Moped at Sea

Moped at Sea

An hour had passed by the time the man swung his moped back overboard again and hung it on the rope ladder. He said goodbye to Isaac, who asked to come along as a passenger for the rest of the trip.
“I could even show you the way; I’ve worked on lots of ships.”
But the man burst out laughing.
“First of all, you’d have to practice for years,” he said. “But if I really wanted to I could take you with me. I can steer well enough and I could pump up my tires far enough, but I don’t feel like it. Why should I? I’ve been riding at sea for months; why should I suddenly take you along for the last week? What sense would that make? After all, I’m out to set a solo record. How could I explain to the people at the finish that you came along for the final stretch? I’d have to give it everything I’ve got just to keep the moped rolling with someone on the back. Besides, I’ve never practiced with a passenger. You’re liable to make all kinds of unexpected moves. You have to skip lightly, dance as it were across the water.”
The man went on: “Do you know anything about tightrope walking?”
Isaac, who was not quite sure what the man was driving at, admitted he did not.
“Well,” the man said, “you’ve got to balance on the moped and keep your tires as close as possible to the top of the wave.”
With this, he bid Isaac farewell and climbed down the ladder with his moped. Isaac wanted to adjust the rope-ladder, but the man began shouting again (this time very loudly): “Careful! Careful!”
When he had reached the bottom of the ladder, the man started the moped at full throttle and kept the wheels spinning just above the water’s surface. Several times he gingerly touched the tires to the water and then, without warning, hopped onto the revved-up moped and sped off across the sea.
It was beginning to get light. Isaac was despondent. Within fifteen minutes the moped had disappeared over the horizon. He decided to turn in for an hour.
In the morning he told the radio operator what had happened during the night. The radio operator shrugged and, when Isaac insisted it was all true, he laughed. Within an hour the entire crew had heard that Isaac had seen a man riding across the water that night. They all laughed.
At the end of the day Isaac was very sleepy. But, before turning in, he walked to the afterdeck for a moment. The sun had gone down. It promised to be another lovely night, but a bit cloudier. Isaac automatically began scanning the horizon. The man on the moped was, of course, nowhere in sight.
Isaac felt close to tears. He did not fit in onshore, he did not fit in with the crew, he did not even fit in with the man on the moped. He gazed at the dangerous turbulence of the backwash and at the birds flying along behind the ship. It occurred to him that he was a lonely man, and slowly he realized that he always would be.
He lit a cigarette and began humming a hymn. He could barely hear his own voice. The wind had picked up, causing the ship’s propeller to occasionally come free of the water, spinning wildly before pounding back into the sea. Isaac looked at one of the sea birds and wished he too could hover and perch at will. He wished he could fly behind ships or far off over the horizon. Without realizing it, he began imitating the movement of an albatross’ wings in flight. The bo’sun happened to see him and snickered, for he could see that Isaac stood with both feet firmly on deck.

Translated by Sam Garrett

AuthorJ.M.A. Biesheuvel
2018-08-21T17:23:14+00:00 June 4th, 2006|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 48|0 Comments