Drowning Lessons Read Free Page B

his back with his eyes closed, letting the sun paint its Rothkos and Mirós. It took him no time to doze off. He found himself back in the dream he’d had during the night, in which he chased — or was chased by — black bubbles. The bubbles rose from a hideous depth into his face, blinding him. With a gasping start he awoke, startling the woman from the Icehouse, who’d been watching him doze.
    â€œYou had a nightmare,” she said.
    â€œI know,” said Frank.
    â€œYou grind your teeth. Did you know that?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t know that.” He smiled. “Please don’t tell my dentist. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
    â€œYour secret is safe with me.”
    She put a hand on his shoulder, looked at him. Her green irises held tiny flakes of brownish red — like rust. Frank swam in them. A drop of water from her hair landed on his lip. She bent forward to kiss him. Frank broke away. “I’ve got to go,” he said, untying the rowboat.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you’d like it.”
    â€œIt isn’t a question of like,” said Frank, climbing in. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”
    â€œOh, so it’s a question of age, is it?” Before he could say anything, she reached forward and kissed him again, a slow kiss on his lips.
    He watched her red bathing suit get smaller and smaller as he rowed, turning into a red dot as he hurried back to his wife.
    That afternoon he held Dorothy up in the shallow water. He did the same the next afternoon, helping her practice her breathing, teaching her to reach with her arms and turn her head from side to side. She wore her green one-piece bathing suit. It made her skin look ghostly white.
    â€œKick,” said Frank, buoying her up. “Kick!”
    â€œI’m kicking!”
    â€œHello, Frank.”
    The woman from the Icehouse stood there, on the dam, holding her dog on a leash.
    â€œKick,” said Frank, ignoring her.
    They spent the rest of the afternoon practicing in the shallows, with Frank teaching Dorothy to kick and tread water. He taught her the freestyle stroke and had her practice it with her feet touching bottom. “Frank, my arms are tired,” she kept saying, until finally he relented. “Fine,” he said. “You’re doing fine. We’ll pick up tomorrow.” The next day, before lunch and after his morning swim (he had not seen the woman from the Icehouse, which both relieved and disappointed him), he brought his wife with him out to the float.
    â€œAre you sure I’m ready for this?” she asked him.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said.
    While mooring the boat, Frank saw a red dot in the distance. As they drew closer, the red dot waved. Frank nodded.
    â€œWhat is it?” said Dorothy.
    â€œWhat? Nothing,” said Frank, turning away. He stepped onto the float. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand.
    â€œI’m really not sure if I’m ready.”
    â€œYou promised.”
    â€œI don’t want to do this, Frank.”
    â€œPlease — don’t let me down.”
    She shook her head. “Frank, let me stay in the boat.”
    â€œDon’t let me down!”
He gripped her arm.
    â€œI’m not letting you down! This has nothing to do with
you
! I don’t want to swim. I don’t
feel
like it. Let
go
of me!”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œLet go, Frank!”
    â€œDamn you.”
    He let go. The boat had drifted away from the float. Instead of falling back onto the seat, his wife fell forward, over the side. She came up thrashing.
    â€œFrank!” she spluttered.
    â€œSwim!” he said.
    The woman from the Icehouse stood there, watching, waving. Frank’s eyes darted back and forth from his wife thrashing in her one-piece bathing suit to the woman on shore in her bright red bikini. Though only several hundred yards, the distance may