You Are Always Safe With Me

by Merrill Joan Gerber

  They slept all night on the foam pad, curled together, his body enclosing hers, her back pressed against his chest, his breath moving the hairs on her neck. She breathed in unison with him, and in unison with the swells of the sea beneath them. Caught up in a journey larger than any she had ever taken, she was aware of a constant forward motion—of the tides, of time, of the world tilting into the future, moving her forward into a new dimension.

  Though she woke several times during the night, she was without any anxiety, need, or fear. In the protection of Izak’s arms, she was insulated from all her usual terrors and doubts, and knew only an overwhelming sense of peace and joy.

  When the first rays of light illuminated the clouds, Izak stirred and moved onto his back. Lilly shifted and turned on her right side. Propped on her elbow, she examined his face, the shape of his bones, the curve of his eyebrows, the length of his eyelashes. There was no part of him she did not love; no design that could bear improvement, no shape that was unshapely, no feature unseemly. Perfection, she knew, was in the eye of the beholder, but her eyes were worshipful, a condition new to them.

  She rested her head on his shoulder, and he shifted, touched her bare thigh, then somehow encircled her with his arm and lifted her onto his body. He was already stiff as the mast that flew the Turkish flag and he gently coaxed her down, inch by inch, till she was beautifully impaled upon him. Then they did not move at all, merely held their place that way, dozed and breathed, not quite awake but utterly conscious and blessed by awareness.

  The pressure of her softness against the shield of his chest cushioned them both; she felt held up by his power as the Ozymandias was supported by the sea. She floated upon him, secure and buoyed up by his presence.

  They began to move as the sun grew stronger, not very much, but with intent and purpose; she rode up just a tiny bit, and then pressed herself down; he waited, then made an answering movement. They savored the pause, they waited again. Once, she raised her head and looked at his face and found him watching her with a gaze of such focused intensity that she could not look upon it for long. She closed her eyes again.

  Her mind was in a locked position; no thoughts could begin to intrude, no distractions tapped for admittance; only the moment existed, this tension, this space, this fusion.

  They stayed this way for half an hour more, an hour more. She was in a cone of pleasure, whirling upward toward the point. When he finally chose to take her there, she had given herself up entirely, she did not exist, but was only a luminescence, a light growing brighter and brighter till he made her, by his will and his beauty, explode into radiance.

  *

  They slept till noon, and woke to the ringing of the phone. Naked, Izak rolled from the deck pad and walked to the helm to answer it. He stood talking, with his back to Lilly, allowing her to memorize the shape of his uninterrupted form, the indentation where his vertebrae moved down his back, the curve of buttocks into thigh, the swelling of his calve muscles, the narrowed ankles.

  He laughed briefly into the phone, and she knew there was no bad news. A moment later he came back toward her, proudly naked, unselfconscious, smiling.

  “They are found,” he said. “Marianne led them too far and night came. Harrison lifted them to a ledge, above the water of the gorge. In daylight, police found them. All are well now. They are resting, eating. They will come back here by dinner.” He smiled. “We have one more day together.”

  “One more day,” Lilly echoed.

  “So, we must take every minute” Izak said.

  *

  She showered while he made a meal for them, then she lay in the sun, though she needed no extra warmth. She was heated to the core. He bent to her ear and whispered he was going to find her a treasure in the sea. She saw him dive from the top of the ladder and heard him swimming. Her eyelids were closed against the sun, but images of him were painted on their interior, a tiny form swimming in the egg-yolk color of her inward gaze.

  *

  She sat atop a step of the ladder, her feet hanging into the sea, waiting for him to return. The day glistened with sunlight, the Ozymandias creaked slightly as it rose and fell in the wake from a passing motorboat. When the water stilled, she could see tiny, yellow-nosed fish swimming just below the surface. At times, when she was in the water herself, she had felt little delicate taps against her legs and had seen these schools of fish passing her by.

  She leaned her head against the ladder’s chain, closed her eyes, and soaked in the sensual beauty of the world. When Izak returned and touched her hot leg with his wet hand, she jumped and cried out.

  He rose from the sea like a vision, holding something mysterious in one hand.

  “This, for you!” he said. “Called pina shell, lives below on the bottom.” He handed her a fan-shaped, sand-colored creation of the deep, perhaps a foot high, like a flattened cornucopia, hollow, ridged, pointed at the bottom, curved at the top, encrusted with miniscule barnacles. When she took it in her hands, he put his palms together and demonstrated to her how it waited on the sea-floor, open at the top, and then, “when fish comes by…”: he slapped together his hands to show how it trapped its prey.

  “Hard to find these, but today, one was waiting. For you.”

  “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Hard to pack in suitcase, might break if you take home.”

  Home! The word was like a thundercloud. Why go home? What could make her leave this world? Did he want her to go home? Could she not be his wife and live with him in this sea-universe, earn her keep by making crepes in a little motorboat which their son would steer to the sides of pleasure boats while she sat cross-legged on the floor? She could roll the dough with a wooden rolling pin, fill the circles with goat cheese and honey and sell them to tourists.

  Or she could herd goats on the mountain, climbing after them while the little silver bells around their necks tinkled and echoed off the rocks.

  “No problem,” he said. “I will pack pina shell for you in soft things, you will always have shell to remind you I am here.”

  *

  They ate food again, though she did not notice what it was. He led her to the foam pad afterward, and without speaking they lay down together again and coupled. They took their pleasure quickly this time, playing less, but again she felt a tremendous intensity, much tenderness and joy.

  They slept again and woke again. He sat up and said, sadly, “Not enough time left. They come back soon.”

  She pulled him down, into her arms again. “Once more?” she asked, smiling.

  “Maybe,” he said, not so certain, but willing to make the attempt.

  “It will have to last me all my life,” Lilly said.

  THE TIE THAT BINDS

  By the time the others had returned to the boat, Lilly was reading in a research text and taking notes for her book on “Glitter and Scents in 19th Century Sensibilities.” She had spread her papers and notebooks on the dining table so that it would appear she had been busy for the last two days. To her surprise, she found the subject newly interesting to her—the ways in which women decorated themselves and adorned their bodies to attract the attention of men struck a chord of sympathy in her which she had not found there before. Love as a goal, love as a fulfillment, love as the meaning of life—these had seemed almost laughable to her a month ago. Now it was no longer the case.

  As Izak made several trips to shore in the Zodiac and returned to the Ozymandias with the others, the survivors of the adventure in Saklikent Gorge came up the ladder in batches, giggling like gaggles of geese. Lilly’s mother rushed to her and kissed her effusively.

  “Darling, how is your ankle, are you feeling better? We were all so lucky. We thought we had lost them—all three of them. And here they are, safe as bugs in a rug.”

  “That’s really wonderful, Mother,” Lilly said. “And my ankle is much improved. I can walk on it quite well now.”

  Gerta appeared, coming up the ladder, wearing shorts, a halter,
and a pair of heavy men’s walking shoes. “One of the men in the restaurant at the gorge gave me these after we were rescued,” she said, “and I was so grateful. Wasn’t it gallant of him? He wasn’t a big man, so his shoes fit me pretty well—me with my big feet. He took them right off his feet and put them on mine. I love Turkish men!”

  “I knew those clogs would fall off the minute you started walking,” Fiona said. “When you carry the new baby around the house, you’ll simply have to give up your high heels for a while.”

  Marianne came and stood next to Gerta, putting her arms around her thin shoulders. “I convinced her—she’s going to cut her fingernails shorter, too,” Marianne said. “Babies have such delicate skin, she wouldn’t want to scratch her daughter.”

  “Oh, if not for Marianne, I would have frozen,” said Gerta gratefully, turning to hug Marianne. “She kept me warm all night. She was on one side of me on the ledge and Harrison on the other—they made a little hot sandwich of me.”

  “We had to be sure this mother-to-be would stay warm enough,” Marianne said. “You know how skinny she is, there isn’t an ounce of insulating fat on her.” Marianne’s face was strangely relaxed, as if she had taken off her mask of anger. She seemed almost maternal in the way she looked at Gerta.

  “Harrison and I have decided to make Marianne our baby’s godmother,” Gerta said, “and she’s promised to look after our baby if we have any extended trips to take. She promised she’d even spend some nights at our house. Of course the nanny will be there to help her—but she’ll be sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “It seems you all had quite an adventure,” Lilly said. “It seems to have drawn you closer.”

  “Three peas in a pod,” Marianne said. And Lilly heard no sarcasm in her voice.

  “We’re so sorry you missed the trip, darling,” said her mother. “The gorge was really something to see—an awesome creation. Of course, we wish Marianne hadn’t led the others so far beyond where anyone ever ventures, because then we had this terrible night of waiting.”

  “But there was a small hotel at the edge of the gorge,” Fiona added, “and they put us all up, very graciously. The food was excellent, I must say. The wine, too.”

  “I hope someone took pictures,” Lilly said.

  “Lance took pictures,” her mother said. “He took dozens. And once he gets the slides developed, he’s going to come over and show them to me. Of course, you’ll come over, too.”

  “I’m going to take lots more today, this last day,” Lance said. “Of the boat, and all the rest of us. “Tomorrow we’ll all be gone, and this world will seem a dream…Nothing but a gorgeous, romantic dream.”

  “Would you take some pictures of the crew?” Lilly asked. “Especially the captain?”

  *

  Before dinner, when Lilly pulled her small suitcase down from the upper bunk in the cabin to begin to pack, one of the handles ripped away from the loop of canvas that held it.

  “Maybe someone in the crew can repair it,” Harriet said. “They’re very handy boys.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lilly said. “I can drag it one way or another.”

  “No, no, let me go up and ask.”

  She came back to the cabin with Izak following. “Let me see,” he said. After he examined the torn strap, he said, “No problem. I sew it and fix like new.”

  “You sew?” Lilly asked.

  “I do all things,” Izak said. “You know I do many things…” He flashed Lilly a smile above her mother’s head and Lilly lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks redden. “I get my needle,” he said, and disappeared.

  “He really is the most helpful person,” Lilly’s mother said to her. “I’m glad you came to your senses about him. Once we get home you won’t give him a thought. But I do think we should give Izak and the rest of the crew generous tips.”

  *

  Their last supper was a bit somber; everyone was tired and quieter than usual. Morat made his final casserole of spinach and cheese, his final stew of lamb, potatoes and carrots, his final salad dressed with yogurt, cucumber, and garlic sauce. At the end of dinner, he delivered his fried sticky sweet donut ball dessert, and then appeared again with a basket of beautiful small sea shells. “I give you all souvenirs to remember me,” he said, and into each person’s hand he delivered a small and delicate work of nature he’d retrieved from the sea.

  “What’s that music?” Lance asked, and then everyone heard it…floating over the water from the village on shore.

  “It’s a wedding,” Morat said. “An amphitheater on the water, they are having their celebration. Would you all like to see?”

  “Not me,” said Harrison. “I can’t face that Zodiac again.”

  “Not me,” said Gerta. “I’ve had enough adventures for the day.”

  “Not me,” said Fiona. “I’ve got to pack up all my gorgeous clothes and all my souvenirs. We’re being picked up really early tomorrow for the trip to Dalaman airport.”

  “I’m beat,” said Marianne.

  “It sounds lovely,” said Harriet, “but I must forgo it, to my sorrow.”

  “Then I must also, forgo,” said Lance. “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

  Lilly said, “I want to go and see the wedding.”

  And Izak, who had been sitting in semi-darkness on the deck, came forth into the light and said, “I will take you.”

  *

  He pulled the Zodiac up on the beach and half-carried, half-supported Lilly as they walked to the arena on the sea where the festivities were taking place. A large crowd was pressed close around the bride and groom, whom Lilly caught sight of briefly—a dark-haired beautiful young woman in a white gown, and her smiling, mustached husband. The guests were of every age, from infants to the very old. Through openings in the crowd Lilly saw that the bride and groom were being circled by the guests.

  “What are they doing?”

  “They are wrapping them in a ribbon, to bind them forever.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and to the ribbon the guests pin their gifts.”

  “Money?”

  “Sometimes family jewels. Sometimes money.”

  “I wish I could see better,” Lilly said.

  Izak, standing behind her, suddenly lifted her into the air, so high that she gasped, and then he bent forward and arranged her legs over his shoulders, balancing her the way one might carry a small child. When he stood up, she was high above the crowd and could see clearly the faces of the bride and groom, see the sparklers that were just being lit by the guests to flare into the night sky and shoot their brilliant sparks of light upward.

  “Oh!” She clutched his head between her hands, alarmed and exhilarated, laughing and begging him to put her down. He held her feet carefully, so as not to press too hard on her injured ankle.

  “Enough!” she cried, and very carefully he lifted her over his head lowered her down to the ground.

  “Oh, that was too much,” she said.

  “You are never too much for me,” Izak said.

  *

  They stood near the edge of the festivities for a while, watching the hanging lights flickering over the water, watching the wedding guests dance to the music. The older women were dancing together, as were the older men, but the young people were dancing, men with women, face to face. Tiny toddlers were dancing in circles by themselves, smiling, and women with infants in their arms, were moving their babies in rhythm to the music. The live band played with enthusiasm, visible on a raised stage.

  Izak said, “You dance with me, Lilly?”

  “Can a man dance with a woman in your country? It’s okay?” Lilly asked.

  “If okay for Attatürk, then no problem for me,” Izak said, holding out his arms to her. She came into them, and whispered, “Don’t move too fast, my ankle…”

  “Not move at all, Lilly,” Izak said into her ear. “Pretend move, but hold you close on this last night for us.” He rocked her body aga
inst his, and held her thus, for a long time.

  Be here now, she instructed herself. There is only this, so be here now.

  ISAAC

  When the baby was born, Lilly wrote to Izak in Bodrum, at the address he had given her: “I have named him Isaac Oz, for his father Izak and for the Ozymandias where he was conceived. I send you a photo, so you may see your son. I have a photo of you now, too—standing at the helm with your profile outlined against the sea. The baby has already seen your face.”

  *

  On Isaac’s first birthday she wrote again:

  “Your boy adores the water. He will cry if I try to take him out of his bath; he loves to splash the water with both hands as hard as he can. He has your beautiful hands, your large dark eyes and your perfect mouth. He can already walk. I hope that someday he can meet you. I have hung over his crib a mobile I made from all the blue glass eyes I bought in Turkey. They will guard him now, and no evil eye will ever find him. He is fearless and strong. He is Ottoman. He will always be safe with me.”

  THE END

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