MARRIED AGAIN. The circumstances behind the marriage unclear, the back story, the underpinnings, if you will. An old schoolmate, in whom I had limited to no interest in real life, but this is not real life. A big Boston Brahmin wedding on Beacon Hill, with white dresses and limousines, followed by the departure for the honeymoon in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She suggests going via Long Island to visit our parents, who somehow were not invited and were unaware of the joining. The quickest way is the Georges Bank Tunnel, which connects Boston with Cape Cod and the islands, running out through the harbor, hitting all the smaller shoals, Gallops Island, Lovells Island, Great Brewster, Middle Brewster, Outer Brewster, then far out with the currents to Georges Bank, the historic fishing grounds of the mustachioed fishermen Basques and Portuguese in their seawater-slickened oilskins, then back around to Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard, off past Naushon, Nashawena, and Cuttyhunk. The tunnel was constructed from sand-colored bricks, obviously during a public works program in the 1930s. One floated via the tunnel, which was half-inundated with water that carried a traveler from stop to stop. Somewhere in that area we came upon an island that was still under attack from the Germans, so many decades on. Several young women had been raped and murdered, and their bodies had been dragged before a gray house in the New England saltbox style, where flies buzzed about their puncture wounds. It was then decided to evacuate all of the survivors from the island. The Germans were still out prowling and patrolling the island, growling in their guttural tongue, mach schnell, arbeit macht frei! By nightfall, it was clear these sons of the Führer would be back.