Free You Are Always Safe With Me by Merrill Joan Gerber Page A

chill and dampness.
    The sails on the masts had been unfurled and were billowing huge and white, catching the wind, driving the vessel forward. Other than the hard slap of water against the sides of the Ozymandias , it was quiet. The thrumming motors, to which Lilly had become accustomed, were stilled, leaving only the sound of nature’s forces.
    Wrapping herself in the blanket she had slept under, she rose and walked to the helm where Izak, his eyes intense, was guiding the boat into choppy waters. She stood beside him without speaking, watching the waves, feeling the rise and fall of her own body over them with only the thin intervention of boat hull and deck between herself and the sea.
    Izak glanced sideways at her. “We go to Russia, Lilly,” he whispered.
    “To Russia?”
    “Yes, you drive us.” He reached sideways and drew Lilly in front of the wheel, the blanket still over her shoulders. Standing behind her, he positioned her hands on the helm. With the wide wooden wheel under her hands, she felt the vibrations of the waves beating below and had a sense of the power Izak must feel when controlling the boat against the forces of wind and sea. The blanket slipped from her shoulders and Izak retrieved it, wrapping it around her again, this time holding it in place with his body as he leaned forward, placing his hands over hers on the wheel. “Just hold steady,” he said.
    She glanced sideways. Her mother was still asleep, her head turned away from them.
    “We go to the Black Sea,” Izak whispered in her ear. “We run away to Russia, you and me. Not such a bad plan, yes?”
    *
    When the sun rose, coming over the horizon like a pink flower, Lilly pulled herself away from the heated space between Izak’s arms where she’d leaned back against him in that strange, silent embrace at the wheel. She went below to her cabin, flung herself across the lower bunk and heard her blood pounding in her ears. What a state she was in; confusion, elation, pleasure, joy, insanity. Was this not insane, to be in love with a Turkish sailor? Surely she knew better. She must have been hopelessly drugged by the beauty of this land, made victim to a tale from the Arabian nights, flung senseless by a ride on a flying carpet.
    She made herself get up, wash her face, change her clothes, comb her hair. But she was trembling and lost to a force which had penetrated her good sense, her grown-up life, her security. Where could this possibly lead, but to embarrassment and grief? Like a schoolgirl, she was overwhelmed by such a scorching attraction to Izak that she could not think. Her face, in fact, in the mirror on the bathroom wall, was flushed with color. She heard her mother come into the cabin to get dressed for the day. She would need to use the bathroom.
    Lilly opened the bathroom door. Her mother said, “I couldn’t believe how seasick I was feeling, but Harrison insisted that Izak test out the sails to be sure they’re working properly. We’ll be turning back toward the coves in a few minutes. But really—I don’t think anyone will be able to have breakfast this morning, Lilly! Do you?”
    *
    On her way back to the upper deck, Lilly stopped at the galley to watch Morat slicing tomatoes and cucumbers. The boat was still heaving—and he had a sharp knife in his hand. “Be careful,” Lilly said to him, and he smiled, cutting faster than ever. “I teach you cook Turkish,” he said.
    “I teach you cook American,” she replied, laughing.
    “We have only stale bread this day,” Morat said sadly, holding up a loaf of bread, pressing it to show how hard it was.
    “Why don’t you make French toast? I’ll show you how. It’s quite wonderful, almost as good as crepes.”
    “I don’t know this meal.”
    “Do you want me to teach you? It’s simple.”
    He bowed gallantly, invited her behind the counter, made a show of turning the tiny kitchen over to her control. She told him what she would need: “Eggs, oil, milk, a big