Free Ship of Fools by Katherine Anne Porter Page B

be happy. Let’s not spoil our first voyage together, it could be so gay. I’ll try, really David darling, I promise—let’s try. Don’t you know I love you?”
    â€œI wonder,” said David with the most insidious gentleness. Mysteriously she seemed on the verge of tears, which she controlled, knowing that David regarded her weeping as simply another female trick shaken out of her sleeve at the useful moment. He watched with a reserved little smile to see if she would give way; she had never made a scene in public yet. She smiled back at him, instead, took up her glass of wine and held it out to touch his. “ Salud ,” she said. “ Salud ,” said David, and they emptied their glasses in one breath.
    They were both ashamed of the evil natures they exposed in each other; each in the first days of their love had hoped to be the ideal image of the other, for they were desperately romantic, and their fear of exposing themselves, of showing and learning unlovely things about each other, made them dishonest and cruel. In their moments of truce both believed that the love between them was very pure and generous, as they wished it to be; there needed only to be … needed only to be what, exactly, they both wondered, secretly and separately, and found no answer. Only in such short moments as this, when they drank the wine of peace together, their bodies grew limp and calm, they breathed easily in the air of reconciliation, and made vague vows to themselves and to each other, to keep faith—faith with what? to love each other, to try —But David at least still knew that for himself, trying to be happy was perhaps half their trouble, or the cause of half of it. And the other half—?
    â€œTo happiness then,” he said, touching her glass again.
    Though it was still broad daylight, the August sun, dipping into the far horizon, threw a burning track over the waters which ran like oil in the wake of the ship. The ladies of trade appeared on deck in identical black lace evening gowns, their fine smooth backs gleaming to the belt, their jeweled sandals flashing. They paced about slowly and came face to face with the two priests, who were pacing slowly also, their dark trap mouths locked, their relentless eyes fixed on their breviaries. The ladies bowed respectfully, the fathers ignored or perhaps did not see them. William Denny followed them at a safe distance once around, pausing now and then to appear interested in something in the depths of the sea, his Adam’s apple bobbing ever so slightly. The bride and groom sat together in their extended chairs, watching the sunset in silence, their eyes tranced and mystified, their hands clasped lightly.
    The Mexican Indian nurse brought the newly born baby to his mother, who received him rather helplessly in her inexperienced arms. Frau Rittersdorf, passing, took the liberty of a true woman who, though childless herself and never ceasing to be thankful for it, still appreciated instinctively the glorious martyrdom of motherhood as enjoyed by others. With a smile of intimate sympathy for the mother, she dropped silently on her knees to adore the divine mystery of life for a few seconds, admiring his feathery eyebrows and tender mouth, the complexion to the last degree enviable. His mother looked on with a formal, unwilling smile, thinking her son was spoiled enough already, she wished people would let him alone; remembering how he woke and yelled in the night and pulled on her like a pig when she was tired to tears and wanted only to sleep.
    â€œSuch a splendid man-child,” said Frau Rittersdorf. “Is he your first?”
    â€œAh, yes,” said the mother, and there was a shade of terror in her face.
    â€œA fine beginning,” said Frau Rittersdorf, “a perfect little general. El Generalissimo, in fact!” She had been told by her German friends that every second male Mexican was a general, or intended to be