In early July, Elizabeth’s father started building a boat. As he was chopping wood, she was going into the trees to look for birds. Elizabeth loved the birds at Aegina. They were jewel-colored birds with wide plumage and curious black eyes, and they let her come close to them. She took off her shoes and moved carefully across stone and underbrush. She kept her colored pencils in the back pocket of her pants instead of in the pencil box her father had given her for them. This way, they did not rattle.

 

Her sketchbook was not perfect, but still surprisingly good and detailed for a ten year old. Each drawing had her mother’s handwriting below it, labeling the birds with their latin names, which Elizabeth laboriously hunted for in her bird encyclopedia. On the inside cover of the sketchbook, her mother had written “Elizabeth’s Birdcage”. The sketchbook was called this because she always and only drew birds. Her mother said they were something ephemeral, so it was good to keep them there. 

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When Elizabeth’s small leather watch said Seven, she came back for dinner and saw the blocks of wood in front of the house. 

 

Her mother had set the table nicely for dinner. A big whitefish from the fishmongers lay in a blue ceramic dish. 

 

“Did you see what I’m doing outside?” her father said as soon as they sat down. 

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“What?” 

 

“I’m building a boat.” 

 

Neither Elizabeth or her mother spoke. 

 

“I want to take us, all of us, on a trip around the world.”

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Not even silverware was clanking. 

 

“What about Mama’s work here?”

 

“She’s nearly done with her work, and so am I.” 

 

“I thought we were supposed to stay here until Winter!” A sudden panic hit her when she thought about leaving Aegina too soon. She loved it there more than she had ever loved another place. 

 

“We have to go back to Princeton in Winter. But we don’t have to be anywhere until then.” 

 

“But where will we go?” 

 

Her father was now eating his food in large mouthfuls. When he spoke there was shiny fish mashed on his tongue. 

 

“Wherever you want to go. Every place on your bookshelf, I can sail us there. Egypt is close.” 

 

She did love reading about places, but now the thought of traveling to them seemed repellent. 

 

“Wouldn’t you like to see the Sphynx?” he said, “and go dancing in Spain, have a big bowl of spaghetti in Italy?” 

 

“Yes,” she said. 

 

“Then why shouldn’t we do the things we want to do?” 

 

That night, Elizabeth got dressed for bed and walked to her small bookshelf, taking down the one on Egypt and bringing it to her desk. The book was one of her favorites because it had thick, glossy pages. As she turned them tenderly, each page flip was accompanied by a rhythmic

 

thumping. She closed the book and the thumping continued. When she looked at the window, there was nothing to see but her own reflection. She reached out her hand and, groping, pulled the ball chain to turn of the lamp. 

 

A large man was cut from the night, standing not far from her window. He raised his arms up, their length extended by the length of an ax, which he swung down with another thump. It was her father; of course it was. 

 

Elizabeth turned the light back on and her own face, pink and shadowy, appeared again. The lamp stayed on as she went into bed, and from her pillow she could look at the window and only see the walls of her own room. 

 

By morning there were stilts standing upright in the yard, and a sufficient stack of wood. Elizabeth’s father was not there. When she went to breakfast, he was not there either. Her mother had set out a meal and was sitting on the couch, working on her translations. By the time Elizabeth was ready to walk to school, her mother had fallen asleep, so Elizabeth walked herself to school. She went carefully, trying not to unsettle any of the white dust of the road. She was wearing black shoes that day. 

 

During class she took no notes, but drew birds under her writing from the day before. Without references to look at, her birds became sprawling things, their wings jutting at broken angles, their eyes crazed, their plumage absurd and abstract. When the bell rang, she lifted her pen and realized that they had consumed the entire page. 

 

She walked home slowly, and found her mother waiting in the door, coiled in a scarf.

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“You’re late!” she said and led Elizabeth inside. There was more pounding outside. As she was whisked away to her mother’s office, she saw out the window that boards were now being stretched into arcs inside the framework. She felt almost proud of her father for doing what he wanted, crazy as it was. 

 

She and her mother did their work together in the office. She was a watchful woman, and Elizabeth could feel her glances. 

 

After two hours, her mother left to cook dinner, and Elizabeth began drawing birds again. The smell of fish entered the room, strong enough to feel like another presence. The brine hurt her head, made her nauseous. She pulled the neck of her shirt over her nose, and the air there was whole and warm. 

 

At dinner, her father talked about the wonders they would find at sea. He told the story of Scyla, who Elizabeth had seen on some of the pages of his books. Scyla was on armor, to scare men away. She had heavy-lidded almond eyes and stuck her tongue out to the chin. Dogs with sharp teeth leapt from her waist. She had to read the material, the date of manufacture, the site it was found at, to flatten it back into the page. 

 

But her father kept making things stand up, his words drawing the flat things of books, stories, maps, into real waves thrashing, cold air, scorched skin, salt-water shooting up noses. Monsters stood up at the command of his voice, cyclopses and sirens. 

 

“The ocean is more beautiful than the land, though of course we’ll have to stop there for food,” he was saying, “but just think about it, the three of us, and blue, nothing but black-blue all around us.” He threw out an arm in excitement, knocking over his glass. Red wine purpled the white cotton tablecloth.

 

“It should be done in a week,” he said while his wife ran to the kitchen and came back, blotting the space in front of him with a paper towel. “Though of course I’ll need one extra day to paint it.” 

 

Elizabeth’s mother continued to send her to school. A rule was made that she was not allowed to play outside anymore. Her father came in only for dinner, to knock over more glasses and speak increasingly more to himself than anyone else. 

 

The boat was half-painted whenElizabeth heard her mother’s voice outside. She got out of bed and snuck over to the window, opening it a crack and turning out the light to not be seen. “You’re unstable, Kirk. Your boat’s unstable.” 

 

“You don't understand,” her father’s voice sounded ragged. “I have to do this. We have to do this.” 

 

The air coming through the crack was cold. Her father did most of the talking, saying things he had said before. She closed the window, and, too scared of being caught, left the light off and went back to bed. 

 

Her sleep was shallow and she was awoken from it by the sheets being lifted from her body. 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just me,” her mother whispered. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?” 

 

Through her sleep, Elizabeth felt her mother’s body against her own. But when she woke up, she was alone again.

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Her mother slept in her bed the next night, too, and she was awoken again. This time a hand was around her ankle. 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just me,” her father whispered. He was crouched down at the foot of the bed. 

 

“Come here,” he whispered, and she sat up, leaned over and saw his white face turned up and his eyes like holes in his head. 

 

“Come watch the sunrise with me.” He picked her up by the armpits and carried her, as though she was much younger. It was only a short walk to the beach. The boat was in the shallows, still untouched by the rising sunlight. 

 

Her father’s legs splashed. Sleep was leaving her body. She now saw what was happening, and began clawing, kicking against her father’s body. 

 

“Bring me back!” She bit his shoulder. 

 

“Now, now,” he said. “I packed your favorite cookies, the one shaped like leaves.” 

“Bring me back!” 

 

“No reason to fuss.” 

 

She was in the boat, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist. His body was rocking back and forth as he paddled with one arm. Elizabeth screamed and screamed, pausing only to inhale raggedly. 

 

The rosy dawn was rising. The trees were rustled by a soft breeze and the birds were beginning to chirp in their nests. The house shone with light as a little peg-woman ran out the door. She screamed for her daughter but her voice was only an echo. Its sound roused the singing birds, and they exploded from the top of the island in a burst.