Going Ashore Read Online Free

camellia into her hair. She did not turn around when Emma came in but frowned at herself in the glass, concentrating. Her dress was open at the back. She had been waiting for Emma to come and do it up. Emma sat down on her own bed. In honor of the excursion ashore, she was wearing gloves, a hat, and carrying a purse. Waiting, she sorted over the contents of her purse (a five-dollar bill, a St. Christopher medal, a wad of Kleenex, a comb in a plastic case), pulled on her small round hat, smoothed her gloves, sighed.
    Her mother looked small and helpless, struggling with the awkward camellia. Emma never pitied her when she suffered – it was too disgraceful, too alarming – but she sometimes felt sorry for some detail of her person; now she was touched by the thin veined hands fumbling with flower and pins, and the thin shoulder blades that moved like wings. Her pity took the form of exasperation; it made her want to get up and do something crazy and rude – slam a door, say all the forbidden words she could think of. At last, Mrs. Ellenger stood up, nearly ready. But, no, something had gone wrong.
    “Emma, I can’t go ashore like this,” her mother said. She sat down again. “My dress is wrong. My shoes are wrong. Look at my eyes. I look old. Look at my figure. Before I had you, my figure was wonderful. Never have a baby, Emma. Promise me.”
    “O.K.,” Emma said. She seized the moment of pensive distraction – her mother had a dreamy look, which meant she was thinking of her pretty, fêted youth – and fastened her mother’s dress. “You look lovely,” Emma said rapidly. “You look just beautiful. The Munns said to tell you to dress warm, but it isn’t cold. Please, let’s go. Please, let’s hurry. All the other people have gone. Listen, we’re in
Africa.”
    “That’s what so crazy,” Mrs. Ellenger said, as if at last she had discovered the source of all her grievances. “What am I doing in Africa?”
    “Bring a scarf for your head,” said Emma. “Please, let’s go.”
    They got the last two places in the launch. Mrs. Ellenger bent and shuddered and covered her eyes; the boat was a terrible ordeal, windy andsmelling of oil. She felt chilled and vomitous. “Oh, Emma,” she moaned.
    Emma put an arm about her, reassuring. “It’s only a minute,” she said. “We’re nearly there now. Please look up. Why don’t you look? The sun’s come out.”
    “I’m going to be sick,” Mrs. Ellenger said.
    “No, you’re not.”
    At last they were helped ashore, and stood, brushing their wrinkled skirts, on the edge of Tangier. Emma decided she had better mention Eddy right away.
    “Wouldn’t it be nice if we sort of ran into Eddy?” she said. “He knows all about Tangier. He’s been here before. He could take us around.”
    “Run into
who?”
Mrs. Ellenger took off the scarf she had worn in the launch, shook it, folded it, and put it in her purse. Just then, a light wind sprang up from the bay. With a little moan, Mrs. Ellenger opened her bag and took out the scarf. She seemed not to know what to do with it, and finally clutched it to her throat. “I’m so cold,” she said. “Emma, I’ve never been so cold in my whole life. Can’t we get away from here? Isn’t there a taxi or something?”
    Some of their fellow passengers were standing a short distance away in a sheeplike huddle, waiting for a guide from a travel bureau to come and fetch them. They were warmly dressed. They carried books, cameras, and maps. Emma suddenly thought of how funny she and her mother must look, alone and baffled, dressed for a summer excursion. Mrs. Ellenger tottered uncertainly on high white heels.
    “I think if we just walk up to that big street,” Emma said, pointing. “I even see taxis. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” Mrs. Ellenger looked back, almost wistfully, to the cruise ship; it was, at least, familiar. “Don’t look
that
way,” said Emma. “Look where we’re going. Look at