then I thrus myself head

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ut what we imag-
ined was going on: what was out therewho we werewho
they were.
In these tales of adventureloveand mysery there was no
Once upon
a time. Our language had no tenses. My sories were perhaps no more
than a rendition of what took place.
In the las of themBijou and I make ready for what four decades
later will be called Extravehicular Acivity. The pressure’s on. We know
it’s riskythis shift from one world to another; we’re edgy but eager.
27
The Last Voyage of Somebody the Sailor
A comradely las hug; then I thrus myself head?rs into the Passage.
My faithful friend and audience is right behind me. See you there
Bijou seizing the
opportunity to speak[link widoczny dla zalogowanych] Someone is here to see you! Two. One.
He awoke in the srange though familiar bedroom of his older brother
Joseph “Joe Junior” Behlerin the family house in Eas DorsetMaryland.
Sunday morningJuly 11937: Simon W. Behler’s seventh birthday.
Bijou’stoo.
“Familiar” because our parents had lived in that house since before
we were born; “srange” because the night jus pas was the ?rs I had
slept in my brother’s room. Today they would bring Mother home:
my birthday presentAunt Rachel said. (Bijou’stoo.) But she was
sill too sick to sleep in her and Dad’s roomand so