He unwrapped the rope from the dock cleat and it felt as if it might disintegrate right there in his hand. When it fell into the lake, it hissed. He grabbed the paddle and pushed off the rotting dock. Paint chips from the paddle flaked over his jeans as he dragged it across his legs. He pressed against the water and the wood grain dug into his palms like little hooks. The water was a deep green that showed no sign of life other than the water bugs that jumped along its surface. Clouds whirled around the paddle as he pulled it through the water and disturbed all sorts of muck.
He sat on the bench seat and kept the wooden box between his feet. At one time the top had been nailed down, but had been pried loose too many times since then. The bottles inside clinked with the soft rocking of the lake.
He came around the edge of the trees and on the bank he saw a crane, white and bent and rigid. It was methodically running its thin beak through its feathers. He thought of his mother wiping her hands on a tattered towel flung over her shoulder in their small kitchen and he felt a wave of pricks over his skin. Then there was the smell of the fish and the heat and the dirt and he was paddling again.
Two clouds hung in an otherwise empty sky. He thought one looked like a pie with its fillings spilling over the sides as if it was falling off a ledge. The other didn’t look like anything he could recall and it covered the sun for a few moments, then it moved on. He leaned to one side and pulled a paisley bandana from his back pocket and wiped his face. He dipped it on the water and slapped it on the back of his neck and it stuck. He paddled on until his shoulders ached, then he kept on with it anyway.
He saw the bend in the lake and the cedars that hung over it. The sun had begun to sink but hadn’t gotten itself wet. Once he cleared the bend, he saw the dock. This was a clean dock, one that would be cared for and looked after. It was four slips, all of them empty. There were little yellow lights that roped along it and they were strung through a pole at each slip. He took the long way around and paddled to the far side. He pulled his frayed rope from the boat and ran it around the new cleat.
The crickets sang out over the water and bounced through the trees like echoes in a canyon. There was also music. Trumpet and saxophone and drums, off somewhere behind the lightning bugs. He slipped the wet bandana off his neck and stuffed it back in his pocket.
He grabbed the box on either side and gently lifted it onto the dock. It came down harder than he meant for it to and he winced. As he was laying the paddle down in the little boat, he saw a man walking down from the other side of the dock where the boardwalk led to the main house. He wore a plum shirt rolled up to his elbows and brown slacks. His hair was gray, almost blue in the light of the setting sun. And thick. The man smiled around his cigar and smoke trailed after him like a locomotive. The man raised his hand to him and he did the same. He was already standing on the dock when the man got to him.
“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Trouble? For you, sir? No trouble at all, sir.”
“Good man, good man.” The man stood on the dock staring at him and then out over the lake in the brief silence. He sighed.
“Where would you like them, sir? I can take them up for you.”
“Heavens no, don’t trouble yourself. Here is fine, I’ve got my sons coming to grab them.” The man hollered over his shoulder and the shapes of two young men came from the music.
“You need the box, sir?”
“No, wouldn’t have any place to put it. I’m sure someone such as yourself could make better use of it than I could.” His smile hung in the air.
“Yessir, I will take it back with me then. Thank you, sir.”
He bent to pull the bottles out of the box.
“A little extra, for your troubles. It’s a hot night.” Two bills stuck out past the cigar that was crooked in his finger. He raised up and took the bills, careful not to burn himself on the cherry and gave a quick nod.
“That it is, sir. That it is. Thank you, sir.”
“We’ve got these, don’t worry yourself.”
He was waved off and the two young men each took two bottles in their hands and two bottles under their arms. The father grabbed the last two and they went on. He was putting the box back in his boat when the man stopped and turned back.
“Say, you couldn’t bring another few bottles tomorrow could you?”
“For you, sir? Of course, sir.”
“Good man. See you tomorrow evening then.”
Father and sons walked past the lights on the slips and laughed and stumbled up the boardwalk and back through the trees where the music lived. He lowered himself into the little boat and loosened the rope from the dock and pushed off with the paddle. The crickets took him back across the lake and he tried to find a melody in them, but he found it difficult.