CHAPTER 8
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LUCIA:
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THE TRANSATLANTIC CROSSING was uneventful, the weightless tedium of the ship’s routine and limited social rounds (like those back home, but smaller) was initially soothing in its novelty. After a time, however, it began to feel more and more claustrophobic, driving one or both of us almost to want to plunge into the Atlantic and swim back home. Even the pitch and roll of the ship through a spell of rough weather, sending the other passengers lurching and scattering from the deck and public quarters back to their cabins, was insufficient to excite any sort of relief.
I did not mind our confinement quite so much as Charley did, I thought. I accepted that a fixed number of days were to pass before we were to return home. It was simply a matter of patien
