Vol. II. Issue. III September 2011 - The Criterion: An International ...

www.the-criterion.com The Criterion: An International Journal in English ISSN 0976-8165
Outside the day was brilliant, casting deep slices of shadow on Thunder Mountain and making
the aluminum Lund skiffs sitting in driveways difficult to miss. Every one of them, flashing
under the light of noon, made him think of the fiberglass boat and made him drive the knife
deeper, but something else was stirring in his mind the longer he looked at them. Jonathan began
trembling uncontrollably, imagining the waves beating against the hulls of the skiffs sitting
quietly in front of him. Suddenly he lost his nerve as the thought hit him: What if the boat passed
by that peninsula every day? What if he could reach it, instead of vice versa? There still might be
a chance. Everything else followed a routine--why not the boat? The knife dropped from his
hand and clattered on the porch. The realization shook him, especially in light of what he had
almost done. If he still had a chance, he’d almost lost it.
Hope flared anew, but he had to hurry. Something told him that if he had broken routine, the boat
might soon break it as well. Perhaps it already had, but the dream still came to him every night
since that day at the beach--he couldn’t let himself believe it was gone forever after such a
realization.
In his car’s rearview mirror, Jonathan saw a dust cloud rising off Thunder Mountain and felt
rumbling vibrations in the air and ground. A rock slide tumbling down the mountain. Over the
skeletal trees, the tip of Mt. McGinnis was already gone, replaced by a halo of more dust. The
very earth seemed to be giving way, now that his plan was set.
Slowly but with urgency, Jonathan backed his car into a driveway and secured the skiff’s trailer
to the ball hitch, pinching his fingers in the process. He cautiously towed the skiff to Auke Bay,
afraid of seeing it jump off the hitch and roll down the hill. He consoled himself that he could
always go back for another, though it would waste precious time and behind him--his mouth
gaped--new cracks were opening in the pavement, following the back of the trailer. Every minute
that passed, he felt the boat (and the rest of his world) slipping farther and farther away. It would
take him with it whether he wanted it or not.
When he reached the top of the road that curved down to the harbor, he caught his breath.
Gliding through the harbor toward open water was the sought-after bit of white: the fiberglass
boat. He backed his car catawampus down the launch ramp, then got out and fumbled with the
skiff’s restraints. He heard more rumbling in the distance and tried to hurry. Thankfully, the
Lund unexpectedly slid off the trailer, prompting him to splash after it through the green
shallows to keep it from drifting away. The skiff, with Jonathan hauling himself into it, moved
just far enough into the harbor to avoid what he saw coming down the hill. Petrified, he watched
as a land slide surged into the water, sweeping his car with it and submerging part of the floating
dock. He desperately held on as the resultant wave carried him into the other moored boats, the
impact forcing him to his knees. When the skiff remained upright, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Once the waves subsided and after some trouble lowering and starting the outboard, he found
himself zig-zagging through the harbor and past the breakwater, the Lund’s bow slamming into
every wave and jarring the senses from his head. He did his best to ignore the bite of the
wretched end-of-summer breakers that splashed onto his legs and instead tried to keep his goal in
mind. Despite the cold, sweat glued his shirt to his body.
Vol. II. Issue. III 282 September 2011