The dinner had been chicken paprika, followed by three kinds of dessert. The S.S. Argent Star was our seventeenth cruise, but it would be our last. Twelve minutes after the last of the other diners had left the room, the first report of a possible tsunami came over the P.A. and we were advised the ship was making fast southward to avoid the consequences of trying to cross its path. In truth, we probably would not have made it had the captain been a more competent seaman.
When the tidal wave struck, I was holding Helen’s left hand, and in her right she held the diamond earrings I had gifted her for our anniversary.
Later, in the calm, floating and grasping onto driftwood, she sobbed that she had lost one of the earrings. I tried to calm her down by pointing out that at least we were alive, and we were together.
Then, like some sort of omen, bits of chicken passed us. She had thought at first that it was fish, she said, and wondered if would have to eat raw fish to survive until we were rescued.
“Oh, that’s rich,” she said, “I thought that chicken was overcooked.”
No comments:
Post a Comment