“And then?” asked Martin.
“And then a film come over that fella’s left eye and dropped down like our shipmate’s—and sure enough, there was Philadelphia Dick, hatin’ our guts, but tickled; and with all of us lookin’ on and wonderin’, he winked at us again and sounded, with his arm under Maud’s belly.”
Rio cleared his throat and looked out at the water. For a few minutes, the two men remained quiet until Rio, glancing at Martin, saw that his friend was hunched forward, his head down, still staring at the grass, and that his eyes were wet.
“For God’s sake, Martin,” he said.
Martin put his hand under his chin and regarded the other with a look so brief and yet so haunting that Rio held his tongue.
A Green Circle ship was leaving the harbor. The word NOMAD was painted on her bow.
“I made a trip on her one time,” said Rio, pointing, and changing the subject deliberately. “Old Hungry was the steward. God! What food!”
Martin straightened up and leaned back against the hard, wooden bench.
“I never saw you when you couldn’t eat,” he said, smiling a little.