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"
Would
you
?
"
"
I
can
’
t
think
of
any
other
girl
I
’
ve
ever
known
who
could
walk
this
far
.
"
She
thought
it
over
,
then
looked
at
me
again
.
"
What
an
evasive
answer
that
was
.
"
"
I
’
m
glad
we
came
.
You
’
re
a
trouper
,
Kelly
.
"
"
And
you
’
re
a
bastard
,
Urfe
.
"
But
I
could
see
that
she
wasn
’
t
offended
.
Almost
at
once
tiredness
,
as
we
returned
,
attacked
us
.
Alison
discovered
a
blister
on
her
left
heel
,
where
the
new
shoe
had
rubbed
.
We
wasted
ten
minutes
of
the
quick
-
dying
light
trying
to
improvise
a
bandage
for
it
;
and
then
,
almost
as
abruptly
as
if
a
curtain
had
dropped
,
night
was
on
us
.
With
it
came
wind
.
The
sky
remained
clear
,
the
stars
burned
frantically
,
but
somewhere
we
went
down
the
wrong
rocky
slope
and
at
the
place
I
expected
the
refuge
to
be
there
was
nothing
.
It
was
difficult
to
see
footholds
,
increasingly
difficult
to
think
sensibly
.
We
foolishly
went
on
,
coming
into
a
vast
volcanic
bowl
,
a
stark
lunar
landscape
;
snow
-
streaked
cliffs
,
violent
winds
howling
round
the
sides
.
Wolves
became
real
,
not
an
amusing
reference
in
a
casual
conversation
.
Alison
must
have
been
far
more
frightened
,
and
probably
far
colder
,
than
I
was
.
At
the
center
of
the
bowl
it
became
clear
that
it
was
impossible
to
get
out
except
by
going
back
,
and
we
sat
for
a
few
minutes
to
rest
in
the
lee
of
a
huge
boulder
.
I
held
her
close
against
me
for
warmth
’
s
sake
.
She
lay
with
her
head
buried
in
my
sweater
,
in
a
completely
unsexual
embrace
;
and
cradling
her
there
,
shivering
in
that
extraordinary
landscape
,
a
million
years
and
miles
from
the
sweltering
Athens
night
,
I
felt
it
meant
nothing
,
it
must
mean
nothing
.
I
told
myself
I
would
have
felt
the
same
with
anyone
.
But
I
looked
out
over
the
grim
landscape
,
an
accurate
enough
simile
of
my
life
,
and
remembered
something
the
muleteer
had
said
earlier
;
that
wolves
never
hunt
singly
,
but
always
in
pairs
.
The
lone
wolf
was
a
myth
.
I
forced
Alison
to
her
feet
and
we
stumbled
back
the
way
we
had
come
.
Along
a
ridge
to
the
west
another
col
and
slope
led
down
towards
the
black
distant
sea
of
trees
.
Eventually
we
saw
contoured
against
the
sky
a
tor
-
shaped
hill
I
had
noticed
on
the
way
up
.
The
refuge
was
just
the
other
side
of
it
.
Alison
no
longer
seemed
to
care
;
I
kept
hold
of
her
hand
and
dragged
her
along
by
main
force
.
Bullying
her
,
begging
her
,
anything
to
keep
her
moving
.
Twenty
minutes
later
the
squat
dark
cube
of
the
refuge
appeared
in
its
little
combe
.
I
looked
at
my
watch
.
It
had
taken
us
an
hour
and
a
half
to
reach
the
peak
;
and
over
three
hours
to
get
back
.
I
groped
my
way
in
and
sat
Alison
on
a
bunk
.
Then
I
struck
a
match
,
found
the
lamp
and
tried
to
light
it
;
but
it
had
no
wick
and
no
oil
.
I
turned
to
the
stove
.
That
,
thank
God
,
had
dry
wood
.
I
ripped
up
all
the
paper
I
could
find
:
a
Penguin
novel
of
Alison
’
s
,
the
wrappings
off
the
food
we
had
bought
;
then
lit
it
and
prayed
.
There
were
backpuffs
of
papery
,
then
resinous
smoke
,
and
the
kindling
caught
.
In
a
few
minutes
the
hut
grew
full
of
flickering
red
light
and
sepia
shadows
,
and
even
more
welcome
heat
.
I
picked
up
a
pail
.
Alison
raised
her
head
from
her
knees
.
"
I
’
m
going
to
get
some
water
now
.
"
"
Okay
.
"
She
smiled
wanly
.
"
I
should
get
under
some
blankets
.
"
She
nodded
.
But
when
I
came
back
from
the
stream
five
minutes
later
she
was
gingerly
feeding
logs
through
the
upper
door
of
the
stove
;
barefooted
,
on
a
red
blanket
she
had
spread
over
the
floor
between
the
bunks
and
the
fire
.
On
a
lower
bunk
she
had
laid
out
what
was
to
be
our
meal
:
bread
,
chocolate
,
sardines
,
paximadia
,
oranges
;
and
she
had
even
found
an
old
saucepan
.
"
Kelly
,
I
ordered
you
to
bed
.
"
"
I
suddenly
remembered
I
’
m
meant
to
be
an
air
hostess
.
The
life
and
soul
of
the
crash
.
"
She
took
the
pail
of
water
and
began
to
wash
the
saucepan
out
.
As
she
crouched
,
I
could
see
the
sore
red
spots
on
her
heels
.
"
Do
you
wish
we
hadn
’
t
done
it
?
"
"
No
.
"
She
looked
back
up
at
me
.
"
Just
no
?
"
"
I
’
m
delighted
we
did
it
.
"
Satisfied
,
she
went
back
to
the
saucepan
,
filled
it
with
water
,
began
to
crumble
the
chocolate
.
I
sat
on
the
edge
of
the
bunk
and
took
my
own
shoes
and
socks
off
.
I
wanted
to
be
natural
,
and
I
couldn
’
t
;
and
she
couldn
’
t
.
The
heat
,
the
tiny
room
,
the
two
of
us
,
in
all
that
cold
desolation
.
"
Sorry
I
went
all
womany
.
It
’
ll
never
happen
again
.
"
There
was
a
ghost
of
sarcasm
in
her
voice
,
but
I
couldn
’
t
see
her
face
.
She
had
begun
to
stir
the
chocolate
over
the
stove
.
"
Don
’
t
be
silly
.
"
A
squall
of
wind
battered
against
the
iron
roof
,
and
the
door
groaned
half
open
.
She
said
,
"
Saved
from
the
storm
.
"
I
looked
at
her
from
the
door
,
after
I
had
propped
it
to
with
one
of
the
skis
.
She
was
stirring
the
melting
chocolate
with
a
twig
,
standing
sideways
to
avoid
the
heat
,
watching
me
.
She
pulled
a
flushed
face
,
and
swiveled
her
eyes
round
the
dirty
walls
.
"
Romantic
,
isn
’
t
it
?
"
"
As
long
as
they
keep
the
wind
out
.
"
She
smiled
secretly
at
me
and
looked
down
at
her
saucepan
.
"
Why
do
you
smile
?
"
"
Because
it
is
romantic
.
"
I
sat
down
on
the
bunk
again
.
She
pulled
off
her
jumper
and
shook
her
hair
free
.
I
invoked
the
image
of
Lily
;
but
somehow
it
was
a
situation
that
Lily
could
never
have
got
into
;
so
could
not
be
very
absent
-
present
in
.
I
tried
to
sound
at
ease
.
"
You
look
fine
.
In
your
element
.
"
"
So
I
should
.
I
spend
most
of
my
life
slaving
in
a
four
-
by
-
two
galley
.
"
She
stood
with
one
hand
on
her
hips
;
a
minute
of
silence
;
old
domestic
memories
from
Russell
Square
;
watching
her
cook
.
"
What
was
that
Sartre
play
we
saw
?
"
"
Huis
Clos
.
"
"
This
is
Huis
even
closer
.
"
"
Why
?
"
She
kept
her
back
turned
.
"
Being
tired
always
makes
me
feel
sexy
.
"
I
breathed
in
.
She
said
softly
,
"
One
more
risk
.
"
"
Just
because
the
first
tests
are
negative
,
it
doesn
’
t
meanShe
flashed
a
look
round
,
a
shy
smile
.
"
All
right
.
Only
…
if
you
…
you
know
.
"
I
stared
at
her
.
"
You
’
re
sweet
.
"
"
Not
very
good
at
saying
it
.
"
"
I
’
m
so
absolutely
fucked
up
.
In
all
ways
.
"
She
lifted
a
blackbrown
dob
from
the
saucepan
.
"
I
think
this
delicious
consommé
a
la
reine
is
ready
.
"
She
came
and
bent
beside
me
with
that
peculiar
downwards
look
and
automatic
smile
of
air
hostesses
.
"
Something
to
drink
before
dinner
,
sir
?
"
She
thrust
the
saucepan
under
my
nose
,
mocking
herself
and
my
seriousness
,
and
I
grinned
;
but
she
didn
’
t
grin
back
,
she
gave
me
one
of
her
gentlest
smiles
.
I
took
the
saucepan
.
She
went
to
the
bunks
at
the
far
end
of
the
little
hut
;
began
to
unbutton
her
shirt
.
"
What
are
you
doing
?
"
"
Undressing
.
"
I
looked
away
.
A
few
seconds
later
she
was
standing
by
me
with
one
of
the
blankets
wrapped
sarong
fashion
around
her
;
then
quietly
sat
on
another
folded
blanket
,
on
the
floor
,
a
careful
two
feet
away
from
me
.
As
she
turned
to
reach
for
the
food
behind
her
,
the
blanket
fell
apart
over
her
legs
.
She
readjusted
it
when
she
turned
back
;
but
somewhere
in
the
recesses
of
my
mind
that
little
Priapus
threw
up
his
hands
,
and
that
other
member
of
his
body
,
and
leered
wildly
.
We
ate
.
The
paximadia
,
rusks
fried
in
olive
oil
,
were
as
uninteresting
as
always
,
the
hot
chocolate
watery
and
the
sardines
inappropriate
,
but
we
were
too
hungry
to
care
.
Finally
we
sat
—
I
had
slipped
onto
the
floor
as
well
—
satiated
,
backs
against
the
edge
of
the
bunk
,
adding
more
smoke
to
that
from
the
stove
.
We
were
both
silent
,
both
waiting
.
I
felt
like
a
boy
with
his
first
girl
,
at
the
moment
when
the
thing
has
to
stop
,
or
to
go
on
to
the
end
.
Frightened
to
make
any
move
.
Her
bare
shoulders
were
small
,
round
,
delicate
.
The
end
of
the
blanket
she
had
tucked
in
under
her
armpit
had
become
loose
.
I
could
see
the
top
of
her
breasts
.
The
silence
grew
acutely
embarrassing
,
at
least
to
me
;
a
sort
of
endurance
test
,
to
see
which
of
us
would
have
to
break
it
first
.
Her
hand
lay
on
the
blanket
between
us
,
for
me
to
reach
out
and
touch
.
I
began
to
feel
that
she
had
exploited
the
whole
situation
,
engineered
everything
to
place
me
in
this
predicament
:
this
silence
in
which
it
was
only
too
clear
that
she
was
in
command
,
not
myself
;
only
too
clear
that
I
wanted
her
—
not
Alison
in
particular
,
hut
the
girl
she
was
,
any
girl
who
might
have
been
beside
me
at
that
moment
.
In
the
end
I
threw
my
cigarette
into
the
stove
and
lay
back
against
the
bunk
and
shut
my
eyes
,
as
if
I
was
very
tired
,
as
if
sleep
was
all
I
wanted
—
as
indeed
,
bar
Alison
,
it
was
.
Suddenly
she
moved
.
I
opened
my
eyes
.
She
was
naked
beside
me
,
the
blanket
thrown
back
.
"
Alison
.
No
.
"
But
she
knelt
and
began
to
undress
me
.
"
Poor
little
boy
.
"
She
straddled
my
legs
and
unbuttoned
my
shirt
,
pulled
it
out
.
I
shut
my
eyes
and
let
her
make
me
barechested
.
"
It
’
s
so
unfair
.
"
"
You
’
re
so
brown
.
"
She
ran
her
hands
up
the
side
of
my
body
,
my
shoulders
,
my
neck
,
my
lips
;
playing
with
me
,
examining
me
,
like
a
child
with
a
new
toy
.
She
knelt
and
kissed
the
side
of
my
neck
and
the
ends
of
her
breasts
brushed
my
skin
.
I
said
,
"
I
’
d
never
forgive
myself
if
…
"
"
Don
’
t
talk
.
Just
lie
still
.
"
She
undressed
me
completely
,
then
led
my
hands
all
over
her
body
,
to
know
it
all
again
,
soft
skin
,
small
curves
,
slimness
,
her
always
natural
nakedness
.
Her
hands
.
As
she
caressed
me
,
I
thought
,
it
’
s
like
being
with
a
prostitute
,
hands
as
adept
as
a
prostitute
’
s
,
nothing
but
a
matter
of
pleasure
…
and
I
gave
way
to
the
pleasure
she
gave
me
.
After
a
while
she
lay
on
top
of
me
,
her
head
on
my
chest
.
A
long
silence
.
The
fire
crackled
,
burnt
our
legs
a
little
.
I
stroked
her
back
,
her
hair
,
her
small
neck
,
surrendered
to
the
nerve
-
ends
in
my
flesh
.
I
imagined
lying
in
the
same
position
with
Lily
,
and
I
thought
I
knew
it
would
be
infinitely
disturbing
and
infinitely
more
passionate
;
not
familiar
,
not
aching
with
fatigue
,
hot
,
a
bit
sweaty
…
some
cheapened
word
like
randy
;
but
white
-
hot
,
mysterious
,
overwhelming
passion
.
Alison
murmured
,
shifted
,
bit
me
,
swayed
over
me
in
a
caress
she
called
the
pasha
caress
,
that
she
knew
I
liked
,
all
men
liked
;
my
mistress
and
my
slave
.
I
remember
our
dropping
into
the
bunk
,
a
coarse
straw
mattress
,
the
harsh
blankets
,
holding
me
a
moment
,
kissing
me
once
on
the
mouth
before
I
could
pull
away
,
then
turning
her
back
;
my
hand
on
the
wet
breasts
,
and
her
hand
holding
it
there
,
the
small
smooth
belly
,
the
faint
washed
and
rainwashed
smell
of
her
hair
;
and
then
,
in
seconds
,
too
soon
to
analyze
anything
,
sleep
.
I
woke
up
sometime
in
the
night
,
and
went
and
drank
some
water
from
the
pail
.
Small
pencils
of
late
-
risen
moon
came
through
the
old
bullet
holes
.
I
went
back
and
leant
over
Alison
.
She
had
thrown
back
the
blanket
a
little
and
her
skin
was
a
deep
shadowed
red
in
the
ember
light
;
one
breast
bare
and
slightly
slumped
,
her
mouth
half
open
,
a
slight
snore
.
Young
and
ancient
;
innocent
and
corrupt
;
in
every
woman
,
a
mystery
The
wave
of
affection
and
tenderness
I
felt
made
me
determine
,
with
that
sort
of
revelationary
shock
ideas
about
courses
of
action
sometimes
have
when
one
wakes
up
drugged
with
sleep
,
that
tomorrow
I
must
tell
her
the
truth
;
and
not
as
a
confession
,
but
as
a
means
of
letting
her
see
the
truth
,
that
my
real
disease
was
not
something
curable
like
syphilis
,
but
far
more
banal
and
far
more
terrible
,
a
congenital
promiscuity
.
I
stood
over
her
,
almost
touching
her
,
almost
tearing
the
blanket
back
and
sinking
on
her
,
entering
her
,
making
love
to
her
as
she
wanted
me
to
;
but
not
.
I
gently
covered
the
bare
breast
,
then
picked
up
some
blankets
and
went
to
the
next
bunk
.
We
were
woken
by
someone
knocking
on
the
door
,
then
half
opening
it
.
Sunlight
slashed
through
.
He
withdrew
when
he
saw
we
were
still
in
the
bunks
.
I
looked
at
my
watch
.
It
was
ten
o
’
clock
.
I
pulled
on
my
clothes
and
went
out
.
A
shepherd
.
Somewhere
in
the
distance
I
could
hear
the
bells
of
his
flock
.
He
struck
back
with
his
crook
the
two
enormous
dogs
that
bared
their
teeth
at
me
and
produced
from
the
pockets
of
his
greatcoat
a
cheese
wrapped
in
sorrel
leaves
,
which
he
had
brought
for
our
breakfast
.
After
a
few
minutes
Alison
came
out
,
tucking
her
shirt
into
her
jeans
and
screwing
up
her
eyes
against
the
sun
.
We
shared
what
was
left
of
the
rusks
and
the
oranges
with
the
shepherd
;
used
up
the
last
of
the
film
.
I
was
glad
he
was
there
.
I
could
see
,
as
clear
as
printed
words
in
Alison
’
s
eyes
,
that
she
thought
we
had
crossed
back
into
the
old
relationship
.
At
the
same
time
she
left
it
to
me
to
make
the
next
move
.
She
had
broken
the
ice
;
but
it
was
for
me
to
jump
into
the
water
.
The
shepherd
stood
up
,
shook
hands
and
strode
off
with
his
two
savage
dogs
and
left
us
alone
.
Alison
stretched
back
in
the
sun
across
the
great
slab
of
rock
we
had
used
as
a
table
.
It
was
a
much
less
windy
day
,
April
-
warm
,
a
dazzling
blue
sky
.
The
sheep
bells
sounded
in
the
distance
and
some
bird
like
a
lark
sang
high
up
the
slope
above
us
.
"
I
wish
we
could
stay
here
forever
.
"
"
I
’
ve
got
to
get
the
car
back
by
tomorrow
morning
.
"
"
Just
wishing
.
"
She
looked
at
me
.
"
Come
and
sit
here
.
"
She
patted
the
rock
by
her
side
.
Her
gray
eyes
stared
up
at
me
,
at
their
most
candid
.
