The sound of dice rattling across cedar. I cup my hands and shake, wish for doubles then let the pair loose to determine my fate. They roll out over a mother-of-pearl and cedar inlaid backgammon board.
We have trapped the sun between the steels of superstructure and deck on the starboard side. Sitting upon cushions in the lee I get the feeling of being grilled. It forces me to break away from the game momentarily to strip down to vest and shorts. Legs and arms emerge dry and chalky white to embrace subtropical sunlight.
It is Sunday afternoon and Arctic Sunrise is in transit to Senegal’s fishing grounds. Rita is my master and opponent as we sit upon cushions engrossed in the game, listening to the waves swooshing by the hull and pausing only for sips from tall glasses of mint tea.
The cogs between my temples grind into motion as my lips count points to triangles. Rita grew up in Beirut during the civil war where she learned to play the game with her brother and father – her strategy is hereditary. Today we sport the same model Oakley sunglasses and laugh at our reflections in the sunshine. It is moments like these that give meaning to life.
Elaine (@1210Elaine) said,
February 16, 2012 at 12:52 am
Justice will prevail …