The Son of Every Man

Chapter 9.1

Along its godlike arc through the sky, the moon trembled. Instead of tracing a time-honored path across the stars, its trajectory in the moments that followed would be brand new. He felt it in his heart. Perhaps the moon would move backward in the direction it came from, or straight downward to the flat horizon. ...Or toward him—somehow that seemed most likely. If the moon landed in the ocean nearby, how big of a splash would it make? (He had not yet learned the true scale of celestial bodies.) Would the resulting wave cause the boat to overturn, spilling ninety sleeping souls into the agitated water to drown?

Over several minutes spanning midnight, he watched the foreign, shimmering vibrations of that perfect white orb. A hopeful energy grew inside him until the possibility of nothing happening became unthinkable. He waited.

His last memory before sleep was of grasping in desperation for the moon to finally alter its course, but either it never did, or he missed it doing so, as he could no longer pry his weary eyes open to keep watch. In his next memory, he awoke from a far away slumber to the stars disappearing and the sky changing from black to the deepest blue of predawn. The moon was nowhere to be found.

He sat up—a respite from the snoring man whose elbow had pressed into his side for hours. He had slept wedged between the man and where the bottom of the boat sloped steeply upward, partway sheltered by a broad wooden rail. Heaving himself to a seated position on the edge, he scanned the sleeping bodies below him, packed together like dead fish. The vessel rocked, but only gently, so he stayed perched there for some time with no worry of being thrown out.

Someone else was awake. She sat up close to the bow. She was a person whom he might have called a girl, or a woman, but neither with confidence. This person turned slightly to the side, wincing, hair blowing gently off her shoulders and he noticed that she was beautiful. He also saw there was a baby growing inside her stomach. She leaned over the greased wood rail of the boat and vomited in the calm water.

It drifted by him as the boat ambled forward. He did not look at it. She turned to look at him. She seemed to look straight into his eyes, but it was still too dark to tell. He looked straight into hers. Eventually, she became disinterested in him and looked back out at the water. Or maybe she had not noticed him at all.

A trawling motor vibrated through the tung-oiled planks supporting him. Its throttle position was set in interest of economy rather than speed; the rationed supply of gasoline would be enough if they took their time and did not fight the water. He knew all this because yesterday (the first day) he had asked the person driving the boat about it. He had received begrudging answers to what seemed like perfectly sensible questions, and not without finally being scolded for his intrusiveness.

Two men had been tasked with driving the boat. He had not spoken to the other man before, but guessed he was currently at the helm since the first driver had guided the boat all day and into the evening.

He looked toward the small compartment and saw through a sheet of dirty plexiglass the grim and tired expression of the second driver. Scooting carefully along the rail, he inched back toward the compartment while avoiding several other sleepers. A gap emerged between bodies along which carefully placed steps landed him at the narrow entrance to the wooden box housing the driver.

The back of the driver's pale blue shirt was stained broadly by a smear of black grease. His (surely sore) buttocks rested atop a worn wooden stool fastened with rusting brackets to the floor. He swayed back and forth counter to the mild motions of the boat. The boy hesitated. He had not expected three others to be sharing the cramped compartment with the driver. They lined the floor at his feet; on one side lay a mother and her small child. On the opposite slept the other driver. He didn't want to disturb anyone's rest, but his curiosity won out.