"Smith-SlowboatMan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Adam)

leaving him had caused.

But now he was dying and now I also had to move on, change cities and friends
again. I had always felt regret with each move, yet the regret was controlled by
the certainty that the decision was the only right one, that I would make new
friends, find new lovers. But this time it was harder. Much harder.

I sat lightly on the side of his bed and he stirred, moaning softly. I again
brushed his forehead, easing his pain, giving him a fuller rest, a more peaceful
rest. It was the least I could do for him. He deserved so much more.

This time he moaned with contentment and that moan took me hack to those lovely
nights on the Joe Henry, slowly making our way down the river, nestled in each
other's arms. We made love three, sometimes four times a day and spent the rest
of the time talking and laughing and just being with each other, as if every
moment was the most precious moment we had.

During those wonderful talks I had wanted to tell him of my true nature, but
didn't. The very desire to tell him surprised me. In all the years it had not
happened before. So I only told him of the twenty years in St. Louis, letting
him think that was where I had been raised. As our years together went by that
lie became as truth between us and he never questioned me on it.

He was born in San Francisco and wanted to return there where his family had
property and some wealth. I told him I was alone in the world, as was the true
case, just drifting and looking for a new home. He seemed to admire that about
me. But he also knew I was free to move where he wanted.

I had so wanted him to know that.

The day before we were to dock in Vicksburg I mentioned to him that I wished the
boat would slow down so that our time together would last. The days and nights
since I met him had been truly magical, and in my life that was a very rare
occurrence.

He had again laughed at my thought, but in a good way. Then he hugged me. "We
will be together for a long time," he had said, "but I will return in a moment."

With that he had dressed and abruptly left the cabin, leaving me surrounded by
his things and his wonderful life-odor. After a short time he returned, smiling,
standing over me, casting his shadow across my naked form. "Your wish is
granted," he had said. "The boat has slowed."

I didn't know how he had managed it, and never really asked what it had cost
him. But somehow he had managed to delay the boat into Vicksburg by an extra
day. A long wonderful extra day that turned into a wonderful marriage.

From that day forward I called him my Slowboat Man and he never seemed to tire
of it.