Salt Water Read Free Page A

dog.”
    “We should meet them half way,” Father said. “Look, the dog’s turning back.”
    “Zina is a very good swimmer.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I swam with her yesterday. And she’s a very fine person.”
    That amused Father, and he gave me his big smile, which was as close as he ever came to making fun of me.
    It took her forever to reach us. She was even more beautiful in the green water, with the broken, reflected sunlight flashing over her face. Father held out his hand to help her up, but she hauled herself aboard.
    He asked her how she liked the guesthouse. She said she hoped he didn’t mind that she had set up a darkroom. He said Grandfather Michael once had a darkroom there. “He was a passionate photographer, with absolutely no talent. Every picture was a bull’s-eye. We have cartons of them.
    Are you a professional?”
    Zina said she was, she had a group show coming up in New York in the winter, and now she was taking time off to think. “I want to do a minimum of looking for a while. This is the perfect place.” She pointed to the sea. “Water and sky.” She pointed to the shore. “Water, sky, and sand. Multiply that by day and night, and there are still only six things to look at. I’m cleaning out my head.”
    “Sounds like the French Foreign Legion,” Father said.
    I could see right away that he liked her. When he didn’t like someone he smiled and said nothing. It was clear that she liked him too. Father was very handsome. He had fair skin, black hair, and green eyes. I used to watch when he was introduced to people. They couldn’t take their eyes off him. I was very pleased he liked her. I hated it when two people I liked didn’t like each other.
    He told us a story about Grandfather Michael I hadn’t heard before. During World War II Mother’s family had to leave the Point to let the army practice beach landings. One moonless night in the summer of 1943 Grandfather made his own landing. He wanted to see how his house was doing. He came around the Point in a small sailboat, which capsized in the surf. The mast hit him on the head, and he might have drowned if a beach patrol hadn’t been tracking him. They brought him to and dried him off, and the commandingofficer grilled him all night, sure he was a German spy. This despite the fact that Grandfather spoke perfect American English and answered questions about Laurel and Hardy, Cole Porter, and the Boston Red Sox. The officer was almost convinced, when Grandfather offered as ultimate proof the fact that a particular burner on the stove in his house was faulty. Grandfather forgot that he had put the stove in the basement. As a result, the officer sent Grandfather under guard to an intelligence center in Virginia, where he was kept incommunicado and interrogated for two days. He was finally released with a mild apology and a strong reprimand.
    Father managed the mainsail and tiller, and we sailed along parallel to the shore. Zina and I shifted from side to side as we came about. Each time, she pinched my arm, which thrilled me.
    “My father was born in Germany,” she said. “He was brought up there, but he’s an American. He came here with his parents after the war. His father, my grandfather, was a famous scientist. Did you ever hear of Victor Mertz? There’s a town in Alabama named Mertz.”
    I knew what Father was going to say. “Michael was born in Germany. I was doing business there in the late forties. We came back when my father-in-law died. I believe Michael can apply for German citizenship.”
    “Fat chance,” I said.
    “Misha is completely American,” Zina said.
    “Why do you call him Misha then?”
    “It’s my favorite name, and he is now one of my favorite people. As for you, you’re even more American.”
    “Somehow,” Father said, “that doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
    “We can’t help being what we are, and what I meant about Misha is he’s easier to understand than European boys. Do you