The Island

Chapter 8

 I swing my arms back and thrust them forward, pouring every ounce of energy into casting the thin white line.

"Your angle is all wrong," Robbie comments from beside me, and I am forced to reel the line back in.

I try not to get frustrated. My angle was wrong. It had been correct for the previous ten casts, but during all those times, I had not put enough power into casting it, or I had threw my line right into strong winds, or I had not secured my bait fast enough. Now, everything else had been perfect, but I have forgotten about the simplest thing.

Once the line is pulled all the way back in, I position my arms directly in front of me, as Sully had shown me. Watching my angle the whole way through, I pull my arms back again and flick everything as sharply as I can.

I watch in exhilaration as the line goes soaring through the air, as if it was going to land among the clouds, until it finally dives deep into the water some hundred feet away.

I turn to look at Robbie, grinning uncontrollably.

"Take it back in," he says, without expression.

So I half-heartedly turn the little handle on the side of the fishing rod until it can turn no further. I convince myself that the distance that the line had traveled was a product of luck alone. Such perfection could not be achieved twice unless the Sea God willed it to be that way, and he seldom did.

I try the same method. Shakily, I set my arms in front of me. If I got the same distance, would that make me a great fisher? The thought is exciting. See, Father? I can be a great fisher too.

But I let my thoughts distract me. And my next shot flops clumsily and drops almost instantly into the water.

"Everything was wrong," Robbie explains, sounding a little bit too amused.

I scowl at my fishing line. Why can't I just do something right for once? Or rather, for twice? Why can't I hope for something and see it come to life?

The wind howls at the setting sun, but there is still some time left to fish. There is still some feeling left in my fingertips. I completed my assignments early for this opportunity. Robbie had sacrificed his break time to guide me along.

I take a deep breath. Fishing is all about focus. I raise the fishing rod again, setting it in a perfectly vertical line before my face. My body trembles in the cold, but my heart remains steadfast. I see only the rod and the spot I want it to land. All the way near the horizon. Then all that will be left will be the simple manner of getting some fish to bite.

The rod whirs past my face, and the line releases at the top of the arc. These things I do not see, but I feel. This is the sensation of being a fisherman, I realize giddily. When it goes right, you know instantly. The line will go to the horizon, no, beyond, and I believe that.

Then a gust of wind, wicked as the Sea Devil himself, tiptoes over the waves and slaps my line the other way. For a moment, the line sails smooth as a river, but then it suddenly jerks in midair, and flails its way down, not even ten feet in front of me.

"Marty!" Robbie calls after me. "Eh, boy, Marty! Come back here!"

Instead, I turn into the control room. What is the use in trying? The line won't listen to me. The Sea God does not want to see me succeed.

Sully is staring at me with curiosity dancing in his eyes. Ever since we left Salmon Isle, he has not been as strict nor as harsh in his demands. My work hours are shorter, as are everyone else's. On top of that, he told everyone to sleep in the control room, now that our journey north was truly beginning. We had made good time, had escaped the swelling of the tide that was prone to occur somewhere around this time of year. But it will not be any easier. He assured us of that.He is the only one awake, besides Bill who stands inattentive and silent at the wheel.