To Hell with Rivers and Ships

The sun was just starting to sink when a young, little boy appeared on the main street. He then began to make his way towards the edge of the big, wide dock of the river bay. The boy was rather skinny, his bare legs youthfully glistening, his knees incredibly scrawny, as they are in most kids. His hair was a chocolate shade of brown, with a reddish glow in the late afternoon sun. His eyes, the same color as the river, were wandering all over the surface of the water, then went off in the distance. The look on his face was calm, but with a sense of suspicion for waiting for something that was never late in his whole, short life. His boyish, slim hands were tucked inside of the pockets of his royal blue shorts. But they were nervous, his fingers. You could see that they were fidgeting, not wanting to be in the dark. He leaned his back to the wall of the dock and suddenly moved away. The wall was too hot from the sun. The boy's eyes were still steadily searching for something in the distance, expecting it with great eagerness. Not once did he remove his gaze, not to look at the people passing by, nor the houses, nor cars. The people all went by with their own little thoughts and chores, so it was almost rude to interrupt them with looking he thought. The houses were just colorful boxes, and the cars didn't fly. Therefore, they weren't really interesting to look at. The water however, that rose high and sank deep with movement, that shined and sparkled with green and blue, that had little fish in depths and flowers on the surface; that was something that the boy could stare at for hours. And he indeed did. He was now sitting on the dock, on the far left edge of it, counting the leaves that fell in the water and were crammed by his hanging feet. The man from a little bakery just went out and locked the door. He was the last person on the main street and he left. The boy knew that the bakery usually closes last and that it was getting late for an eight year old to be out alone. He hurried to get up, still not removing his gaze from the horizon which was gradually being swallowed by the night. He stood for a second or two and then started to walk home. With defeated steps he crossed the street and started up a small hill. Constantly turning around, he mumbled something and began to run. Soon he was gone in a cloud of dust from the dry, dirt road.

The old clock in the dining room had its both hands broken in the way you couldn't precisely say what time it was. The ticking however was loud, and the clinking of the dishes seemed distant. A pretty, young woman with red hair was sitting on one end of the table. The plate in front of her was empty but she was holding a cigarette in her fingers. She had a smile that revealed her front teeth perfectly and she used it quite often. Her dark eyes, on the other hand, seemed sly and cautios, like the ones of a fox. „So, won't you tell your mother the wonderful things you did today, Harry?“ She looked at him with an inviting smile, but her eyes were still far from being honest. „Oh darling, why do you have to be so awfully quiet all the time? Don't you know mommy's been so lonely in this house, alone every goddam day. You wander off the first thing in the morning and come back only for lunch. It's a good thing you have a bed here, otherwise you wouldn't ever return. But you wouldn't leave your dear Mother alone now, would you?“ As if she bored herself with words, she sighed and looked out the window, knowing it didn't matter if she talked or not. Harry ate in silence, looking down and always down. The only source of light in the room was a sickly thin, yellow-stained candle that was placed in the centre of the table. Illuminated by it, Harry's face looked pale and bleak while he raised the spoon to his mouth, chewing slowly with a distant, far-away expression. In a manner that only a young, inexperienced mother could, she raised her voice, and yelled: „What is the matter with you, boy? I can't even bear to look at you! I thought maybe today it'll be different! Don't you want your Father to be proud of you? You know what he sees when he looks at us from above? He sees a mother, and a son who won't even talk to her. I mean, don't you want to say anything? I mean, don't you have anything to say to me?“ Harry finished his dinner and looked out the window at the small number of street lamps pouring over the bay. Without removing his gaze he said in a low voice: „The ship didn't come today.“
„I can't hear you, Harry. Now, repeat loud and clear.“
„I said the ship didn't come today.“
The mother turned her head to look at Harry and for the first time there was something sincere in her eyes: „Harry, did you say ship?“
There was no answer.

„Harry, please, you're making mommy scared. For how long have you been waiting for this ship to come?“ she asked cautiously, trying to remember everything she read on child pshychology.
Harry was quiet for a minute, doodling something on the table cloth, then occupied with his palms. Finally with a calm, weak, but assured voice he said: „Well, they come in every day. One ship every day. And I know the exact time and all. But today I waited for the longest time and it never came.“ He said these last words with a sense of betrayal and looked at his mother, the small boy in him asking for an adult explanation.
The mother however missed this and absent-mindedly began straightening her satin burgundy dress. She started insecurely: „But Harry, I don't think that's possible. I mean, our bay was closed exactly four months ago. Ships don't come in here anymore. I thought you knew that.“
„Sure they do. I see them every day, and I meet with the captain and he greets me and we talk about rivers and ships and all these wonderful things, see. Only, today it was just me and the river and those pretty white flowers on the surface.“ The boy quickly closed his mouth and sealed them with his white shirt that he pulled over the bottom half of his face. The mother still reluctant was now on her feet, pulling closer to the boy.
„Oh, Harry, please don't say such things. There's not a chance that ships still come in here, not a chance. I mean I know you love the river, and how happy you were when you and Daddy went fishing, and I'm sure you saw plenty of ships some time ago, but this just can't be. We talked about how Daddy's gone, didn't we? I mean, I lit a candle today and everything. Harry?“ He looked at her in disbelief. „I see them. They come. And I don't think Daddy's gone, not really.“ Then he stood up and brought the chair back to the table. „Where do you think you're going? We have to talk about this! Don't you walk away from this table, young man! Do you hear me? I forbid you to even come close to that damn dock ever again! You will stay in your room for the time being! Do you hear me?“ The boy was long gone and out of the room when she stopped yelling and sat back down. She put her hands on the table and started praying. „Dear God, help this poor, little boy“, she repeated. Then she lit another cigarette and went to put the dishes in the kitchen sink.

She started to cry the minute the water touched her hand and she left the plates dirty. She leaned on the counter and looked outside. „To hell with rivers and ships.“ she said. She felt a key in her robe pocket and went upstairs. Slowly opening the door to Harry's room she peaked in and gazed over at him. She stood there for a while, making sure he was asleep, then closed the door and locked it. Almost without lifting her feet she made her way to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a glass of gin and slumped down on her bedroom chair.
Harry was woken up by the cries of seagulls. The sun was beating his face, shining through the leaves of the great, big oak tree that was outside his window. He rubbed his eyes innocently and sat on the edge of the bed, his feet not yet touching the floor. He remained still, reflecting on last night but shrugged it off as if it did not change a single thing for him. He put on the same royal blue shorts that he had on yesterday but took out a new, clean white shirt. Then he walked over to the door and carefully pressed the door knob. It's not that he didn't believe his mother would lock him in, it's just that he'd foolishly hoped she forgot. He turned around, thinking. Crossing the room with his eyes, for the first time he acknowledged the glorious existence of the oak tree that was swinging on the wind that morning. He quickly opened the window and looked down. The window fortunately wasn't very high up and Harry stretched out his arms and grabbed one of the thick branches that were closest to him. He felt the warmness of the sun and the coolness of the wind and wished to scream. Sometimes he was the happiest boy in the world; a lot of the time while climbing trees. But this time, while he was running away, was the best time of all.
The sun was already on the other side of the sky when his mother woke up. She started tossing around, slowly opening her eyes to the golden shades of the sky. Quickly she raised her head. In distress she wiped the stream of saliva off of her face and checked the clock on the nightstand. In horror she got up, almost knocking over the empty bottle of gin from last night. She insecurely made her way to Harry's room and quickly unlocked the door. The shooshing of the leaves from the oak tree greeted her, silver curtains

swaying on the afternoon breeze.
Downhill, a young boy was walking towards the edge of the dock, gazing at the water, then in the distance. His fingers again in his pockets, this time still. With a much calmer expression than yesterday, he awaited his captain. And then, just when the sun started to bathe in the water, something started to take shape on the horizon. Gliding on water, it became bigger and bigger, like a silent sailing giant. Harry recognized it, smiled and waved. He did a little dance and let out a joyous scream. „Hi, Daddy.“, he said.