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✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲
On the shore stood a small pier, where perhaps a dozen wooden boats were moored to sturdy wooden posts. When we reached one of them—which hardly resembled a simple rowboat and was more like a modest-sized wooden launch—Tobias set his bags down on the planks of the dock, fastened them together into a single pack just as he had done on the day he helped me escape his unit, and began to undress.
At first, I assumed the poor man had become so overheated that he simply wanted to take a swim.
I immediately regretted that assumption when he stripped completely naked.
Flustered, I turned away at once.
"What is it, Elizabeth?" Tobias asked unexpectedly, while I fixed my gaze on the cloudless sky to avoid looking at the spectacle before me. "Have you never seen a naked man before?"
"So... we're sailing?" I asked instead of answering him, though I couldn't help casting a curious glance over my shoulder at his well-shaped backside as he turned away from me.
I bit my lower lip.
He crouched beside his pack and pulled out a change of clothes. Standing up again, he first slipped into a white button-up shirt, leaving it unfastened. Then he put on his undergarments, followed by loose black trousers made of what looked like lightweight fabric.
Finally, he extended his hand toward me and nodded toward the wooden boat.
Holding onto his hand, I climbed aboard. He followed after me.
I settled onto a bench fastened along the side of the vessel and watched him. He now stood at the helm, a map spread open in his hands, his face marked by complete concentration.
"So where exactly are we?" I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us—a silence that, for once, did not feel uncomfortable.
"The Gulf of Tabarka," he replied, glancing briefly in my direction before returning his attention to the map.
"And where are we sailing?"
"First, we'll reach a small island called Palma," Tobias answered. Folding the map, he handed it to me before starting the engine. The boat eased smoothly away from the dock.
Oddly enough, I hadn't noticed when he'd untied the rope from the post.
Perhaps he'd done it while he was undressing and I had turned away in embarrassment.
"From there, a cargo ship is leaving for Spain."
"So we're going to Spain?" I asked to make sure.
"It's November 1944," Tobias began, gripping the wheel firmly. He seemed to know these waters by heart.
It struck me as strange that a soldier from the ground forces could handle a boat with such confidence. Even with the moderate swell, he guided the wooden vessel effortlessly through the waves.
