FlOoD--Part Thirty-Two

Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?

ThIrTy-TwO

 The boy's precarious balance was wrecked by Brown's violent action and he would have disappeared over the side if Smith hadn't once again dropped his brick and made a lunge to grab his leg. He was clutching the limb with both hands when Wilkerson scurried past Murphy to help retrieve the boy. Wilkerson grabbed his flailing left arm, restored him to his perch on the side and held him there so he could regain his seat. The bell sounded but no one seemed to take notice of it. By now, Smith, Murphy, Wilkerson, Davis and Brown were all weighing down the starboard side of the boat, with only the statue-like Jones to port. Peterson and Johnson were in the center, fore and aft, respectively. For this reason, the side that Davis was riding was lowered quite near the water and all the odds and ends in the bottom of the boat had accumulated around Smith and Wilkerson. Peterson, in the bow, was still moaning, though not in quite so high a pitch. Murphy was mumbling, his prayers presumably. Davis was holding the boat with one hand and splashing the water with his other. And Brown decided he had had quite enough of this pandemonium. He stood up, raised his urn over his head and yelled, "ST - O - O - O - P - P - P!" at the top of his voice. And that was why no one heard the tenth tolling of the bell. By the time he had run out of breath for his vociferation, the rushing of the boat had pushed him back onto his seat. He edged his posterior along the wooden plank until he had returned to the port side of the boat while he was catching his breath and, once more finding himself calm and collected, he discovered the interior of the boat to be perfectly silent. The only sound was the roaring water. With his fellow travelers subdued by his outburst, Brown decided now was his big opportunity. "You - " to Wilkerson, "please return to the other side of the boat. We must restore balance." Wilkerson, on hands and knees, obeyed meekly. "Smith, pray resume your seat." Smith did, grasping his brick en route. "Boy - " Here the bell gave a peal. "Nine," Wilkerson intoned. "Ten," Johnson corrected as he played his musical echo. Wilkerson, searching his memory, reiterated, "Nine." "Ten," Johnson insisted. "You missed count while rescuing our young friend there." "Ten?" Wilkerson queried, looking around. "Ten," said Johnson. And repeated his musical echo. "Enough with the tens," growled Brown. "You, boy, sit down in the boat or get out of it, none of this half and half." The boy slid to the bottom of the boat and picked up the cane that had landed there when Brown let go of it. He began to examine it as the bell once again sounded. "Eleven," he sang out mischievously, looking Brown right in the eye as Johnson echoed the bell on his anvil. Brown ignored the boy and looked at Murphy, who was kneeling facing Smith but had his head turned over his shoulder intent on Brown. "Are you done with your scapulars or rosaries or whatever? Pray resume your seat so we can bring some order to this messy vessel." Davis chuckled at the phrase as Murphy resumed his seat beside Brown. "And now, I propose we jettison some of this flotsam cluttering up our meager space." Wilkerson spread his arms as though to protect the various items scattered about the bottom of the boat but tidying up was soon forgotten as the bell rang once more through the night. "Twelve," intoned Wilkerson, Smith, Davis and Johnson. But no musical echo followed for as this thirteenth (for those of us in the know) peal echoed throughout the firmament, the craft and its eight occupants shot through the air as if they had just sped over a waterfall. Eight fascinating individuals sat up straight as ramrods, tension throbbing through every vein like electricity, wondering if this was the climax of their terrestrial lives. (Perhaps they should have been considering their lives aquatic at this juncture but, humans being creatures of habit, they can probably be excused at this moment of crisis.) I dare say you're wondering whether Jones, in this moment of moments, has retained his statuocity. Yes, dear, reader, there has occurred no change in Jones' stillness of posture as he and his fellows soar towards whatever their fate has in store for them.