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Totems 2
Cormorant
The morning air is sharp in my nose, bringing in the scent of kelp and low-tide. I sway slightly from the motion of the boat as I stand up, about to walk the length of the small craft. My father is doing some task or another down below, perhaps repairing the engine. Looking at my watch, I see that I have a few minutes before the tourists start arriving. Taking a sopping rag out of a bucket of water which has been sitting in a corner, I begin to wipe down the rows of blue leather seats. They soon begin to steam in the midday sun, their surfaces almost too hot to touch. A voice calls from down below. It is my father, telling me to open the ticketing booth. Obediently, I jump over the rope at the entrance to the boat, and head over to the tiny weather-beaten building. Already several touristy-looking people are waiting. A large sign stands at the beginning of the line.
Whale watching tours! Only ten dollars a person.
Also on the sign are numerous pictures of native animals, from orcas to seabirds to grizzlies. I had helped to design that sign.
I turn my attention to the ticketing booth, slipping inside and squeezing into the one small chair. This has been my chore for a long time, mainly because my father can no longer fit inside the decrepit shack. Our first customer steps up to the Plexiglas window. I go through the pre-rehearsed dialogue in my head, preparing to talk to the lady.
“Hello ma’am, how can I help you?”
She grunts and pointed to her children and herself, then hands me a roll of bills. Slightly put out by her silence, I tell her to go and wait in the roped-off section on the dock by the boat. I sigh, and begin to serve the other customers. Soon they are all waiting to get on the boat but one little old man.
“Excuse me sir, how can I help you?”
He ignores me completely, waddling forward. His head barely clears the counter, so bent is he with age. I repeat it again a little louder.
“Sir?”
Still, no response. He goes forward to wait with the others. I look out the window hurriedly, seeing that there is no one else, before slipping out the door and chasing after him. Suddenly a shout from my father distracts me. It is time to cast off. Throwing one more hurried glance at the waiting passengers, I rush to help him get the passengers on board. As I helped the lady who was first in line to get her young children onto the deck, I was also scanning the waiting people for a sign of the old man. As the other passengers slowly boarded, I still didn’t get any sight of him. Finally the last person was on board. I heave a sigh of relief as I begun to un-tie the mooring ropes. My father is already handing out life-jackets and brochures to the passengers, his dark, weather-beaten face lighting up with joy. Finally, we were ready to go.
As the motor picked up and we cruised out of the small marina, seagulls whirl overhead, sometimes sending shrill calls to our ears. Sea-spray hits me in the face as I stand at the bow, looking for dead-heads or other things that might be dangerous to the boat. My father is using his old speaker-system to announce visible landmarks to the passengers. Finally, out in the bay, we slowed. I step down from the bow and go to sit on a vacant seat. Despite the heat of the sun, I am wet from the spray, and shiver slightly in the light breeze that is blowing. My father is still talking to the passengers, pointing out the seals basking on a rocky outcropping. There is much excited picture taking and talking from our passengers. The sun is already beginning to warm and dry my clothes, so I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting my body soak up its rays.
A sound from my left wakes me up from my half-asleep state. With a flurry of wings, a large cormorant has settled on the railing of the deck, orange eyes staring intently into mine. Its glossy black feathers gleam in the sunshine, and it’s almost graceful head is turned so it can look at me. An intense feeling spreads through me, filling me with almost indescribable joy. I turn to look at the other passengers, thinking that they must feel it to. They are still focused on the sleeping seals, their heads all turned away from me. All except one. It is the little old man! How did he slip past me onto the boat? I tried to run through in my mind all the times he could have gotten on without me noticing. He is looking at the cormorant, a small smile creasing his aged and tanned face. I notice that his teeth are white and strong despite his age. Turning back to the Cormorant, which is still sitting on the railing, I decide not to say anything….. yet. I want to continue looking at the bird a while longer. But no such luck, for in a few more minutes, perhaps scared off by the starting of my father’s engine, it spread its wings and took off into the sky. As it left, I could feel a strong connection, and feel a drop in my stomach as if I too were in the sky, soaring with it.
Maybe cut down on those a bit?
