Hovering Over the Water Page #3

She holds a fish in her hand

and is feeding it to Silvestre.

This is aunt Sara

vomiting into the sea.

She got sick

with the rocking of the boat.

This is Maria making a face.

This is sailor Robert Rossellini

peering through a spyglass.

And what does the sailor

Roberto Rossellini see?

He sees mother.

What a liar!

Yesterday it was the treasure island,

today it's mother!

It's mother.

Mother is the treasure island.

Maria wrote a logbook.

She doesn't let anyone read it.

It's secret.

Is it true, Maria?

I'm ashamed, mother.

If you don't want us to read it,

no one will.

And won't aunt Sara

be angry with me?

Ask her.

Sara, will you be angry

if you don't read her logbook?

No, my dear.

I like to read what you write

but nobody will be angry at you.

And aunt Rosa?

Aunt Rosa never gets angry.

She has a good nature.

No, love, I won't get angry.

I know why Maria

doesn't want to show it.

It's not because of that!

Don't be stupid!

Yes, it is.

You're the stupid one.

Children...

Is my son a sissy now?

I'm not a sissy but I also

saw the man under the bedshet.

She wasn't the only one.

Aunt Rosa didn't let you look at him.

I saw the ambulance with the siren

wailing and the people around.

And I saw the man's feet.

What are you talking about?

- It was the black pirate.

- It wasn't the black pirate.

It was the black pirate

and he was dead.

It was daddy.

My daddy!

Get out at once

and apologize to your sister.

And you won't repeat

that kind of nonsense again.

They got too much sunshine.

What's that story about?

From what we gathered,

and it wasn't much,

it looks like an ordinary smuggling

story with some shooting in between.

The navy seems to have intercepted,

somewhere, a mysterious ship.

Not exactly the phantom ship but

there wasn't a living soul on board;

the deck was scattered all over

with bullet-riden corpses.

When did that happen?

Yesterday or the day before.

I don't know for sure.

So the boat was towed to Tavira's dock

to the tourists

and other on-lookers delight

and handed over

to the coast authorities

who immediately sealed the cargo,

feeling at a loss as

for what to do with the corpses.

At last the police arrived

and is now proceeding

with enquiries.

They say that in the meanwhile

the corpses roasted for hours on end

under the sun.

Their removal took place,

unfortunately,

at the precise moment

of our arrival.

And that's all.

As you know,

I don't believe much is won

from hiding from children

the biological fact called death.

But after Sartawi's murder, which they

scrupulously listened on the radio,

I suppose it was

an overdose of murder...

I'm worried about Maria.

She's a half-orphan

and will have to live with it.

It's not serious.

There are plenty of fathers around.

Are there?

No.

There aren't,

but it's up to you to switch off the

lights upon the stage of the drama.

She'll get over it

after a good night's sleep.

Do you suppose

there's some sort if connection

between that story about the ship

and Sartawi's death?

I don't see any but we could skim

through the evening newspapers.

I was precisely going to suggest

that we dined out.

My head is swimming

but it seems an excellent idea.

Did you get sick aboard?

Mal de mer.

I get seasick since I was a kid.

Long ago, when one still

travelled by ship to Azores,

it was usual to see an enormous

line of passengers leaning overboard.

One wouldn't know if they were sick

with the rocking of the ship

or with the neighbour's vomit.

"Load overboard", yelled always

an imbecile enjoying the show.

Search the house!

That's how you got your eyes into that

condition. Search behind the books!

We don't like to harass

women and children.

We don't speak Spanish.

Galician-Portuguese resistance.

If you behave,

nothing will happen to you.

Stop it.

Damned!

Stupid yourself.

And ugly. And bad.

My vase!

Nothing, chief.

Keep on searching!

You're completely f***ed!

Aren't you old enough to have grown

some sense in that head of yours?

I can't control myself, madam.

Where is Laura?

For some moments I was afraid

of seeing a werewolf come forth.

He's not a werewolf.

Here they are.

Have they left already?

Yes. Where is Rosa?

She's repairing the damage.

Everything is in a chaos.

They opened drawers,

cupboards,

browsed among papers,

scattered clothes everywhere,

with a special liking

for the so-called underwear...

No traces of ill-treatment

were detected,

which is already more

than one could hope for...

The Chief was strict

with regard to that...

And we had Roberto to protect us.

I must tell you your children

didn't waste a second.

As soon as that idiot Stavroguine

turned his back on us,

they set to work.

I'm proud of these children.

What has changed is that,

in days past,

they came at dawn

and caught people half-asleep,

trembling with fear.

Your children

weren't educated in fear...

There's more here.

And that's what makes them

somewhat strange,

almost detached,

undoubtedly fascinating.

Will it be the future tense

of our present?

I'll find out what happened.

There's no need

for all of us to go prying about.

What could have been?

It was the bogey exploding.

- Mother went to check.

- I'll look for her.

Back to work.

Mother and aunt Rosa went to check

and will tell us everything about it.

That did it to our lovely dinner.

After these emotions

we'll have to do

with some scrambled eggs.

Where can Antoine,

who's never around when needed, be?

There's more here, aunt.

That's enough for today.

We'll stop at Virgilio.

I was worried about you.

Is it them?

I think so.

But it's a madman tale, Laura.

I must catch some fresh air.

It's after ten and I don't know

where to go to catch some fresh air.

We could go to the seashore.

I've had my fill of sea.

Another spoon full of sugar

if you don't mind.

Where can Antoine be? One can't

get hold of him at this hour.

I forgot to tell you: he came by

yesterday, looking for you.

He didn't leave an address

but he said he would come again.

He always does.

Particularly

when I don't feel like it.

Returning to the subject:

first, there's an PLO leader

who is shot down...

The killer has been caught.

The presumable, Laura.

The presumable.

It wasn't a isolated action.

There was premeditation

and an efficiency

that presupposes complicities.

It's all together canonical:

shooting down the bodyguard

before the target.

It's in the books.

It is not an amateur's job but one

of people who learned how to kill.

Roberto had nothing to do with it.

Robert, I've grasped it,

has nothing to do with anything.

The sea brought him by chance

and, in your head, be might as

well be Ulisses, back to Itaca.

And is he not?

That's what I was trying to tell you:

of course he is.

He's called Robert Jordan

and came straight out of one

of Hemingway's novels,

as if it still was possible

to come straight

out of one of Hemingway's novels.

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