SAILING TO BYZANTIUM
It's a faint memory still remembered quite
faintly, how the waters on a Brielle beach
lapped the faint yet sandy shoreline on just
one more Saturday morning when I was meant
to be having fun. Brought instead to a shed
where men rented boats for all day or until
noon. From 6am, meaning having gotten
up at 5, I was already bored but captivated
some anyway. The thin light caressed the
waters, and the small boats ran away on
the surface.
-
No one much talked, while their eyes peered
the surface for fish. I thought it was odd how
their eyes they had such faith : 'They congregate
here in large schools. If you get the right moment,
there are hundreds.' As a 10-year old, I motioned
that I understood. A few guys were drinking their
Ballantine ales. The rest had coffee supplied.
-
Me? I never really fished, just more watched
and listened. It was too-strange world for me,
these men and their perceived opinions about
the world around them - with a rhythm and
a pace I never caught on to. The fish, once
caught, wriggled and died, after a while in
a canvas sack thrown on the deck
just for them.
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