Letters to Domai
I had just finished high school back in the sixties when my uncle invited me and my folks to spend some weeks sailing with him. What I remember most from that summer was the evenings when everyone else had gone below deck and he told, in hushed tones, stories from his youth. He had quite an imagination, so there's no way to be sure these anecdotes really happened, but there was something in the way he looked around before pulling a cigar from an inside pocket that made me believe he was sharing a long-treasured secret.
I discovered my journal from that summer recently, and here is one of his tales in (more or less) his words...
One never knows when or where life will surprise you with something beautiful and wonderful.
I had just come off a long, sweaty shift in rural France, driving an ambulance I called "Old Betsy", and was filling her with gas, when a peasant girl appeared and sat down in the seat. I didn't speak any French, nor she any English, but it was clear in a short time that she was asking me to give her a ride. I was twenty, and she looked about my age, wearing the simple skirt and blouse most of the girls wore. Her long, wavy red hair fell loosely about her shoulders. We weren't really supposed to take passengers, but her smile and simple innocence made me think it would be all right. I got my buddy to cover for me, and off we went.
By pointing and waving, the young lady was able to direct me over the four or five miles of dirt roads, until what road we had just ended at a woods.
The girl flashed me a smile, jumped out and ran into the woods while I scratched my head, wondering what to do. I couldn't just leave without knowing what this was all about. I followed her path the best I could, until I came to a small clearing. There I saw the skirt and blouse, neatly folded on a rock. I heard splashing, and the girl's voice coming from a small, stream-fed pool. The water wasn't deep, so when she stood, I could see everything.
I had never beheld such beautiful innocence before that day. She waved and called, and I joined her in the water. The cold water startled me at first, as did her taut, dark nipples on pert little breasts. I watched her unusual manner of swimming, undulating her body with feet together, as a mermaid might swim.
The long, hot day was completely forgotten, washed away by the cold water and her entrancing beauty. After what seemed a few minutes (probably an hour or more), we dressed and I drove us back to the depot. The girl gave me a peck on the cheek, smiled, hopped out and quickly disappeared.
I never stopped looking for her to suddenly appear as long as I was in France, and being near the water never fails to bring back the memory of that day.