YOU remember this?
broken engine; the hours becalming; an empty ocean still
as a lake of mercury. It was soundless to the horizon and our small
noises placed us at the centre of the universe， unique in our activity.
From time to time a spanner clinked， a bare foot bumped a thwart.
From the vinyl-scented shade of a rigged tarpaulin we watched our
tiny ripples become visible only as they left the Medevina s shadow，
trembling outward， as if the shadow s edge were the actual hull，
our whole craft insubstantial， no more than an airy nothing which
had briefly come between sun and sea. The mutter of voices (Try
this. It s rusty. The gasket s ruined)， the rasp and flare of a match，
the incense of a cigarette. The small splash of a handful of waste.
And then， emerging from the shadow into gorgeous colour like the
tip of a kingfisher s wing， an iridescent oil-stain flashing its
molecules， splitting the spectrum and creeping out across the
water. Do you remember how dazzling it was? That spreading
puddle of hues in a still world of primary blue? Greens and purples，
golds and pinks， rubies and violets， forming and re-forming，
pooling and glittering minutely so the fascinated mind drew ever
closer to its surface and fell into a microscope s gaze such that the
twinkle and sputter of evaporation almost became visible， the
spirituous fractions boiling off in order of their volatility.
The sun climbed and remained stuck at the top of the sky.
Sometimes we stood up or wandered aft to peer at the dismantled
carburettor. The parts were black with oil and rust--deformed，
even: corroded artefacts turned up by a plough rather than
precision-engineered components. Our shifting weight as we
moved about the narrow boat made one bamboo outrigger gently
dent the water， the other rise and shed a line of droplets. The
brilliant oil-stain fractured. Feathers and petals broke off， some
drifting perversely back into our shadow and winking out. A
flotilla of melding islets moved into the glare beyond the outrigger，
sending back scorching chromatic flashes. The hours passed. Fish
and rice to eat， the bowls washed over the side and fat replenishing
the film until--do you remember?--a peacock sheen surrounded
our soundless universe， marbled and swirled and striated. In a
halo of specious glory our little boat sat and baked， breathing out
|
内容加载中，请稍后...
商品评论（0条）