Harald was having trouble packing. The little canvas suitcase lay on the bed, its asthmatic mouth gaping open as if no amount of air could satisfy its need, as if its windpipe were swollen shut and only the sucking force of its overworked lungs could pull enough air past its unhinged jaws to keep it alive. Harald had already rolled a small blanket into a neat bedroll and placed it in the suitcase. He had also rolled into a tight pack a small quilt that lay at the foot of the bed for ornamentation and placed it next to the blanket. Something made him uncomfortable. He stopped. He felt as if he were throttling the suitcase, as if he were stuffing it with rich food when it was having trouble breathing, as if it might gag at any moment.

“Nancy, I’m done with the shirts. Where did you put my slacks?” he called out to the empty space beyond the bedroom door. “And where’s that bottle of Chivas? I want to bring it.”

Through the bathroom window Harald heard the low boom of the cruise ship’s horn in the distance. “Nancy, where’s that bottle of Chivas?” he called again. Harald considered looking in the bathroom, but his stubborn feet refused to cooperate. Each foot expected the other to begin. Then they both tried to go first. Then they deferred to each other with an overly polite series of “No, you first”’s. Harald tried to get his knees to force the issue. Sometimes that worked, but this time neither one seemed to understand what he was talking about. Instead his toes curled up and clawed the wood floor. Finally he pitched his upper body forward at a dangerous angle, an angle that suggested “fractured hip” without really saying it in so many words. His feet responded with tiny stutter steps that felt like butterflies flapping at his ankles. The stutter steps expanded into a shuffle and then a trudge.

Parker Brothers, he thought. No, that’s not it.

As he plodded across the floor the bathroom came into view. He stood before the bathroom door and looked in at his huge mahogany bar filled with liquor. He’d forgotten about that bar. The shine on the wood grinned at him. The bottles of hard liquor jostled each other almost imperceptibly to the eye, but they made a calm ringing sound of glass kissing glass, as if he were already at sea, the ship rolling gently on the swells. He glanced across the upper row at the Tequilas in gold, blue and corn colored bottles.