On a Pond

“You get any yet?” Paul’s father asked.

“Nope.”

A short response was all he’d get, avoiding the chance of further conversation.

The pond rippled at its edges, where collections of moss, scum, were still. Maybe occasionally a water bug would stir up some circles somewhere near the center, sending them outward evenly, but no fish were poking their noses out today.

“I don’t know why we’re here,” Paul said, looking, only partially, out of the corner of his eye at his father.

“Cuz your mother and wife told us to catch dinner.”

“Dinner! I brought those damn T-bones. The ones mom said you wanted.”

“Well, they must want fish.”

Paul paused, letting the comment filter through his mind. Then he lost it.

“That’s it! We’re going back.”

Paul stood, and the boat bobbed and began to undulate heavily. He spun and shoved the end of his pole into the gap below his father’s seat, lunging for the motor. His father turned toward the commotion.

“Hey! Are you crazy? You’re gonna tip us in.”

“We’re leaving! Hold on.”

Paul gripped the cord on the outboard motor and yanked it toward his chest. The top edges of each side of the boat took turns kissing the water’s surface. As the boat rocked beneath them, his body shifted to counterbalance itself.

“Whoa, you’ll surely be in if you keep that up!”

Paul’s father twisted one arm over his reel to lock it near his body and gripped the bench seat with his free hand to brace himself. The boat tipped heavily to one side. Paul’s father held his breath, winced, and listened for the splash.

Paul belched a roar from the bottom of his throat before going under. The boat snapped back and began to slow its swaying. Paul’s father released the deep breath and moved to the edge, inching his rear across the bench.

“Paul!”

He watched the white bulge in the water. Several seconds passed, and Paul’s father hung farther and farther out over the edge of the boat, staring hard at the bubbling spot. It was a long time to be under, he knew it. He slapped at the water where Paul fell in but felt nothing.

Silence. 

He leaned out too much. He dropped into the water. Paul’s father’s body wasn’t young anymore, making swimming that much more difficult. The empty boat bobbed atop the disturbance, although the environment around them wasn’t disturbed at all, overrun with apathetic chips and burps. Paul finally emerged, gasping. He reached for the side of the boat and pulled down on it to help raise his body. As he propped his armpits on the edge and pinched the water from around his eyes, he noticed his father was missing. He unhooked himself from the boat and dove down, digging through the water with both arms. After a minute he resurfaced, whelmed with panic, just long enough to suck in some more air, and went back to his search. He did this two more times and then came up holding his unconscious father.

“Come on, Dad—breathe!”

Paul looked at the boat but knew he’d never get his father back in it. He made a quick decision and pulled the languid body toward the shore. It was some distance away.

“Hang on, we’re almost there,” Paul said between pants, each time his mouth came out of the water.

 They reached the shore. Paul held his father and moved them a few feet up the short beach. He laid him flat and started to push on his tumid chest. Paul guessed at the procedure and forced his father’s blue lips open with his index finger and thumb. Hard breaths entered his father’s airway. His lungs filled; his chest puffed and sunk. It took six times, but Paul’s father began breathing again. He choked up the last gurgle of water as he came upright.

“You scared the heck out of me.”

Thoroughly disheveled, Paul’s father looked around; his cough turned to a grunt. He looked at his son.

“I told you you’d have us in, you damn fool.” He swatted his hands outward.

Paul hugged his father with a great squeeze. The same squeeze he gave him thirty-nine years ago after he pulled his German Shepard from the icy water of this same pond. His father saved Gemini’s life; what a way to return a favor.

How are we gonna get the boat now? Together, they wondered.

They both watched the motionless watercraft a couple hundred feet away from them. 

“You lay back down a minute, rest. I’ll get it.”

Paul went out in the water again and fetched the stray boat.

His father sat up when he heard the low putter in the water come closer. He shook his head, and struggled to push himself from the ground. Paul nudged the bow right up to the sandbank and killed the motor. All the fishing gear had spread across the bottom, so it took a minute for him to return everything to the tackle boxes.

“Need a hand?” Paul’s father limped over slowly and used the edge of the boat to support himself.

“It’s ok. I almost got everything.” Paul said, placing one last handful of lures into his box.

They each wore mild grins. Paul moved over and extended his hand to his father. After a little effort, he situated him on the bench and used one of the back-up oars to push them back away from the shore. They bobbed heavily at first but became steady once Paul took his seat near the motor.

“Let’s not do that again,” Paul’s father said, gripping the edges as he smirked at his son.

Paul started the boat engine and headed them toward the center of the pond.

“You sure you don’t wanna fish anymore?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Paul glanced at his father.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe…”

Thunder breached from a cloud in the distance and reverberated off the surrounding trees. It was enough to stand every one of their arm hairs straight up. They both shifted their eyes to the sky.

“Is that enough of a sign. We’re both soaking wet already, and it’s about to pour.”

The rain was a veil before their faces as it rushed down from the sky. Instantly, water rose over their shoes, their clothes suctioned to their bodies. It was almost suffocating. Paul forced the throttle all the way down to send them across the pond faster.

“Hold those edges. I opened her up to get us out of this.”

Paul kept his eyes on his father, or at least what he could see of him. His fishing hat was pasted to his eyebrows, making it hard to see anything at all. They cut across the pond’s dancing surface, reaching the opposite bank where the boat-launch was. Paul lodged the nose of it in the sand, sending his father jerking forward. He shut the motor off.

“Let’s get to the truck. We’ll get the boat when the rain slows down.” Paul hopped out, but his father didn’t.

“Come on.” Paul motioned for his father to follow. He was stock-still, though. Not a word.

“What are you doing? We have to get out of this rain; it’s getting colder.”

Paul went to his father, resting his hand on his shoulder. The expression he met was characterless.

“Dad. What’s wrong?”

His father’s chest started inflating and deflating restlessly. Paul moved in closer and confirmed what he feared. He patted his father’s vest pockets.

“Where’s your nitro, Dad? Do you have it with you?”

He felt all over him frantically, listening for the tick-tack of some pills. His father’s head nodded down, his chin retreated toward his neck. Paul panicked, squeezing his own soaked head with both hands, eyeing his father’s body. The wetness forced their clothes tight against their bodies, making them look like molded plastic sculptures. He noticed a cylinder in the center of his father’s right thigh. The pills were in his pants pocket; thank God for the wet clothes.

“I’ve got’em, Dad! Hold on.”

Paul pried the bottle out, plucked the top off, and fingered out a pill to stuff under his father’s tongue. He waited a few seconds, staring at him through the suppressing rain. A muffled cough came out, followed by a wheeze. Paul released a heavy sigh then fell forward to embrace his father—for the second time.

“You’re really doing a good job of scaring me today.”

Paul’s father looked up at his son, eyes wide at first, but then they became crescent-shaped from exhaustion. Paul helped him out of the boat. They moved slowly to the truck, and once in it, Paul sped off, racing to the hospital.

“This is the most I’ve heard you call me ‘Dad’ in years. Usually, I get John if you need to talk to me.” Paul was taken back by his father’s remark, which came out very gravelly.

Paul looked at him sideways, wanting to apologize, but realized it would lack sincerity. He wanted to say it only because of what had just happened. Paul stayed quiet.

“It’s ok. I figured you were saying it because I almost died—twice.”

“That’s not why,” Paul lied. “You are my dad, aren’t you?”

“I know I am, but sometimes I don’t think you do.”

“Shouldn’t you rest ‘til we get to the hospital?”

“That’s a nice way to tell me to shut up.”

The rain finally softened. The back roads looked glossy, like they were driving on a small muddy river, as they neared the main roadway. Paul was hunched slightly toward the driver-side door. His right shoulder was raised, his arm locked straight forward as his hand gripped the steering wheel. His left fist was shoved right up into the side of his frown, and his elbow rested where the window was inserted into the door. His father was in the same position Paul had situated him in, but he was slouching a little bit more.

The truck cab was quiet.

They passed a sign that stated the hospital was two miles ahead. They both watched it as they went by. The sky was almost completely cleared up now. Patches of blue nudged through the dissipating grey clouds.

“It’s clearing up,” Paul said.

“I see that.”

Paul’s father looked over at his son, staring.

“What?”

Paul felt the eyes on his face, and looked over at his father with a quick glance. He was quiet, just watching his son.

“What is it?” Paul glanced again.

“You remember Gemini?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“It crushed him when you left.”

“Oh, come on. What are you doing? You need to save your energy.”

“You already saved me. You gave me the nitro. I feel fine now.”

“Still, take it easy.”

The air between them was immobile again for a few moments, like cigarette smoke with no ventilation. Then his father spoke some more.

“Do you remember that winter he fell in the pond?”

“Yeah.”

“We almost lost him.”

“We would have, if you didn’t jump in and save him.”

“You really loved that dog; how could I not have?”

Paul looked fleetingly over at his father just before turning into the parking lot of the hospital. He drove up to the Emergency entrance. 

The lobby hummed with life. The security guards relaxed their balmy banter and sat upright in their chairs as Paul glided through the automatic doors, seemingly in a hurry. He pulled at a nurse’s arm, a little too abrasively, meeting a fierce glare.

“I think my father’s had a heart attack!” he said with emphasis, to let her know his forwardness was warranted.

Her eyes softened, then came alarm. She raced for a wheelchair and they both headed outside to retrieve Paul’s father. When they reached the truck Paul swung the passenger door open and slipped his arm around his father and gave a forceful tug on his body. The nurse positioned the wheelchair as close as she could, helping Paul to sit his father in it.

“I’ll take him from here; you get him registered.”

The nurse took hold of the handles and practically ‘popped a wheelie’ as she sprung forward. Paul tried to keep up, but before he knew it, they had disappeared behind the other side of a set of swinging doors.

When Paul reached his father’s room he met an eerie beep. His father was attached to an ECG machine, sitting stiffly, looking awkward. 

“You’re all signed in.” Paul stood in the doorway.

“Good. I hope this doesn’t take long.” Paul’s father grimaced.

“It won’t. Just be patient.”

Paul took a step backwards and glanced up and down the hall.

“I’m gonna call Stacy and Mom; I’ll be back in a minute.” He stopped a nurse to find a phone.

“Don’t go telling them about my heart. Just say I got a hook in my hand or something. Don’t want’um to worry.”

“Ok, Dad.”

Paul was gone from the doorframe before he could see his father’s face, which had a humble smile creasing across it. His father seemed rather content at the moment.

Paul dialed his parent’s house and told his mother what had happened. It wasn’t a surprise that she told him she and Stacey would be right down. It was the second time this month her husband was rushed to the hospital, due to his heart. The bypass surgery was six months ago, and already there were complications.

There was a heart specialist hovering over Paul’s father when he returned to the room. The doctor’s cold stethoscope was being stamped up and down his father’s bare chest. The sight gave Paul a chilly sensation. It was like the cold metal was touching his body.

“Something caused your blood pressure to spike, Mr. Sturnson. Were you doing anything strenuous?” the doctor inquired, noticing the peculiarity of him having wet clothes.

“Just some fishing earlier.”

“That’s usually pretty relaxing. Did anything happen while you were fishing?”

“He made us fall in.”

Paul’s father pointed haughtily at his son standing in the doorway. Paul uncrossed his arms and straightened up to venture an explanation.

“I fell in. Well, then he fell in after me. It was my fault, though.”

“Did he lose consciousness?” The doctor asked as he looked at Paul.

“Yes, but I got him to come out of it, using mouth-to-mouth.”

The doctor turned back to Paul’s father, unimpressed.

“Mr. Sturnson, I’m going to have to do a couple of tests. Since you have a heart condition, we have to make sure no damage was done while you were unconscious. Sit tight, we’ll take good care of you.”

The doctor was holding a chart and began to scribble fiercely on the sheets clipped to it. Once he was done, he walked over to Paul.

“We’re just going to take some precautions and do some tests to make sure everything’s okay before we release him. The nurse will be in shortly to take a urine sample.”

He nodded at Paul and went to leave the room but was halted.

“Doctor, wait.”

Paul spun and faced the doctor, who was now in the hall. His father watched them with a glare but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He looked away when the doctor’s eyes appeared over Paul’s shoulder. When they finished speaking, Paul nodded and came back into the room.

At first it was quiet, with the exception of the heart monitor, beeping steadily. The air was plain and dry, like a rubber surgical glove. Paul sat in the chair against the wall, looking at his father.

“I’m fine,” his father said in a barely audible grunt.

“We have to make sure.”

An uncomfortable silence loomed again. A few minutes passed while they searched for something to talk about.

“I miss Gemini,” his father said.

Paul leveled his eyes with his father’s.

“I know, I miss him too, but he’s been gone for over twenty-five years. Why do you keep bringing him up?”

“He was a good dog,” Paul’s father looked away from his son, and gazed forward, “remember that day on the pond?”

“I do, but why do you keep talking about it?”

“It was nice out, cold as a witch’s hide, but nice.”

Paul lowered his head a bit and stared at the floor as his father mused over that day.

They both began to envision it clearly.

#

A young Paul sat on the floor in his foyer, fighting with his tight snow boots to fasten them. He was bundling up to go out to the pond. Elmer’s pond was just under a mile away from their house and seemed to be the most familiar destination the eight-year-old knew of. The brisk wind cuffed the windows, causing high-pitched whistles to seep through the door’s creases. Nighttime was still lingering. 

“I’m ready!” Paul yelled upstairs before bolting out the door.

He headed to the garage in a full-out sprint, as any kid does when they go anywhere, and fetched all the ice fishing equipment. His father came out the front door, and Gemini scurried behind. The young golden retriever knew exactly what they were going to do and raced around the truck a few times before leaping into the bed. Paul loaded the gear into the back of the truck; Gemini lapped his cheek, baring a toothy grin. Paul’s father placed the auger and sand next to the other things and nodded at his son. They were all set to go.    

The pond was white. A light powder rested on top of the hardened ice. Gemini jumped out and explored the string of trees near the edge of the parking lot, once they stopped in a space. Paul and his father gathered up all their equipment, both wielding flashlights, and carried it over to the shore.

The darkness was still blanketing everything.

Before either could go out onto the ice, it had to be measured. Paul’s father stepped out carefully, signaling his son to stay put. Once he was out a little ways, he asked Paul for the ice auger and began drilling. The tranquil air was disturbed by the scraping sound it made when it dug into the ice. When the drill broke through to the water, Paul’s father knelt down and took a measurement. The hole was a little over four and a half inches thick, just barely deep enough; four inches is the suggested minimum to fish on. Paul watched with concern as his father stared at the measuring tape down in the hole.

“It’s good. Right?” Paul asserted at first, then questioned himself.

His father looked over at him. Quiet for a second. Then, a comforting smile appeared between his cheeks.

“Sure it is. Just let me just check a little further out, too.”

Paul nodded. Gemini was sitting quietly, right by his side, and looked up as Paul looked down. Their expressions were oddly the same—very concerned.

“I know, boy; I hope we can still fish, too.”

He rubbed Gemini’s head as they both watched the pond closely.

After a few silent minutes, Paul’s father headed back to the shore, and gave the well awaited go-ahead.

Paul gleamed while grabbing the poles, a pair of empty buckets, and his tackle box. Then, he crept out onto the ice, carefully avoiding the precarious spots. His father stepped back to the shore and gathered the other things they needed. They stopped when they neared the center. Paul placed their buckets upside down for their seats and rested their poles up against them. He watched as his father dug the hole they would fish in. Gemini watched for a second too, but then latched onto a scent and began investigating. Paul examined intently as his father bore through the ice, chipping and scraping to craft the perfect ice hole. Steam was swirling around their feet; the air was bitter as it battled their breath for position. In the undiluted cold, the silence was deafening, and the slightest sound was piercing.

A creak echoed around the pond.

Paul and his father looked up from the hole and met befuddlement on each other’s faces. The distinct sound came again. It resembled the creak that comes from an old oak tree under the forceful shove of the wind. Yet, there wasn’t a bit of wind sweeping anywhere near them. The creaking turned to cracking. Paul’s father became alarmed and looked frantically for breaking ice around them. He searched for ruptures but couldn’t find any.

“Don’t move Paul,” he told his son, who wouldn’t, even if he could, for his legs held the rest of him captive, “the ice is breaking, I’m not sure where, but that’s what it sounds like.”

A shrill cracking caused them to turn toward the rim of the pond, right where Gemini had wandered. The dog’s hind legs had dropped through the broken ice, front paws scratching at what was still solid, trying to pull his body up from the ice-cold water. Paul’s father instantly crept over toward him.

“Don’t move, boy,” he whispered, in a hoarse command.

“Gemini!” Paul yelled instinctively at the sight of his dog slipping towards his death.

“Shhhh.” Paul’s father spun and signaled his son not to yell anymore. He then continued to edge over to Gemini. When he came close to him, he knelt and reached for his paws, but Gemini got too excited and started flailing them tumultuously. He caused the ice to break all around him. He went under. Paul’s father inched backwards quickly to where he felt the ice wouldn’t fracture anymore. Gemini was splashing and pawing and kicking out of control, trying to escape the frigidness. The water was well below freezing and took only a few minutes to subdue his body.

He went under, leaving them with one last yelp before disappearing into the black. The spot hardened over with a thin sheet of ice almost instantaneously.

“Gemini!” Paul disregarded his father’s previous command and seemed to lose his fear of moving. He bolted toward where his dog went under, but fortunately, he was seized by his father before meeting the same fate in the icy water.

“Stop! You can’t save him if you’re drowning!”

Paul glared through his frosty tears.

“Now, go grab the rope. Carefully.” Paul’s father raised them both up and let Paul go. He moved toward the hole and looked at the dark spot. He saw Gemini still trying to struggle under the thin sheet.

“Let me see it, quick!”

Paul handed over the rope and stayed back as his father stepped gingerly toward the shallow ice. The rope had a rescue pick tied at one end and three large knots tied at the other. At the edge of the broken part, he jabbed at the thin sheet with his heel to make an opening. He then turned and tossed the picked end toward Paul.

“Hook that real good in the ice hole over there, ok?”

Paul didn’t ask questions, he ran over and followed the direction. Once his father saw it was hooked, he gave it a tug to make it as taut as possible and then leapt into the dark water, holding the rope tight.

“Dad, wait! How are…?”

Paul’s father went under quick, and in what seemed like just a second, he resurfaced with an imbued, but breathing, Gemini. He clenched the rope and pulled the two of them out onto the sturdier ice. Gemini lay on his side panting slowly, staying motionless. Paul’s father did the same.

Paul stared, mute.

Then he rushed over, clenching his father’s soaked body, offering a free arm to pet Gemini once he released his grip on the hero.

“He was a faithful dog, always there.”

Paul shuddered and tightened his eyes to clear the surreal vision from in front of him. He looked at his father with crescent eyes becoming wider, as if to ask him to repeat what he’d just said, due to his queer absence from hearing the remark.

The two sat in silence instead, until the nurse popped in with a plastic cup, wearing plastic gloves.

“Mr. Sturnson, I need a urine sample from you.”

 “Oh, that’s some bull. Paul, I don’t need any damn tests. It’s not gonna tell you anything I don’t already know.”

“Would you help me get him up?” The nurse looked at Paul and then went to the other side of the bed.

The two helped raise the stubborn man up, backing off briefly when he swatted his arms to signal he wasn’t going to fight the request anymore. Paul and the nurse exchanged trifles and waited near the bathroom door for his father to finish. When they heard the flush, they assumed ready positions again as if he were an invalid. They spotted him less noticeably during his return to the bed, though.

“I’ll be back in a little while.”

The nurse left. Paul returned to his seat next to the bed, gazing at the wall again.

“These tests won’t prove anything new to me, you know.”

“Dad, just let them do what they’re gonna do.”

“Oh, there’s that ‘dad’ stuff again.”

“You know what, fine! John! I’ll call you John,” Paul spoke impatiently. “I’m going out to the lobby. It isn’t doing us any good, me sitting in here in silence.”

“Fine. You’re the one not talking, you know.”

Paul was just about out the door when the comment struck him.

“Me? I’ve been talking! I’ve been trying to talk to you all day.”

“When? When you were ignoring me in the boat, or when you were ignoring me in the truck? When were you trying to talk?” Paul’s father said, looking very plain, very earnestly at his son.

Paul shut the door to the room.

“I wanted to talk to you all day.” Paul went back to his chair.

“You didn’t.”

“I know.” Paul turned to his father but couldn’t hold eye contact. “Mom told me about everything—about the heart disease.”

“Did she? That woman, sometimes she says too much.”

“Dad, I forced it out of her. I wanted to know the truth about your health.”

The color vanished from Paul’s father’s face. His throat lumped up as he swallowed hard. He quietly responded with only a meek glance. He wondered how he would have even started that conversation. How does someone who knows the other person looks at them as a rock tell them they’re destructible? There isn’t a way. Paul learned of it from his mother, and this was best, as far as his father was concerned.

“Dad, this isn’t good. This isn’t something we fix by going to the pond and fishing. This is serious.”

“I know. I don’t want to talk about it, though. It’s not your prob…”

Paul’s mother and his wife walked through the door, talking delicately to each other. The attention shifted toward the bed as they both came over and embraced Paul, like it’s customary to do when meeting someone at a hospital.

Paul’s mother stroked her husband’s lower leg, smiling sweetly. Then she looked at Stacy as she made the inquiry she was about to make.

“How’s he doing, Paul?” Paul’s wife rested her body against his as he looped his arm over her shoulder.

“They’re doing some tests. I think he’s ok; he just had a spell or something.”

The ladies nodded compassionately at Paul’s simple deduction, all acting as if they weren’t standing right in front of the person they were speaking about.

“Could you two go find the doctor? I just want to finish talking to Dad.”

Paul’s father looked sternly at his son at first. What couldn’t he say in front of his wife and daughter-in-law? What was so important that it needed to be said in private? Yet, deep inside, something caused him to realize this necessity. The women made no fuss and left the room.

“Listen,” Paul sat again, this time resting his forearms on his thighs, to get closer, “I want to apologize, right now, for taking off so quickly after high-school. It was just something I had to do.”

His father remained placid.

Something he had to do was take a job at an automotive plant in Detroit. His uncle, on his father’s side, offered him a job right out of high school. He guaranteed him a position in management and told him he’d give him an advance. Paul saw what looked like a great opportunity and jumped at it. This meant college was out, though, and it meant his son would have to have a hard life, like his old man, as it was put to him the day before he left. Sometimes, the façade of good fortune can seem like a dream is coming true, when in reality, it’s luring you from what you really should be aspiring towards. When you’re young, though, it’s really hard to see this, and Paul’s father could see what Paul seemed blind to.

“I should have listened to you.”

His father was quiescent, watching his son’s face.

“It would have saved me; I wouldn’t have had to go through the layoff and everything.”

“Hmph, you’re darn right, there.”

“I know. But you know what, I wouldn’t have met Stacy, and you wouldn’t have Melanie, your precious grand-daughter. That all happened because I moved there.”

His father broke eye contact for a second, picturing his beautiful grand-daughter, thinking of the day he taught her to fish. Then a smirk appeared on his face, and he looked back at Paul, whose expression was now similar.

They stared so earnestly at each other that it caused them both to have to look away. Paul thought the stare seemed to have burned his father’s eyes because he squeezed his eyelids tight, but then came an odd gasping.

“You ok. Want me to get the doctor?”

Paul stood up.

“I’m fine.” His father spoke the words in between heavy breaths. Then he clenched his heart.

With a snap, everything went slower.

It took forever for Paul to find the doctor. It took forever for them to get back to his father. It took forever for them to determine he was having a massive heart attack. It took only a second for everyone to realize he was gone.

#

The pond water was its warmest in mid-July. A million water bugs raced frantically in circles, each in their own little groups scattered in patches on the edges. The same crusty old fishing boat bobbed quietly, like usual, in the dead center.

“Dad, I’m kinda glad Melanie couldn’t come; I like it just you and me.”

“I like it too, sport.”

Paul turned to his son sitting right beside him on the boat bench. He pushed down his oversized fishing hat, the one that was his grandfather’s, coving his wide eyes.

“Hey.” As a swift reaction, his son swung his hand up to unblock his eyes, and sent the hat flying into the water. When he turned to find it he realized where it went and stood quickly.

“Grandpa’s hat!” 

By the time Paul could figure out what just happened, he saw his son dropping into the water and disappearing below the surface. Paul stood in a panic.

“Jacob!”

He searched the water, his heart beating fast, feeling a sharp pain as the thoughts about the last day he was with his father resurfaced.

He could only think that he had to jump in and save his son.

Like a plastic drum shoved hard under the water, Jacob popped up, cinching his grandfather’s fishing hat and giggling.

“I got it, dad. Don’t worry.”

Paul’s heart slipped into his stomach, and he let go of his deep inhalation.

“Come on in; it’s really warm.”

Jacob began doggy-paddling around in circles.

Paul smiled and made a big splash next to the boat.