It was cold. Even colder at the heart of the night, found Tim. The star, who shone strong, would soon fade, leaving room for a timid sun. It was in late January and the temperature was flirting with zero.
encased in wax-lined several pullovers, Tim was at the helm since the previous evening. He looked small ridges phosphorescent playing catch up to his boat. Yes, it was cold, and yet he would have given her up for anything.
"Only master on board ... The shorthand" thought he. He was accountable to anyone. The only account he could do was that of happiness. Right to be free, above all. Free to choose his way of electing its drop point. And it would end up in the morning in a fishing port, the ones he liked. Because the smell of fish and kelp have a strong perfume, because the colors of the boats are warmer, and that he would find men like him. "Bitch sea ... "they said. But none would want to change jobs.
During one of his last outings, he had spent the night huddled against a wooden hull. A slight friction had emerged from its slumber. Turning the head by the hood, he saw a huge wall that towered several feet, slipping on the harbor water to come and graze: a tuna that was returning ... A calm voice in the dialect accent told him from the height of the boom:
- Sleep, my boy, sleep. Do not you bother to us.
And he fell asleep in earnest, watched by the street lights of the dock, thinking about the delicacy of these fishermen had did their best not to wake him, for he had begun, unknowingly, in their place ...
The day had now been up an hour when he crossed the passes with the tide, and landed along Pier, sailing. After docking, it was finally able to descend into the cabin and make a hot coffee.
the early days of his training, Tim was extensively trained to make sailing maneuvers, docking of a dock or mooring making. He was glad now, because the old engine had a tendency to play tricks on him. And especially for the beauty of movement, to the satisfaction of a successful operation without having taken the easy, for fun.
He felt a sudden fatigue of the night. He closed the lid and let the little gas on, so he created a little heat. Then he lay on his bed, removing her just waxed. His mind fluctuated between waking and sleeping, this second state of dreams and reality. He only had time to cut the gas to reach, before sinking.
Awakened later by the sound of a pinnace which was moored behind him, he remade a coffee, he drank hot, and left.
The sea was high. Nestled between its houses with gray roofs, port wintered. A gull flew chirping in a long plaintive cry, and went on to ask the apple mast of a boat tarp. The sun pierced the difficult and tenuous blue haze that hid the distant.
The east wind which had driven so well that night had softened considerably. "I'll have to take into account to return tomorrow," thought Tim.
He went to the bakery, which was nearby, and bought bread and chocolate, then to the grocery store next door for some food, then pushed the door of one of the bars of the port.
Tim loved this warm and lively cafes fishing, where he rocked the raucous and see who spoke rocky sea
At the bar, he ordered a glass of red. The men were silent when he entered, then the talks had resumed. Two of them were leaning close to him. The oldest, in blue jacket and cap, turned around
- Boaters in the corner by that time, we can not say we see a lot. This is what are you docked at Pier?
- Yes, "replied Tim. Time for breakfast. I sailed that night. I leave everything to Time for
anchor in front of the island. Discusses a few miles. Tomorrow I'm leaving home.
- Hey! ben mon vieux, "said the other, raising eyebrows, is angry ..." I would not put my dog out
. We is not the same, he must go. But when you do not have! ...
A group at the end of the counter had stopped talking. They listened. They expected that Tim would say. They sensed a good story to tell others who were not yet returned, that of the cracked that "makes the boat" when it freezes.
- If I want to navigate, it's off season I can do, "said Tim. I work in a port
craft, and that of others during the holidays there over the job. - The man waved his cap to the boss to fill the glasses - and that suits me perfectly. You see, I love the sea, and I love winter. Water and air have different colors. We see the lights, we will never see clouds in the summer.
- It shows mostly Loved Dog, boy, launched a men's group. The others laughed.
- Bad weather, it is expected, "said Tim. I'm not unconscious. I like the breeze, but I would not throw me in the lion's den. At the port, we follow the weather. Coming here, I was assured of good weather for several days. The anticyclone is well established. I East, in both directions. The cold is nothing, just to hedge.
- Son said familiarly blue cap, as I see you, you'll go far: "If you want to live old seaman, rounded the points ...
- ... and welcomes the cut grain Tim smiled. Then he asked the boss to give a tour.
There was a fisherman, boater more. There were only two men who were drinking sea. They had the same mistress wild and tender, sweet and violent. And they were recognized.
When he left the cafe, Tim saw that the sea had begun to descend. He hastened to swallow something hot, hoisted the sails, and gently lifted off the platform.
"With this breeze, it will take me almost four hours," he thought.
He chose to sleep at anchor at a small beach on the island. After examining his map, he knew he would be sheltered from the wind at night.
Tim loved the charts. He spent long periods in the detail, from a lighthouse beacon, a tip to a handle, which all the names were already dreaming. He tried to imagine the reality, understand the organization of the seascape, and engraved in his memory rocks and riffles, to avoid unpleasant surprises, and to taste his pleasure completely. Because vigilance is not synonymous with anxiety, far from it. Tim knew he was learning to each output, with passion and humility.
- The school of life, real life, "he said aloud. He would often talk.
He had a round tip unhealthy, marked a nasty perch, before he dropped anchor a few feet of water on bottom sand.
The current had slowed the passage, and it was almost night. Tim hastened to note the direction of exit, one that should be taken if - anything is possible - the wind was turning, making it untenable for a night's shelter.
The relief was not very high, but it was enough to cut the wind, which was beginning to build muscles, bringing them into the creek, skirting the edge, the small swell rocked the boat.
Before closing the hood, Tim looked around. He could barely distinguish a hundred yards, the strip of white sand that died in the dark water. Looking up, he was watched over by the first stars. He knew then that he had a place here, tonight, in this icy loneliness that no one would dispute with him. He also knew with the certainty of its meaning, that his night would be quiet.
Tomorrow he would return, her sails supported by the steady breeze that would lead to the port ...
Guy - October 2005
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