There is a lovely tune I first heard sung by a Cuban on the beach at
La Nave del Olvido. The Ship of Forgetting.
My ship is sailing. I am losing the past, and it’s eating away the present. I slip down as in quicksand. I am young again. I am in the back of a vehicle driven by a man with a woman at his side.
They are utterly indifferent. No affect at all. She removes a pistol, one of those shining nickel and silver numbers patrician women might carry. She brings it out to no purpose, and it sort of hangs there in our presence.
I am able to secure the weapon, and I hide it. In a matter of moments the lady and I are in bed.
She is attractive as a mannequin can be. She shows no effects from sleeping with me, but I am much troubled. The night is ending. I’m not 18 come dawn.
I worry. Will this regression end my happy day life as a satisfied senior citizen? Will Niki J leave me? After all, this event of last night happened many years ago.
I hurry as best I can, through the night, down all the years, to a dubious dawn.