The Whiteness Of The Whale: A Novel - Plot & Excerpts
In all that time the seas rolled huge and empty under chasing clouds that only occasionally parted for a low sun the ominous reddish black of a rotting tomato. Each sea built off Anemone’s quarter, loomed, then burst against her side, seething the smooth composite with harshly hissing foam. Sara’s mind wandered, but her attention did not slip from the one hundred to four hundred yards in front of the dipping, tossing prow. Then something seized her thigh and she flinched, only belatedly recalling she had a body that was not the boat’s, tendons other than shrouds, a consciousness not bounded by a saw-toothed horizon. It was Perrault. He clambered up to relieve her, their bodies twisting around each other like in an interpretive dance, or a party game designed to be played drunk. When she climbed down she staggered. Fell to her knees. Then groped erect again, and felt her way to her bunk. * * * “Breakfast,” Eddi sang. Sara woke from a sleep akin to death. Found herself shuddering, bare of blankets.
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