. The pain in his chest gathers to such a red internal blaze that he squeezes his eyes shut to blot211 it out, and blindly then he feels with a suck of release the sail lift free of the water and the centerboard under him plunge212 toward vertical213. The boat knocks him backward as it comes upright, and the loose wet sail swings its boom back and forth in a whipping tangle22 of line. He has no breath left and has an urge to give himself to the water, the water that hates him yet wants him.
But the child with him cheers. "Yaay! You did it! Grandpa, you O.K.?"
"I'm great. Can you get on first, honey? I'll hold the boat steady."
After several failed leaps out of the water Judy plops her belly on the curving deck, her blue?black bottom gleaming in two arcs, and scrambles214 to a crouching215 position by the mast.
"Now," he announces, "here comes the whale," and, lifting his mind clear of the striated216, pulsing squeezing within his rib16 cage, rises up enough out of the water to seize the tipping hull with his abdomen. He grabs a cleat. The fake grain of the Fiberglas presses its fine net against his cheekbone. The hungry water still sucks at his legs and feet but he kicks it away and shakily arranges himself in his position at the tiller again. He tells Judy, "We're getting there, young lady."
"You O.K., Grandpa? You're talking kind of funny."
"Can't breathe too well. For some reason. I might throw up. Let me rest a minute. And think. We don't want to. Tip this fucker over again." The pain now is down both axis217 and up into his jaw. Once Rabbit told someone, a prying218 clergyman, somewhere behind all this there's something that wants me to find it. Whatever it is, it now has found him, and is working him over.
"Do you hurt?"
"Sure. My ear where you pulled it. My leg where I scraped it." He wants to make her smile but her starry219?eyed study of him is unremittingly solemn. How strange, Rabbit thinks, his thoughts weirdly220 illumined by his agony, children are, shaped like us, torso and legs and ears and all, yet on a scale all their own ? subcompact people made for a better but also a smaller planet. Judy looks at him uncertain of how seriously to take him, like yesterday when he ate the false peanuts.
"Stay just where you are," he tells her. "Don't rock the boat. As they say."
The tiller feels oddly large in his hands, the nylon rope unreally rough and thick. He must manage these. Untended, the boat has drifted dead into the wind. What was Cindy's phrase for that? In irons. He is in irons. He waggles the tiller, hard one way and gently the other, to get an angle on the wind, and timidly pulls in sail, fearing the giant hand will push them over again. Surprisingly, there are other Sunfish out in the bay, and two boys on jet skis, brutally221 jumping the waves, at such a distance that their yells and the slaps of impact arrive in his ears delayed. The sun has moved past noon, onto the faces of the tall hotels. The windows glint now, their comblike balconies stand out, the crowd on the beach twinkles, another kite flyer has joined the first. The sheet of water between here and shore is dented222 over and over by downward blows of light that throw sparks. Rabbit feels chilled in his drying skin. He feels full of a gray unrest that wants to ooze223 poison out through his pores. He stretches his legs straight in front of him and leans back on an elbow in an awkward approximation of lying down. Sinking into sleep would be a good idea if he weren't where he was, with this child to deliver back to the world unharmed.
He speaks rapidly, between twinges, and clearly, not wanting to repeat. "Judy. What we're going to do is as quietly as we can take two big tacks and get to shore. It may not be exactly where your mother is but we want to get to land. I feel very tired and achey and if I fall asleep you wake me up."
"Wake you up?"
"Don't look so worried. This is a fun adventure. In fact, I have a fun job for you."
"What's that?" Her voice has sharpened; she senses now that this isn't fun.
"Sing to me." When he pulls the sail tighter, it's as if he's tightening224 something within himself pain shoots up the soft inner side of that arm to his elbow.
"Sing? I don't know any songs, Grandpa."
"Everybody knows some songs. How about `Row, Row, Row Your Boat' to start off with?"
He closes his eyes intermittently225, in obedience226 to the animal instinct to crawl into a cave with your pain, and her little voice above the slipslop of the waves and resistant creaking of the mast picks its wavery way through the words of the round, which he used to sing in the second grade back in the days of corduroy knickers and Margaret Schoelkopf's pigtails and high?buttoned shoes. ?His mind joins in, but can't spare the effort to activate227 his voice box, Gently down the stream, Merrily, merrily, merrily . . . "Life is but a dream," Judy ends.
"Nice," he says. "How about `Mary Had a Little Lamb'? Do they still teach you that at school? What the hell do they teach you at school these days?" Being laid so low has loosened his language, his primal228 need to curse and his latent political indignation. He goes on, thinking it will make him seem less alarming to his grandchild, and humorously alive, "I know we're sucking hind9 titty in science education, the papers keep telling us that. Thank God for the Orientals. Without these Chinese and Vietnam refugees we'd be a nation of total idiots."
Judy does know "Mary Had a Little Lamb," and "Three Blind Mice," and the verses of "Farmer in the Dell" up to the wife takes a cow, but then they both lose track. "Let's do `Three Blind Mice' again," he orders her. "See how they run. The mice ran after the farmer's wife . . ."
She does not take up the verse and his voice dies away. Their tack is taking them far out toward the north, toward Sarasota and Tampa and the rich men's islands where the pirates once were, but the people on the beach do look a little less like gray string, the colors of their bathing suits twinkle a bit closer, and he can make out the darting229 tormented230 flight of a volleyball. A pressure in the center of his chest has intensified231 and to his nausea has been added an urgent desire to take a crap. In trying to picture his real life, the life of simple comforts and modest challenges that he abandoned when his foot left the sand, he now envisions foremost the rosecolored porcelain232 toilet bowl in the condo, with matching padded seat, and the little stack of Consumer Reports and Times that waited on the bottom shelf of the white?painted bamboo table Janice kept her cosmetics233 on top of, next to the rose?tinted bathroom basin. It seems to have been a seat in paradise.
"Grandpa, I can't think of any more songs." The child's green eyes, greener than Pru's, have a watery234 touch of panic.
"Don't stop," he grunts235, trying to keep everything in. "You're making the boat go."
"No I'm not." She manages a blurred smile. "The wind makes it go."
"In the wrong fucking direction," he says.
"Is it wrong?" she asks with the quickness of fear.
"No, I'm just kidding." It was like that sadistic236 squeeze he gave her hand yesterday. Must stop that stuff. When you get children growing under you, you try to rise to the occasion. "We're fine," he tells her. "Let's come about. Ready? Duck your head, honey." No more sailor talk. He yanks the tiller, the boat swings, sail sags237, sun shines down through the gap of silence, hammering the water into sparks. The bow drifts across a certain imaginary line, the sail hesitantly and then decisively fills, and they tug off in another direction, south, toward the remotest glass hotel and Naples and the other set of rich men's islands. The small effort and anxiety of the maneuver238 wring239 such pain from his chest that tears have sprung into his own eyes. Yet he feels good, down deep. There is a satisfaction in his skyey enemy's having at last found him. The sense of doom240 hovering241 over him these past days has condensed into reality, as clouds condense into needed rain. There is a lightness, a lightening, that comes along with misery242: vast portions of your life are shorn off, suddenly ignorable. You become simply a piece of physical luggage to be delivered into the hands of others. Stretched out on the Fiberglas deck he is pinned flat to the floor of reality. The sensation of pressure, of unbearable243 fullness, within him now has developed a rhythm, an eccentric thrust as if a flywheel has come unconnected from its piston244. Pain you can lift your head above, for a little; he minds more the breathing, the sensation that his access to the air has been narrowed to a slot that a fleck139 of mucus would clog245, and worse even than the breathing, which if you can forget it seems to ease, is the involvement of his guts, the greasy246 gray churning and the desire to vomit247 and shit and yet not to, and the clammy sweating, which chills him in the wind and the sun's quick drying.
"Splish, splash, I was takin' a bath," Judy's faint voice sings, little feathers of music that fly away, "along about Saturday night . . ." She has moved from nursery rhymes to television commercials, the first few lines of them until she forgets. "The good times, great taste, of McDonald's..." "I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener. That is what I'd truly like to be. 'Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener, everyone would be in love with me." And the one the toilet paper sings, and the "Stand by Me" imitation by those California raisins248, and the "Mack the Knife" by Ray Charles as the man in the moon, and the reassurance249 that if you want it, we've got it, "Toy?o?to . . . Who could ask for anything more?" It is like switching channels back and forth, her little voice lifting and blowing back into his face, his eyes closed while his mind pays furtive250 visits in the dark to the grinding, galloping251, lopsided maladjustment in his chest and then open again, to check their bearings and the tension in the sail, to test the illusion of blue sky and his fixed belief that her voice is powering the Sunfish toward the shore. "Coke is it,"Judy sings, "the most refreshing252 taste around, Coke is it, the one that never lets you down, Coke is it, the biggest taste you ever found!"
He has to tack twice more, and by then his granddaughter has discovered within herself the treasure of songs from videos she has watched many times, of children's classics Rabbit saw when they were new, the first time in those old movie theaters with Arabian decors and plush curtains that pulled back and giant mirrors in the lobby, songs of departure, "We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz" and "Hi?ho, hi?ho, it's off to work we go," and sad songs of something in the sky to distract us from the Depression, "Somewhere over the Rainbow," and "When You Wish upon a Star," little Jiminy Cricket out there with his top hat and furled umbrella on that moon?bathed windowsill. That Disney, he really packed a punch.
"Nice, Judy," Rabbit grunts. "Terrific. You were really getting into it."
"It was fun, like you said. Look, there's Mommy!"
Harry lets the sheet and tiller go. The Sunfish bobs in the breaking waves of shallow water, and Judy pulls up the centerboard and jumps off into water up to her shiny hips253 and pulls the boat like a barge254 through the last yards before the bow scrapes sand. "We tipped over and Grandpa got sick!" she shouts.
Not just Pru and Roy but Gregg Silvers have come to meet them, about a good six?iron shot up the beach from where they set out. Gregg's too?tan face gives a twitch255, seeing the way Harry keeps stretched out beside the useless tiller, and seeing something Harry can't, perhaps the color of his face. How bad is he? He looks at his palms; they are mottled with yellow and blue. Swiftly Gregg takes the painter from Judy and asks Harry, "Want to stay where you are?"
Harry waits until a push of pain passes and says, "I'm getting off this fucking tub if it kills me."
But the action of standing and easing off the tipping Sunfish and wading256 a few feet does bad things to his slipped insides. He feels himself wade26 even through air, on the packed sand, against pronounced resistance. He lies down on the sand at Pru's feet, her long bare feet with chipped scarlet257 nails and their pink toe joints like his mother's knuckles258 from doing the dishes too many times. He lies face up, looking up at her white spandex crotch. Little Roy, thinking Harry's posture259 playful, toddles260 over and stands above his grandfather's head, shedding grains of sand down into Rabbit's ears, his clenched261 mouth, his open eyes; his eyes squeeze shut.
The sky is a blank redness out of which Pru's factual Ohio voice falls with a concerned intonation262. "We saw you go over but Gregg says it happens all the time. Then it seemed to take so long he was just about to come out in the launch."
The redness pulses with a pain spaced like ribs, stripes of pain with intervals263 of merciful nothingness between them. Very high up, slowly, an airplane goes over, dragging its noise behind it. "Judy got under the sail," he hears his own voice say. "Scared me." He lies there like a jellyfish washed up, bulging264, tremblingly full of a desire for its lost element. Another complicated warmish thing, with fingers, is touching265 his wrist, feeling his pulse. First?aid training must be part of Gregg's job. To assist him in his diagnosis266 Harry volunteers, "Sorry to be such a crump. Out there I had this terrific desire to lie down."
"You keep lying there, Mr. Angstrom," Gregg says, sounding suddenly loud and crisp and a touch too authoritative267, like his father adding up the golf scores. "We're going to get you to the hospital."
In his red blind world this news is such a relief he opens his eyes. He sees Judy standing huge and sun?haloed above him, fragments of rainbows confused with her tangled drying hair. Rabbit tries to smile comfortingly and tells her, "It must have been that birdfood I ate."
收听单词发音 |
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maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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hushes
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| n.安静，寂静( hush的名词复数 ) | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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supervisor
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| n.监督人，管理人，检查员，督学，主管，导师 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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aluminum
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| n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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facades
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| n.（房屋的）正面( facade的名词复数 )；假象，外观 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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aerobics
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| n.健身操，健美操，韵律操 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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35
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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36
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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37
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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38
rentals
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| n.租费，租金额( rental的名词复数 ) | |
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39
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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40
lockers
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| n.寄物柜( locker的名词复数 ) | |
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41
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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42
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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43
fumbles
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| 摸索，笨拙的处理( fumble的名词复数 ) | |
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44
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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45
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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46
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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47
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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48
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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49
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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50
dents
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| n.花边边饰；凹痕( dent的名词复数 )；凹部；减少；削弱v.使产生凹痕( dent的第三人称单数 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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51
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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52
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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53
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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54
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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55
quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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56
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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57
coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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58
synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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59
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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60
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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61
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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62
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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63
lotion
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| n.洗剂 | |
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64
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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65
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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66
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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67
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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68
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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69
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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70
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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71
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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72
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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73
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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74
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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75
kapok
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| n.木棉 | |
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76
bogey
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| n.令人谈之变色之物；妖怪，幽灵 | |
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77
offshore
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| adj.海面的，吹向海面的；adv.向海面 | |
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78
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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79
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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80
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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81
pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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82
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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83
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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84
lengthens
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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86
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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87
freckle
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| n.雀簧；晒斑 | |
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88
revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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89
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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90
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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91
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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92
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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93
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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94
gouging
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| n.刨削[槽]v.凿( gouge的现在分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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95
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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96
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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97
cresting
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| n.顶饰v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的现在分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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98
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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99
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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100
collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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101
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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102
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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103
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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104
crumbles
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| 酥皮水果甜点( crumble的名词复数 ) | |
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105
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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106
cholesterol
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| n.（U）胆固醇 | |
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107
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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108
demurs
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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109
flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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110
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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111
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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112
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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114
abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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115
lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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116
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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117
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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118
wades
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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120
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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121
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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122
slants
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| （使）倾斜，歪斜( slant的第三人称单数 )； 有倾向性地编写或报道 | |
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123
funnelled
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| 漏斗状的 | |
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124
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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126
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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127
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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128
silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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129
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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130
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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131
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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132
amplitudes
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| 振幅( amplitude的名词复数 )； 广大； （智力的）幅度； 充足 | |
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133
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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135
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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136
squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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138
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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139
fleck
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| n.斑点，微粒 vt.使有斑点，使成斑驳 | |
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140
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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141
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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142
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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143
squinting
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|
| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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144
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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145
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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146
skidding
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| n.曳出，集材v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的现在分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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147
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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148
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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149
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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150
flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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151
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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152
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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153
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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154
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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155
squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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156
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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157
tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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158
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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159
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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160
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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161
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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162
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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163
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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164
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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165
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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166
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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167
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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168
droplets
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| n.小滴( droplet的名词复数 ) | |
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169
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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170
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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171
merges
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| （使）混合( merge的第三人称单数 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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172
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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173
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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174
buoys
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| n.浮标( buoy的名词复数 )；航标；救生圈；救生衣v.使浮起( buoy的第三人称单数 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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175
impedes
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的第三人称单数 ) | |
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176
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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177
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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178
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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179
retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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180
sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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181
resistant
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| adj.(to)抵抗的，有抵抗力的 | |
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182
opacity
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| n.不透明；难懂 | |
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183
sluggishly
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| adv.懒惰地；缓慢地 | |
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184
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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185
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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186
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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187
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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188
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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189
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190
glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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191
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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192
rebounds
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| 反弹球( rebound的名词复数 )； 回弹球； 抢断篮板球； 复兴 | |
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193
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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194
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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195
tightens
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| 收紧( tighten的第三人称单数 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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196
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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197
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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198
wrenches
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| n.一拧( wrench的名词复数 )；（身体关节的）扭伤；扳手；（尤指离别的）悲痛v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的第三人称单数 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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199
sleeplessness
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| n.失眠，警觉 | |
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200
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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201
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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202
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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203
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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204
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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205
seasickness
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| n.晕船 | |
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206
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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207
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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208
wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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209
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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210
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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211
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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212
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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213
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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214
scrambles
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| n.抢夺( scramble的名词复数 )v.快速爬行( scramble的第三人称单数 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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215
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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216
striated
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| adj.有纵线，条纹的 | |
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217
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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218
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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219
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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220
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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221
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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222
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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223
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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224
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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225
intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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226
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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227
activate
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| vt.使活动起来，使开始起作用 | |
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228
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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229
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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230
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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231
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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232
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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233
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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234
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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235
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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236
sadistic
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| adj.虐待狂的 | |
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237
sags
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| 向下凹或中间下陷( sag的第三人称单数 )； 松弛或不整齐地悬着 | |
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238
maneuver
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| n.策略[pl.]演习；v.(巧妙)控制；用策略 | |
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239
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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240
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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241
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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242
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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243
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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244
piston
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| n.活塞 | |
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245
clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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246
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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247
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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248
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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249
reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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250
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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251
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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252
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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253
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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254
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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255
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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256
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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257
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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258
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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259
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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260
toddles
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的第三人称单数 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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261
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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262
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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263
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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264
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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265
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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266
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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267
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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