Rudolph Wurlitzer - The Drop Edge of Yonder

Suddenly the Count pulled Delilah's hair, jerking her head back.

"Foolish woman," the Count said. "After all that we've been through, you still cling to hope."

When Delilah slapped him across the cheek, he forced her to her knees.

"Confess your failures," he ordered her.

He pushed her chin to the deck. "Let me remind you: Failure to amuse, failure to polish my boots, failure to listen."

Her eyes found Zebulon, who was on his knees, staring back at her.

"Failure to refrain from ignorant betrayals," the Count continued. "Do you want more? I have several in reserve."

"No more," she said softly:

She pushed the Count with such force that he fell to the deck.

As Zebulon stood up and walked towards her, the Count held one of her ankles, then struggled to his feet and wildly tried to embrace her, kissing her neck and breast as they both cried and yelled at each other in Russian. When she broke away, he tried to reach out for her, but she stumbled and fell backward over the railing.

It was only when Zebulon had jumped in after her that he remembered he couldn't swim.

He sank below the water with closed eyes, his lungs bursting, as if his descent — a slow drop towards what he imagined to be a giant open mouth — was controlled by an unseen force. Or had he already been swallowed and was now being digested? The reality of surrendering to a black crush of water brought a certain relief: that he was finally facing what he most feared. It was a fear that he had never confronted, one that had been inside him ever since he had been a small boy, when Hatchet Jack had tried to drown him in the stream in front of the cabin as a way of making himself known to his new adopted family.

He was brought face to face with his own death, and suddenly life and death weren't the same. They were different and he had a choice, only it was too late.

As he began to lose consciousness from water filling his lungs, an arm underneath his chin pulled him upward towards the light.

"Lie still," Delilah instructed, holding his head above water.

But he felt only panic. He shoved her off. The sky was too empty and far away, with no beginning and no end.

As he sank down again she reached out for him but he pushed down on her head, trying to hoist himself up — an act which made them sink even faster, their arms and legs entwined, until she yanked his head towards her, smiling at him even as they were drowning. Somehow the maniacal gesture released his panic and he went limp in her arms, allowing her to guide him to the surface.

Treading water with one hand, she held him underneath his chin, comforting him like a frightened child. "I'm holding you. Don't be afraid. If you fight me, you'll drown."

And so he floated, his body on hers, staring at the sky until a lifeboat appeared and they were pulled up over the side.

NCE THEY WERE RETURNED TO THE SHIP THEY WERE GIVEN hot mugs of brandy and escorted below, where the Captain waited for them behind his desk.

"Count Baranofsky has been confined to his quarters," the Captain said to Delilah. "I am assigning you a spare cabin."

"What happened was between the Count and myself," Delilah replied. "No one else."

"Dear Lady," the Captain said. "Let me remind you that if it hadn't been for the heroic actions of Mister Shook, you would have drowned."

"I demand to see Count Baranofsky," she said.

"You will see him when we land. Not before. If we're graced by favorable winds, that will be in less than a week."

He turned to Zebulon. "I am ordering you to keep your distance with both of them. If you stray one inch, I'll have you arrested."

With an abrupt wave of his hand, he dismissed them.

As Delilah and Zebulon passed the Count's cabin, they heard his cello repeat the same scales over and over.

Delilah leaned her head against the bolted door. "Ivan?"

His voice was almost mute. "Did you enjoy your swim? Everyone else seemed to."

"We went too far," she said.

"Perhaps not far enough," he replied. "I would have jumped in, except that I can't swim."

His fingers began a lingering vibrato, the bow sliding slowly to the end and then back again. "Do you remember that beautiful song we heard at the royal court in Vienna; the one in which the Maiden is confronted by Death?"

He played the notes, reciting the Maiden's plea:

He paused as Delilah sang Death's reply:

They sang the last two lines together, the Count's cello rising in a mournful crescendo of grief and joy:

"Which one of us will sleep safely in Death's arms?" the Count asked. "And who will play the part of Death, sweet Death? Or has that role already been assigned?"

He played a melancholy chord, then stopped. "I had a chat with the Captain. Everything has been arranged. All it took was a large donation to relieve his financial situation."

Delilah leaned her head against the door. "Ivan, I can no longer go on."

"With me or with the journey?" he asked.

"Both. As soon as we land I want to go back."

"Back?" he asked impatiently. "Back to where?"

"France, Egypt, Russia. Does it matter?"

"You know that I have been banished from those countries," he replied. "Listen to me. We go on or we perish. The Captain and I have discussed the situation. He agrees that a brief separation will benefit both of us. And now that the wind has started up again I'm quite content to be in the cabin. I see it as a kind of retreat. A gift and a privilege. Amazing how certain dramas affect one's state of mind."

As the cello repeated the first stanza of "The Death and the Maiden," she turned and walked down the companionway to her cabin.

he was sitting on her bunk, staring out the porthole when Zebulon appeared behind her. Not taking her eyes off the horizon, she allowed him to undress her, then lower her down on the bunk.

"Slowly," she whispered as he raised her legs over his shoulders.

"Too late for slowly," he said and plunged into her with such force that she cried out for him to stop.

He kept on even when she bit into his arm and chest.

Finally they collapsed and she rolled over on her stomach, her head on his thigh. For the first time he noticed the tattoo of a three-headed snake swaying up her back.

"When I saw you in Vera Cruz," she said, "I wanted you to rescue me… but just now, in the water, it was me that rescued vou.

When he pulled her to him, she went limp inside his arms.

"Do either of us know how to surrender?" she asked.

Surrender? It was something that he had never considered.

He shut his eyes and she placed her hand on his stomach, then slowly moved it up to his chest as she leaned up to kiss him, positioning her body on his as she opened her thighs. Once he was inside her, she matched her breathing to his, dissolving his resistance and confusion. When they were both empty and her stillness had become his, she laid her head on his shoulder and wept.

She whispered into his chest. "When I first saw you, I thought you might be a ghost."