Color of the Sea

Color of the Sea COLOR OF THE SEA/Peter Selgin ELL ME ABOUT loneliness. At 1:45 in the morning, the sky, the sea and the horizon were all the same greasy black. Andrew Shields lay stretched out on a life preserver casing, smoking a Lucky Strike, the diesel-tossed wind curling his hair, the ferry's engines throbbing below him. When we have arrived, you will tell me, yes? Other passengers slept indoors, on stiff chairs, on carpet stained by sea salt and cigarette ashes, in sleeping bags, their clothes rolled up into pillows. Andrew felt separate from them all, as if he belonged to another landscape, a world belonging to the stars and sea. Promise you will tell me? The Brazilian woman--Karina was her name--slept below, perched against her backpack. They'd met on the dock. The ferry was late. Like Andrew she traveled alone. She stood out from the ranks of tourists. In place of cutoffs or baggy shorts she wore a flouncing peasant skirt. A gold Star of David hung in the tip of the mild shadow between her breasts. She had an oval face of pale skin with sharp, boyish features, and wore her black hair in a bun. She seemed constantly http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Color of the Sea

The Missouri Review, Volume 27 (3)

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © 2004 by The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

COLOR OF THE SEA/Peter Selgin ELL ME ABOUT loneliness. At 1:45 in the morning, the sky, the sea and the horizon were all the same greasy black. Andrew Shields lay stretched out on a life preserver casing, smoking a Lucky Strike, the diesel-tossed wind curling his hair, the ferry's engines throbbing below him. When we have arrived, you will tell me, yes? Other passengers slept indoors, on stiff chairs, on carpet stained by sea salt and cigarette ashes, in sleeping bags, their clothes rolled up into pillows. Andrew felt separate from them all, as if he belonged to another landscape, a world belonging to the stars and sea. Promise you will tell me? The Brazilian woman--Karina was her name--slept below, perched against her backpack. They'd met on the dock. The ferry was late. Like Andrew she traveled alone. She stood out from the ranks of tourists. In place of cutoffs or baggy shorts she wore a flouncing peasant skirt. A gold Star of David hung in the tip of the mild shadow between her breasts. She had an oval face of pale skin with sharp, boyish features, and wore her black hair in a bun. She seemed constantly

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

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