Forelsket

Drafts

"Type, people meet, break up. It is okay. This is life."

"I thought we were an exception..."

Twenty minutes to six. Type did not expect that he would open his eyes at half past four and stare stupidly at the ceiling for the rest of the time before getting up, turning over the crumpled pages of his past in his memory.

Okay. I have to get up. In the end, I couldn't keep my own tongue between my teeth.

"How's the mulled wine? Was it good?"

Tharn meets him standing on the same motorboat. Today he is wearing a jacket made of thick khaki fabric, a funny hat sticking out on top of his head and a constant smile from ear to ear.

"Uhm… Actually, I was hoping to make it today."

It's just getting light outside, it's so cold in the air that clouds of steam escape from the mouths of both.

"I wonder if it's even possible to talk here in winter?"

"Today it's still not winter.  Do you think you have enough strength for our fishing trip?"

"And why should there not be enough strength?"

"Well, even if we finish by lunch, which I don't promise, you risk sleeping through the night out of habit."

"Tharn," Type enters the boat, mechanically putting his hands in the pockets, "thank you for not refusing… And where is the promised fishing vessel?"

"We still need to get to it," Tharn starts the engine, "such vessels do not start in the waters of the fjord."

Type purses his lips a little angrily:

"Well, I didn't know."

"Of course," Tharn reacts without mockery, but not without a smile.

The Norwegian Sea. Type looks with interest at the very ship that Tharn was talking about.

"And... and how does it happen?"

"What exactly?"

Tharn returns from the office in the harbor. He explained that he had to report on the shore all the information about the route, the time spent in the open sea, the number of people going to sea, and so on - in case the work of the rescue service was required."

"Well... the process itself. How do you fish on it?"

"How do you think they usually catch fish?"

"Fishing rods?" Type asks about it so quietly, like a student at the whiteboard who has not learned a lesson very well.

Tharn laughs and theatrically invites Type:

"Please come aboard, sir."

Type snorts, and, shaking his head, rises.

Already there he learns that the ship is a seiner, that fish are caught on it with the help of a purse seine lifted by a cargo boom.

"If I fish with a fishing rod, I won't earn a hundred crowns in a month. I rent it out, that's what I live by."

"I see," Type shifts from one foot to the other while Tharn releases the catch.

"Do you want to help?" Tharn winks at him, wiping his forehead with his hand.

"Me?"

"Well, do you see anyone else here?"

Type is so embarrassed again: he asked for the guy to be a passenger, and he really earns this for a living. And now Type is standing on the deck like an idol, realizing that he is of no use — as from the same fish in the seine.