↑ Vantage pt for Jay Levine at tippity top of crow's nest before he jumped.
Das Boot: the first and perhaps most profound of the Dreamscape categories in that it describes not only the day-to-day adventures of a Caribbean escape, but also a moment that was much of a fulcrum or a rubicon for everyone involved, both a gathering and a dispersal. They were all twenty-four or twenty-five years old, an age where everything in the past seems like prologue and the next turned page is where the story really begins. There was a lot of debate about what comes next: plans hatched, destinies reconsidered. And soon after: Sebastian heading for Brazil, Christoph to Argentina, Helene to New Zealand, our pal Jayson and Natalie both to New York City. And the more we studied these pages, the stronger the urge became to apply allegory and deeper significance to everything that was written. And although 'reality' strongly resists such neat and tidy structuring, nonetheless here it is.
-- Eds
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Das Boot (12/33)
December 12, 1990
Choose a different dreamscape
One week ago, I arrived.
Today, a marvelous sail brought us home to St. Lucia. Steady westerly winds filled the main and the gollywobbler and the jib and heeled us delightfully toward the churning gray-black sea. Dexter accompanies us. Remarkably subdued and calm but filled with sincere and unrestrained humor.
What am I writing and why? When I could be writing anything, why this?
Or, what instead?
How ‘bout: that we just returned from galing St. Lucia streets. The rain pummeled the sand + the road and turned the gutters into rivers, streaming water like our hair to our necks, down our chests, down our throat to the soles of our non-existent shoes (mine, by the way, recovering still from the vigorous brushing and soaking they received earlier in the day) where it (the water) collected and stayed. Even as we returned to the beach, leaving the wet yet shining + illuminated streets onto a soggy goat-trail, up to our ankles in a river of… what? Goo and muck, yet the kerosine light still shone and cheered our progress from the stern of the boat.
So now we hope for sun tomorrow to suck the moisture from our damp, bedraggled clothing.
So, Christoph (no longer Chris, because Sebastian does not approve of the ‘Americanization’ which would be a more stirring objection if he didn’t in the same breath refer to Natalia so often as ‘Nattie’. Hmm.) and Helene have arrived bringing nearly that entire generation of the family together (minus only Arthur) along with black beans, rice, honey, other provisions. We are fed! Especially since our day, after arrival, consisted of a colossal shopping trip w/rum as the provision of preference.
¿Que mas?
Talk of venturing to an island of postcard-like beauty. White sand, tear-drop water. Haven, heaven, etc. But tomorrow, we go to renown falls: water cascading hundreds of feet to the pools and eddies swirling receptively below. Right to the beach!
Six, count them, 6, people sleep aboard this vessel now, counting me, who has yet to turn in, but now I do…