Fan Fiction
The island at noon
The first time he saw the island, Marini was courteously leaning down toward the seat on his left, setting down the plastic table and putting up the lunch tray. As he walked back and forth with his magazine or his whiskey glass, the female passenger looked at him several times; Malini unhurriedly adjusted the table, bored, wondering if it was necessary to respond to the persistent gaze of the female passenger - an American woman, one of many American female passengers. Just then, the blue oval of the porthole window showed the coast of the island, with its beaches like golden ribbons and a small hill clustered around a central wilderness. Marini smiled at the female passenger as she righted her tilted beer glass. "A Greek island." He said. "Oh, yes, Greece." The American woman replied, feigning interest. The bell rang and the steward straightened up, a professional smile still lingering on his thin lips. He went to fetch tomato juice for a Syrian couple, but paused for a few seconds to look down when he reached the rear of the cabin: the island was small, isolated in the sea, with the azure Aegean encircling it, framing it with a dazzling frozen white edge that should have been the waves splashing between the reef and the bay. Marini watched the desolate beach stretching north and west, the rest of it a mountainous ridge that tapered into the sea. A rock-strewn deserted island, though the leaden gray speck near the northern beach could have been a home, perhaps a cluster of primitive houses. He opened his can of juice, and by the time he straightened up the island had disappeared through the porthole, leaving only the sea, a sprawling green horizon. He subconsciously glanced at his watch: it was just about noon.
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