The water was choppy around the Point and I was filled with a mixture of terror and exultation when I considered that not far from here were the high seas in whose tumultous bowels lay the bones of the dead and the timbers of shattered ships. The fog was a little lighter. Far away were dimly visible a bunch of lights and I knew that it was the steamer to New York proceeding to the Cape Cod Canal. What worlds there were on this side of Chichester! On the bay side, there was Boston, single and supreme. But here: the furious cemetery, over the residents of which one plowed in a massive ship to Europe; the fabulous New York; and to the west of New York, that variegated land so tediously described in the geography books. I supposed that bizarre as its name was, even Nebraska was real. The feeling and the taste of the spray were unaccountably thrilling, and I, forgetting the absurdity of our errand, wished that we might all night long cut through the water, our motor as loud as gunshot in our ears, and all about us the danger of death. And I knew then why Mr. Henderson had been so amenable to his wife’s suggestion: he, I was sure, enjoyed the outing as much as I.

Suspended in my excitement so that for that brief time my life was one dimensional, I could not tell how long it was before Mr. Henderson cried at the top of his voice, “Now, girl, it’s time to turn back!” Then I wished my brother’s body were in the boat. Here, out at sea, I would push it into the water and the waves would move him miles away. The putrid smell, in its thick envelope of formaldehyde, which I had detected in the mortuary, returned to me and I retched as I did whenever I smelled ether. I would rather have Ivan in this vast natural grave than in the unmarked, communal earth where lay the unclaimed bodies washed upon the beaches.

I bent my head in my hands and cried because the child was dead, and I did not look up again until I knew we were going through the narrow shoals at the Point. I could see the sharp, glistening rocks and could hear the gulping of the water against their base. Since I could remember, I had been afraid of this place, for here, in a storm, a fisherman’s dory had been dashed against the crags and his two children’s bodies had never been found. We entered the dense fog again and made for the wharf. As he shut the motor off, Mr. Henderson said, “Well, Sonie, well, you had your ride.”

I said, “Mr. Henderson, I am very grateful. I hope you don’t think I’m crazy.”

“You? No, I don’t think you’re crazy, Sonie.” He was searching for something in the bottom of the boat. “Look out you don’t lose your way in the fog.”