22

Late afternoon.

Waters of the canal.

Reddish-coloured barge.

Light was burning in the cabin.

Called captain as he climbed the ladder.

Boatman poked his hairy head out of the window.

Glazed bleary eyes.

Kin come in.

Breakfast with the captain.

Eight in the morning or two in the afternoon meant nothing.

Hadn’t had anything to eat since the afternoon of the previous day.

Take a look around the barge.

Had to stoop.

Forgive me, he said, but the ceiling is too low.

Odour of mildew, urine and rotten wood.

Two of the windows had been broken out; they were papered with cardboard and stuffed with rags.

Floor lay a grey-green mould.

Have some grub.

Pot of coffee.

Two dry rolls.

Pray take the basket chair.

Coffee seemed to revive him.

Face was ageing, saggy, full of the disgust of life and the thickening effects of liquor, but it had a hard cheerfulness that I liked and the eyes were as bright as drops of dew.

Twenty years on this boat.

Old life lay behind in the mists.

Boy like a stray dog or cat that attaches itself to you, you don’t know quite how it happens.

Found him sleeping under the tarp one rainy morning.

Living like a mouse.

Told me he had been in prison.

No one has the right to pass judgement.

Ever go on your knees and pray for deliverance for all your sins and scoundrel’s acts?

Not got any of the mean ways of a bum.

More like a child than a man.

Animal that attempts to make itself as small as possible.

Talked little, ate little.

Get his bearings from signs known only to him.

Crows close their eyes do you know what they see?

Birds and beasts do not tell tales.

Though he liked to listen.

Told him about the waters and ways I’ve travelled.

Trails of men who had gone before.

Interested in roots.

Country you can’t dig six feet without uncovering skulls and leg bones.

Men of another time living in the caves.

Pipe had gone out.

Filled it from a pouch, tamped it down and struck a match.

Glowed brightly for a moment.

Go off for a night or two but always came back.

One fine day he disappeared and this time it was for good.

On your own so be it. If that’s the way you want it.

Who wants to be fenced in if you don’t have to?

Better than being walled in by a house, better than breathing in spoiled air and feeling caged like a varmint.

Shrugged and raised his glass.

Contemplating the water.

So does life swing like a river cuts its banks.

Sat side by side.

Under the moon drinking wine.

Prow of the boat.

Watched the shadows of things emerge.

Journey I have thought of many times.

Gone north in my youth I might have got to be a mountain man.

Lakes and runnin’ water and grass to the stirrups.

Voice quavering in the cold.

Night deepened and began to ebb.

Faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky.

Stands to take his leave.

Thanked the old man but the old man did not answer.