8
“She’s yours.” Beylem tossed the bowline to Mebre, the far end of it tied to a cleat on the raised prow of a substantial looking rowboat. Bigger than any of the dinghies she’d seen growing up, this was a vessel to make a living with. It looked enough to lay down in twice, and wide enough once if she bent her legs a bit. The hull rose and fell in a smooth sway as the dawn colored swells made their way to shore.
“It is?” Mebre laced her fingers together behind her head, through her curls, as if that could help her make sense of her sudden boat ownership. She wore a pale yellow kerchief now, stitched with pink and orange flowers. Beylem had given it to her, from his pocket. It served to hold back her hair, and answer some of her questions about what he’d been up to in the dark.
“Bun-bun had it built as a wedding gift for his eldest. Too rich if you ask me; she’s Chebakh built. She’ll weather a lot and still get you home, but mind you, she’s not made for open water.”
Mebre opened her mouth but had nothing suitable to say. Then a question formed. With a tilt to her head she asked, “She?”
“What?”
“You called the boat ‘she’, but it’s a boat, not a girl.”
A small laugh escaped Beylem. “I guess you’re right. Fishermen have to care for their boats, so to many of us, they’re like our second wives.”
“So I’m taking a wife, am I?” Mebre said with a troublemaker grin.
“Don’t joke like that.” Beylem’s face went stormy but subsided with a breath. “There’s some things not made for laughing at, you’ll learn.” He breathed again. “Maybe call it ‘he’?”
She held back a retort, pretty certain Beylem wouldn’t respond well to the implications toward Bun-bun’s son. “Naw, she’s a lady, just as you said. I just have to love her different than you would.”
Beylem cleared his throat. “It was Bun-bun’s idea actually. I told him I don’t want you joining me on the Water Daughter until you’re a bit more salted. Now get in, and remember what I told you about boarding.”
“Move like I’m water too.” Mebre said, glad to know the right response, fine with him navigating back to the moment.
“That’s right, the boat flows and if you don’t, you’ll eat deck. Never forget: low and centered is safest”
Mebre’s knee bruises were testament to the truth he’d just shared. She stepped carefully off the dock, quickly following the first foot with the second and a drop of her hips. The boat bobbed and she straightened, loose kneed and wary but did not fall.
“That’s a good start but you better find your oars.”
Mebre realized that she still held the bowline and the only other thing it was connected to was the boat. Beylem put his boot on the stern and gave a gentle shove. The dock seemed to drift away slowly.
Scanning around below her, Mebre found the oars lying down in the deck, one to either side of her. She’d rowed a dinghy once before with Rahim. The owner had been unable to chip away at his back debt, and Pa waived a chunk of it to give his kids a day on the water. This craft was an entirely different beast.
“Sit down facing the stern,” Beylem called from the dock. “Imagine a point in between your shoulders: the boat goes where that’s pointed. Now pull!”
She got the oars in the water and started pulling. The boat shifted under her power, sliding further from the dock. Rowing was harder than she remembered. “How do I turn?” She called, trying not to sound overwhelmed.
“The spot between the shoulders, follow that.”
“What?” Mebre didn’t get his point. She remembered seeing Rahim pull one oar to turn and tried that. She dipped her right oar in and pulled, the bow swung to her left.
“You got it! Now get her turned and come back to the dock.”
Mebre wasn’t sure what she’d gotten, but once the boat was turned she put her back into the oar strokes.
“Brace your feet, pull the oars from there.”
Not following what he intended, Mebre just kept doing what was working. Her shoulder burned and she could feel the beginnings of blisters under her palms.
She felt a jolt of pride at the soft thump when her boat made contact. Her boat. That seemed like an impossible idea and yet there she was floating on that fact. She looked all about her trying to take in her new realm. A little further up towards the bow a sizable chunk of oak projected up from the hull, in its center was a deep bored hole, big enough for her to fit her arm up to the elbow. The bow itself supported a modest spray deck making a sheltered space below. Canvas curtains, tied back, revealed two benches and a footlocker, some small crates, and rope coils. On the wall hung weathered coveralls and a pair of wide brimmed woven hats. All that was hers too, Mebre could not hold back her smile as she thought of exploring every plank and pin of her vessel.
“Couple things first. In Hyr Yugehn, we put the oars into the oarlocks.” Beylem pointed. “Between the pegs.” He chuckled. “ Maybe you Golos landfolk do it some other way.”
“In the oarlocks, right, got it.” Mebre got that he was trying to kid, jabbing at her home hyr, but she would rather a straightforward lesson than snide commentary out the side of his mouth.
“Indeed.”
“What’s this for?” She asked, patting the solid oak projection.
“That’s the mast step. She’ll take a sail, but that’s not your concern now. Your job for today is to begin to learn to row. It’s gonna hurt, I won’t lie. Push through, pain now means strength later.”
“How much later?”
Beylem didn’t answer right away. “Later, later.” He tossed a small canvas sack into the stern of her boat. “There’s some bread and water in there. When the sun is at its highest, get back and tie up to the dock. Then I want you to find some shade and eat your lunch. I’ll be around not long after.”
“So, you just want me to row around the harbor?”
“No, I want you to row out to some of the boats at anchor. Avoid the Wave Driver and the Starfish Crown, at least some of their crews are still around. When you get to a ship, tie up, board, and then grab any gear that you think looks useful.”
“What kind of gear? What do we need?” Mebre wanted to avoid being a failure repeater in Beylem’s eyes.
“That’s on you. Think about what we have, what we need, and see what you find.”
Mebre did not enjoy that answer, though she felt like she should have expected it. She nodded her acceptance.
Beylem gave a wave and turned to go, but stopped himself, as if suddenly remembering something. “One more thing” He said over his shoulder. “Your boat, she needs a name.”