FlOoD--Part Twelve

Prelude

TwElVe

 

   So the eight men (and the boat) floated on through a darkening expanse of water and no visible scenery. All was quiet, except for the occasional "Yep. Yep." murmured by Wilkinson or the slight tone Johnson produced on his anvil every so often. In between Peterson and the sampler in the bow and Johnson and the anvil in the stern, Jones with his gun and Smith with his brick occupied the bow seat and Brown with his urn and Murphy with his accent retained the stern seat. Davis, encompassed in Peterson's coat, crouched at the bottom in the center.

 

   No one seemed to have anything to say, so the silent octet drifted and floated and bobbed and sailed and coursed and spun and wafted and sped and skimmed and slipped and rushed and lolled and moved along through the water. And the sky grew darker and darker and darker until it was completely dark.

 

   After awhile, a small voice said into the darkness, "Yep. Yep."

 

   The darkness remained dark and the silence remained silent and after a few moments the voice repeated, "Yep. Yep."

 

   Now, if this was an attempt to elicit a response from one of the other occupants of the boat, we must consider it an abject failure. If, on the other hand, Wilkerson was merely projecting his voice into the darkness as the nightingale does, then it can be enjoyed merely for the beauty of the sound, and if, by chance, we find the call not truly beautiful, then surely some interest will be evoked by a sound that breaks an extended and, by such extension, probably monotonous silence.

 

   "Yep. Yep."

 

   There it was again. But this time continuing into a variation.

 

   "Is anyone awake?"

 

   No response. The small boat sails on in darkness and silence.

 

   "Yep. Yep."

 

   Again a pause, with possibly a slight murmur of water brushing up against the somewhat overloaded craft.

 

   "Is anyone asleep?"

 

   Again no response, although the appropriate response to such a query could tax a strong imagination.

 

   "Yep. Yep."

 

   And now sounds begin to emerge from the dark silence. Small squeaks and whispers of cloth rubbing against wood. Tiny plops of water as drops return to the larger body.

 

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[TLK]

TwElVe



So the eight men (and the boat) floated on through a darkening expanse of water and no visible scenery. All was quiet, except for the occasional "Yep. Yep." murmured by Wilkinson or the slight tone Johnson produced on his anvil every so often. In between Peterson and the sampler in the bow and Johnson and the anvil in the stern, Jones with his gun and Smith with his brick occupied the bow seat and Brown with his urn and Murphy with his accent retained the stern seat. Davis, encompassed in Peterson's coat, crouched at the bottom in the center.



No one seemed to have anything to say, so the silent octet drifted and floated and bobbed and sailed and coursed and spun and wafted and sped and skimmed and slipped and rushed and lolled and moved along through the water. And the sky grew darker and darker and darker until it was completely dark.



After awhile, a small voice said into the darkness, "Yep. Yep."



The darkness remained dark and the silence remained silent and after a few moments the voice repeated, "Yep. Yep."



Now, if this was an attempt to elicit a response from one of the other occupants of the boat, we must consider it an abject failure. If, on the other hand, Wilkerson was merely projecting his voice into the darkness as the nightingale does, then it can be enjoyed merely for the beauty of the sound, and if, by chance, we find the call not truly beautiful, then surely some interest will be evoked by a sound that breaks an extended and, by such extension, probably monotonous silence.



"Yep. Yep."



There it was again. But this time continuing into a variation.



"Is anyone awake?"



No response. The small boat sails on in darkness and silence.



"Yep. Yep."



Again a pause, with possibly a slight murmur of water brushing up against the somewhat overloaded craft.



"Is anyone asleep?"



Again no response, although the appropriate response to such a query could tax a strong imagination.



"Yep. Yep."



And now sounds begin to emerge from the dark silence. Small squeaks and whispers of cloth rubbing against wood. Tiny plops of water as drops return to the larger body.