Then
there was to be a burial at sea. In the afternoon the clouds lifted from
the sky. Toward the west the sun burned over the water, making a wake of
fire from the boat to the utmost horizon. I took a last look at Dorothy,
kissed her cold brow. Then she was wrapped with sheets on a plank
weighted with iron, and taken to the stern of the boat. I stood near to
see it all, with little Reverdy weeping as if his heart would break.
The body is cast into the water, and in the very golden wake of the sun.
I cannot hear the splash; I only see a slight flap of the sheet. The
water closes over instantly. A gull frightened into a slight veering off
turns to the spot where Dorothy has disappeared. No ripples to mark the
place where she has been received by the sea! The boat has gone on
without staying. I keep my eyes fixed on the place. Waves cross and
recross over it. The sunlight shifts. Tears and the sun blind my eyes. I
rest them a moment and then look again. Where was it that Dorothy sank?
What great fish started at the splash, the white apparition; and then
returned to nibble? To what depths has Dorothy sunk? To what darker
waters has she been towed by some creature of prey? The sailors have
gone to their other duties. Little Reverdy is by my side, weeping
softly. I must write to the older Reverdy back in Jacksonville.
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