While I
focused on not throwing up,
she run there and back between the windows,
looking with childish delight
at the waves washing over the boat.
I thought
about if and how far
I would be able to swim if we were wrecked,
and why
I hadn´t read the safety instructions
more carefully.
Nothing of this seemed to worry her much.
As if
it didn´t matter if we would ever arrive
or not.
Maybe she had stopped caring about such
long time ago.
Now and then she sat all still
staring against the horizon.
She told me she had been there before.
At the Island. Once, fifty years ago.
And she had always wished to go back, but
it hadn´t been possible.
Until now.
Something stopped me from asking more.
Maybe it was the way she said it, or the look
in her eyes.
As if there was a secret.
Some hours later,
while entering the harbour I asked her if she wanted to come and visit me.
Very kindly but resolutly she said;
no thanks.
When the passengers started to roughly force
their way to get off the boat,
she remained quietly by the window.
She never went ashore.