small knot of muscle growing harder at his neck. His back felt tight and powerful. Even his knees no longer protested at the ache. He checked the size of his biceps against the black armband that he wore.
The old Lithuanian allowed him a stint at the rear of the kayak, where most of the movement was controlled, and he made deliberate mistakes so the boy would correct them. The boat went sideways right and he pulled harder left. The old man leaned over so the boy would learn how to use the paddle to steady the boat. Out beyond the harbor, they went sideways into a series of low waves from a passing speedboat and for a moment they surfed along a rush of water until hit by another wave and the boat felt as if it would overturn, but the boy turned the boat bow first into the waves and the Lithuanian nodded his approval.
The boy sensed he had achieved a rhythm with the old man, that there was some invisible axle that joined them, making their arms rotate at the same time; they were part of the same machinery, and together they were distancing themselves from all other machines. He thought of cogs clicking into the handiwork of the sea, meeting at the right moment, noiselessly. They worked in unison and their paddles didn’t clash in the air and it struck the boy that the air between them was charged with mystery.
Far out, they turned, found shelter in a cove where seals barked on the rocks, and stopped paddling and let the boat drift. The water lapped gently against the side of the boat and the seals barked farther down the shore.
The old man smoked and when the cigarette was finished the boy secretly picked the butt out of the water and put it in his pocket to dry out. He let his paddle float and put his arms behind his head and wondered aloud about what sort of power it might take to club a seal to death.
There’s not much worth dying for, said the old man.
What?
Especially if you’re a seal, he chuckled.
But the boy thought he was talking of something beyond seals, and all of a sudden he felt an anger and he said bitterly: Why did you come here?
Oh, I really don’t think about these things anymore.
Why not?
Because it’s easier not to.
I’d love to club a seal to death, said the boy.
The sun shone down a hard yellow and wheels of light worked on the water’s edge. The boy’s paddle struck the water and moved the boat forward slightly. The old man accepted the anger and leaned into the toil of paddling out of the cove. The wind was at their backs and the boat moved quickly. They brought it parallel to the headland and then swung with ease into the harbor, both the boy and the man silent.
When they got to the pier the boy spat in the water and then put his finger to his nose and let out a stream of snot. The old man gave a small chuckle.
At the pierside the old woman asked them if they were all right. They each nodded and she laughed, distilling the tension. She had brought them lettuce and tomato sandwiches and she brandished them in the air, a grin on her face.
When they sat at the edge of the pier she put her arm around the boy’s shoulder and said she was glad that her husband had a partner to take to the water with.
He’s got a new happiness, said the woman.
The boy looked at her from under a stray lock of hair.
We never had any children, she said.
The old man coughed and gave her a hard look but she just smiled back.
You look tanned, she said to the boy, and he touched his face as if it didn’t belong to him.
He was taken to the house and was surprised by their poverty. She wore a pale housedress and her slippers were made from worn carpet. A ratty sofa had stuffing peeping out. The tasseled runner on a piano was frayed. An empty birdcage hung from the ceiling and the slatted light from the torn window blinds showed the walls in need of paint.
The woman heated a bowl of strange-tasting soup, and when she handed him the cup, he noticed a milky foulness to her breath. She gave him a round
The old Lithuanian allowed him a stint at the rear of the kayak, where most of the movement was controlled, and he made deliberate mistakes so the boy would correct them. The boat went sideways right and he pulled harder left. The old man leaned over so the boy would learn how to use the paddle to steady the boat. Out beyond the harbor, they went sideways into a series of low waves from a passing speedboat and for a moment they surfed along a rush of water until hit by another wave and the boat felt as if it would overturn, but the boy turned the boat bow first into the waves and the Lithuanian nodded his approval.
The boy sensed he had achieved a rhythm with the old man, that there was some invisible axle that joined them, making their arms rotate at the same time; they were part of the same machinery, and together they were distancing themselves from all other machines. He thought of cogs clicking into the handiwork of the sea, meeting at the right moment, noiselessly. They worked in unison and their paddles didn’t clash in the air and it struck the boy that the air between them was charged with mystery.
Far out, they turned, found shelter in a cove where seals barked on the rocks, and stopped paddling and let the boat drift. The water lapped gently against the side of the boat and the seals barked farther down the shore.
The old man smoked and when the cigarette was finished the boy secretly picked the butt out of the water and put it in his pocket to dry out. He let his paddle float and put his arms behind his head and wondered aloud about what sort of power it might take to club a seal to death.
There’s not much worth dying for, said the old man.
What?
Especially if you’re a seal, he chuckled.
But the boy thought he was talking of something beyond seals, and all of a sudden he felt an anger and he said bitterly: Why did you come here?
Oh, I really don’t think about these things anymore.
Why not?
Because it’s easier not to.
I’d love to club a seal to death, said the boy.
The sun shone down a hard yellow and wheels of light worked on the water’s edge. The boy’s paddle struck the water and moved the boat forward slightly. The old man accepted the anger and leaned into the toil of paddling out of the cove. The wind was at their backs and the boat moved quickly. They brought it parallel to the headland and then swung with ease into the harbor, both the boy and the man silent.
When they got to the pier the boy spat in the water and then put his finger to his nose and let out a stream of snot. The old man gave a small chuckle.
At the pierside the old woman asked them if they were all right. They each nodded and she laughed, distilling the tension. She had brought them lettuce and tomato sandwiches and she brandished them in the air, a grin on her face.
When they sat at the edge of the pier she put her arm around the boy’s shoulder and said she was glad that her husband had a partner to take to the water with.
He’s got a new happiness, said the woman.
The boy looked at her from under a stray lock of hair.
We never had any children, she said.
The old man coughed and gave her a hard look but she just smiled back.
You look tanned, she said to the boy, and he touched his face as if it didn’t belong to him.
He was taken to the house and was surprised by their poverty. She wore a pale housedress and her slippers were made from worn carpet. A ratty sofa had stuffing peeping out. The tasseled runner on a piano was frayed. An empty birdcage hung from the ceiling and the slatted light from the torn window blinds showed the walls in need of paint.
The woman heated a bowl of strange-tasting soup, and when she handed him the cup, he noticed a milky foulness to her breath. She gave him a round
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