1
The boat lay at anchor， as still as if it had been welded to
the surface of the sea. Normally， this far out， there would
be long， roiling ground swells-offspring of far-distant
storms-that would cause the boat to rise and fall， the hori-
zon constantly to change. But， for more than a week， a
high-pressure system had squatted over the Adantic from
Haiti to Bermuda. The sky was empty even of fair-
weather clouds， and the reflection of the midday sun made
the water look as solid as polished steel.
To the east， a splinter of gray hung， shimmering， sus-
pended a millimeter above the edge of the world: the
refracted image of a small island }ust beyond the horizon.
To the west， nothing but waves of heat rising， dancing.
Two men stood in the stern， fishing with monofila-
ment hand lines. They wore ragged shorts， filthy white T-
shirts， and wide-brimmed straw hats. Now and then， one
or the other would dip a bucket off the stern and pour
water on the deck， to cool the Fiberglas beneath their bare
feet. Between them， over the socket where the fighting
|
内容加载中，请稍后...
商品评论（0条）