Red Boat
Small redline in the distance, far across the multi-hectarial lake, a mile from the trees on the opposite distant shore. Quiet, not stirring, rocking melodiously in the afternoon waves. Must be anchored, moving up and down but not circling.. Anchors fore and aft? Lack of rotation would indicate that.
Disabled? No one would anchor a boat in the center of the lake. Or would they? Something to hide? Someone disabled inside? Someone wanting to be quiet? Someone escaping after a domestic argument?
Wait? Is it really a boat? Can’t detect colors that far in the distance. Binoculars. Get the binoculars. Where the hell did I put them? Used them on the deck last night. Can’t be far.
Got ’em. Scanning now. Yep, a boat. Still bobbing in the waves. No one in sight. Is there a lower deck? Don’t know boats that well. Could be — perhaps big enough for a bed, a sleeping place, a carousing space.
Reminds me of the houseboat my friend owned in Florida, the size of a two-bedroom travel trailer. People rented it, not to see the scenery along the coastal waterway, but as a private, secret place to have wild parties, trysts, even orgies. He’d often rescue the vessel stranded miles down the waterway with a drunken client and his bikini-clad companions.
Oh well, let them be. Whatever they’re doing on the red boat, they can enjoy it alone. Back to my reading, three quarters through McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, bloody, gory, how could he even imagine this stuff? Triggering my anxieties about the boatspeople? This is a long way from a Southwestern desert. But every place has some crazed people.
Book down. Nap in recliner on deck. Lake panorama spread out before me. Sleep soundly. How long? An hour. Boat still there. Binoculars. Still in same place. Perhaps.
Groceries? Shopping? Three miles to Vermont village. One store. Prices twice as high as home. What the hell? But need food. Two bags in car. Breeze stronger. Threatening clouds in west — is that west? Don’t have a compass. Storms? Not in forecast.
OMG. Red boat closer now. Hundred yards from our shore. Still no people. Neighbors in next house are boaters, lived here every summer for decades. They’re in the yard, looking at the boat. People in there? they ask.
We dunno. Been watching it for hours. No sign of life.
Bumping. Thumping. From inside boat. Woman’s head appears. She stands, stretching. Middle aged. Skinny bathing suit. Man’s head. Well-tanned torso. Peers around. Sees us. Ignores us. Moves up front. Engine sputters, starts. Red boat speeds off. Woman sits. Blond hair blowing. Red boat fading, fading, fading into the distance…
~
