Chapter 5: Our Girl meets the Boy

Time is a gifter of inconsistent presents.  Some moments small in quantity but immeasurable in value, others large and of little purport. She had neither bothers nor sisters. Thus her friends were the ships which passed and the gulls and stones and the lake itself.  One might think that this could be a lonely life, without friends close by, or siblings to play with, but you should know that our title girl was quite happy with her surroundings and her friends.

Her father was a kind man, and her mother, while stern at times, quite loving as well.  Growing up along the shores of a great body of water is a wonderful teacher.  The little girl was a keen student as well.  Besides knowing the types of boats, she knew as well, which people were from the great waters and which were from other places.  The men from the south walked with speed and purpose but seemed in the end to have neither.  They talked, fast and often, as if they were afraid to hear the simple sounds of the waves or wind.  Their skin too: different, softer, and less weathered. Yet, they seemed more aged despite compared to those from her home.

It was this, or rather the lack of these traits in the boy that caught her attention.  She knew by his clothes and by the nervous banter of his father that the boy was from the city to the south, but still he was different.  Older, but still a boy, He stood, not sat, in the sand and rocks, his eyes cast out at the waters, motionless.  She waited for him to lose his interest his focus, and she waited and waited.

Now most boys attacked with a furious assault of noise and abandon, running and screaming and throwing rocks as they storm down the beachhead to the water.  Then, just as quickly, their interest fades and they would be at their parent’s side, exclaiming boredom and pleading to leave back to the hotel or some tourist restaurant.

Few inquired about the lake, her boats, or the people who worked here.  Few knew or inquired of its storied history apart from the ships which littered its bottom. This boy was different.  He spoke to her after a time, still looking out at the waters.  He asked if she lived on the lake.  He asked about the lighthouse and its works. He asked if she knew the names of the gulls and other sea birds.  He asked about the Indians who called this land home far before any others. He asked his questions slowly and listened to the answers patiently, all the while his eyes gazing across the water.

It was the father of the boy who broke his trance, fetching him to go, as his interest had faded before his son’s.  As the boy turned, he saw the girl watching him and smiled, and then he disappeared into the station wagon and was gone.

She knew the date the boy had come, because it coincided with the return of the Whaleback which had passed to the west one month before.  On this day, it passed to the east again laden, but this time, with wood from the ports to the northwest.

Throughout the year she would wonder about this boy but never expected to see him again.  She charted the trips of the old boat and at each passing found herself growing restless, walking the shores, but not looking to the lake, but rather to the parking lot of tourist cars.  One day the following summer, three weeks after the boat passed to the west, she walked over the bluff of the coast and there he was standing, his face to the waters staring out.  She walked slowly to his side, her eyes looking out to the lake as she stopped next to him.  He said nothing at first, and then slowly he said, “It’s beautiful”. Yes said the girl.

They said nothing more for a time but continued looking out at the waters.  When she turned the boy was gone from her side, walking again with his impatient father to the same station wagon. As he opened the door he turned to her and smiled.  “I’ll be back tomorrow, were here for the week.”  And so it went, the boy returned year after year and their conversations grew over time.  She never knew exactly when he would return, but was always eager to see him again. In her notebook she starred the name of the whaleback each time it passed. In all they spent but a collection of random seconds in each other’s company but lifetimes of moments.

Then year passed and the boy did not return.  Then another.  She was still a little girl but certainly less little than she had been. Her parents had aged as well.  What did not change was the lake. Of course in some it changed every second.  Each wave was different, each whip of wind brought its own effect, and yet the lake itself was the same.  The ships came east, returned to the west, the storms in the fall came and yielded to the ice in the bay, which melted into the spring, and gave way to the briefest of northern summers.

Reviews

[xansizi]

THis is intriguing. I was wondering how you were going to tie various aspects of the story together. You have dome this very well and have left with the mystery of what happens next. These chapters are well-written although this last one held my attention more than the one before it- i guess because i had previously been drawn to your characters. i am guessing that the forging of the sword is integral to the story so that chapter is vital. I am having a similar issue with my writing- including a chapter that dies not grip me the same way but that is vital to understanding other aspects of the story. if you get a chance would you mind having a look? Cheers