Mother was swimming in oil money, the
proceeds being displayed around her neck and on her fingers. She let us know
that money meant nothing as she had so much of it. The daughter told us that
she was employed as a bra fitter, and then, proud of her own assets (original
or not) she spotted the ship’s photographer heading our way. Without missing a
word in the tale of her exciting career, she grabbed both huge breasts and
plopped them on the table for the photographer and us to enjoy. We were struck
speechless at the crude display. Her mother didn’t notice a thing. Instead, she
started on a new conversational gambit: what did ships do when a passenger
died? The good doctor was then in his own glory as he told us about the morgue
on every cruise ship. We skipped dessert.
Languid days slid by, each one hot and sunny with no breeze or even clouds on the horizon. The sea was usually empty but one day a small yacht came in view.
Judith Works (to be continued)
