Qyron
Maniac
- Joined
- Aug 16, 2006
- Posts
- 3,776
He was sitting by the edge, on the bottom of the old barge, looking out, without paying much attention to anything in particular. As far as the eye could reach, the land was covered in green, with large and tall trees forming thick forests, under which canopy was still dark no matter the sun was going high in the sky.
«A beautiful sight, isn't it?»
The boatman was a rugged elder in his late sixties, with large leathery hands covered by thick tendons that tensed under the tanned skin each time he pulled on the rudder, guiding the old boat upstream.
«Yes, it is.»
« I still remember when these riverbanks had construction all over. Buildings, docks, walls, pontoons... Cement everywhere.» Something on the water caught his attention and he went silent for a moment. «The water was always murky and oily and dirty. You couldn't eat anything you fished here but know look at it!»
As if in response to what the old man had been saying a large fish leaped from the water to catch some insect in mid air, its scales glistening under the sun, just a few feet away from the boat, splashing water over both men.
«A huchen, wasn't it?»
«There are many here, now.»
The men went silent, with only the splash of the water breaking against the hull filling the air. Fish would now and then surface or jump out of the water or, more spectacularly, the occasional giant sturgeon, some of them almost as long as the boat, would be seen approaching the low sided barge as if the animals were intrigued with the strange floating object that cast a shadow on the water as it moved. After a while he was half asleep, leaning against the side of the boat, while the boatman whistled to himself and looked to the sky and to the water.
«Will you loosen that knot over there?»
The request made him snap from his lethargy and he quickly complied. The sail loosened for a brief moment just to inflate again when the old man adjusted it, catching the full force of the wind again and making the boat move forward instantly faster.
«Thank you.»
«You're welcome.» He stood up slowly, stretching, loosening stiff muscles on his back and legs. «You mind if I take a walk?»
«Be my guest. She's a steady lady.»
There wasn't very much room to walk around in the old cargo boat, even less as it was fully loaded, but there was enough to shake the stiffness off his legs. He wondered what would be inside the large crates that filled the bottom of the boat. Some of it were marked with symbols that no longer meant nothing, hallmarks of long gone countries; one still had the original content written in Cyrillic on its side, with a warning to be handled with care stamped beneath.
«They don't do it like they used to any more, do they?»
He pointed at the markings as he talked and then joined the boatman at the end of the boat, sitting across from him on the plank that went from one side to the other of the boat and from where the rudder arm emerged. The old man smiled almost to himself.
«You would be surprised.»
His last sentence was spoken in Russian, a language rarely spoken around the Black Sea area after the upheaval, changing from the Romanian they had been speaking in since they had met, which was now more wide spread and served almost as a lingua franca, in detriment of the Slavic languages that once were more commonly spoken over the area. Surprised but not taken off guard, he replied.
«Why would I be?»
«Old monsters never really die, my friend. They sleep, waiting for an opportunity to resurface.»
Nodding, he put and end to the conversation, with both men knowing the true meaning of what had just happened had been mutually understood.
«How much longer?»
He spoke again in Romanian, looking in the distance behind the boatman.
«Not much longer. If the wind keeps up as it is, about an hour.»
«A beautiful sight, isn't it?»
The boatman was a rugged elder in his late sixties, with large leathery hands covered by thick tendons that tensed under the tanned skin each time he pulled on the rudder, guiding the old boat upstream.
«Yes, it is.»
« I still remember when these riverbanks had construction all over. Buildings, docks, walls, pontoons... Cement everywhere.» Something on the water caught his attention and he went silent for a moment. «The water was always murky and oily and dirty. You couldn't eat anything you fished here but know look at it!»
As if in response to what the old man had been saying a large fish leaped from the water to catch some insect in mid air, its scales glistening under the sun, just a few feet away from the boat, splashing water over both men.
«A huchen, wasn't it?»
«There are many here, now.»
The men went silent, with only the splash of the water breaking against the hull filling the air. Fish would now and then surface or jump out of the water or, more spectacularly, the occasional giant sturgeon, some of them almost as long as the boat, would be seen approaching the low sided barge as if the animals were intrigued with the strange floating object that cast a shadow on the water as it moved. After a while he was half asleep, leaning against the side of the boat, while the boatman whistled to himself and looked to the sky and to the water.
«Will you loosen that knot over there?»
The request made him snap from his lethargy and he quickly complied. The sail loosened for a brief moment just to inflate again when the old man adjusted it, catching the full force of the wind again and making the boat move forward instantly faster.
«Thank you.»
«You're welcome.» He stood up slowly, stretching, loosening stiff muscles on his back and legs. «You mind if I take a walk?»
«Be my guest. She's a steady lady.»
There wasn't very much room to walk around in the old cargo boat, even less as it was fully loaded, but there was enough to shake the stiffness off his legs. He wondered what would be inside the large crates that filled the bottom of the boat. Some of it were marked with symbols that no longer meant nothing, hallmarks of long gone countries; one still had the original content written in Cyrillic on its side, with a warning to be handled with care stamped beneath.
«They don't do it like they used to any more, do they?»
He pointed at the markings as he talked and then joined the boatman at the end of the boat, sitting across from him on the plank that went from one side to the other of the boat and from where the rudder arm emerged. The old man smiled almost to himself.
«You would be surprised.»
His last sentence was spoken in Russian, a language rarely spoken around the Black Sea area after the upheaval, changing from the Romanian they had been speaking in since they had met, which was now more wide spread and served almost as a lingua franca, in detriment of the Slavic languages that once were more commonly spoken over the area. Surprised but not taken off guard, he replied.
«Why would I be?»
«Old monsters never really die, my friend. They sleep, waiting for an opportunity to resurface.»
Nodding, he put and end to the conversation, with both men knowing the true meaning of what had just happened had been mutually understood.
«How much longer?»
He spoke again in Romanian, looking in the distance behind the boatman.
«Not much longer. If the wind keeps up as it is, about an hour.»
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