A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [100]
“There is always a wrong and a right way to get on a boat,” said Johnny, who had never been on any boat except an excursion boat once. “The right way is to give the boat a shove and then jump in it before it drifts out to sea. Like this.”
He straightened up, pushed the boat from him, leaped…and fell into the water. The petrified children stared at him. A second before, Papa had been standing on the dock above them. Now he was below them in the water. The water came to his neck and his small waxed mustache and derby hat were in the clear. His derby was still straight on his forehead. Johnny, as surprised as the children, stared at them a moment before he said:
“Don’t any of you damned kids dare to laugh!”
He climbed into the boat almost upsetting it. They didn’t dare laugh aloud but Francie laughed so hard inside that her ribs hurt. Neeley was afraid to look at his sister. He knew that if their eyes met, he’d burst out laughing. Little Tilly said nothing. Johnny’s collar and dicky were a sodden paperish mess. He stripped them off and threw them overboard. He rowed out to sea waveringly, but with silent dignity. When he came to what he thought was a likely spot, he announced that he was going to “drop anchor.” The children were disappointed when they discovered that the romantic phrase simply meant that you threw a lump of iron attached to a rope overboard.
Horrified, they watched Papa squeamishly impale a muddy worm on the hook. The fishing started. It consisted in baiting the hook, casting it dramatically, waiting a while, pulling it up minus worm and fish and starting the whole thing over again.
The sun grew bright and hot. Johnny’s tuxedo dried to a stiff wrinkled greenish outfit. The children started to get a whopping case of sunburn. After what seemed hours, Papa announced to their intense relief and happiness that it was time to eat. He wound up the tackle, put it away, pulled up the anchor and made for the wharf. The boat seemed to go in a circle which made the wharf get further away. Finally they made shore a few hundred yards further down. Johnny tied up the boat, told the children to wait in it and went ashore. He said he was going to treat them to a nice lunch.
He came back after a while walking sideways, carrying hot dogs, huckleberry pie and strawberry pop. They sat in the rocking boat tied to the rotting wharf, looked down into the slimy green water that smelled of decaying fish, and ate. Johnny had had a few drinks ashore which made him sorry that he had hollered at the kids. He told them they could laugh at his falling into the water if they wanted to. But somehow, they couldn’t bring up a laugh. The time was past for that. Papa was very cheerful, Francie thought.
“This is the life,” he said. “Away from the maddening crowd. Ah, there’s nothing like going down to the sea in a ship. We’re getting away from it all,” he ended up cryptically.
After their amazing lunch, Johnny rowed them out to sea again. Perspiration poured down from under his derby and the wax in the points of his mustache melted, causing the neat adornment to change into disorganized hair on his upper lip. He felt fine. He sang lustily as he rowed:
Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main.
He rowed and rowed and kept going around in a circle and never did get out to sea. Eventually his hands got so blistered that he didn’t feel like rowing any more. Dramatically he announced that he was going to pull for the shore. He pulled and pulled and finally made it by rowing in smaller and smaller circles and making the circles come near the wharf. He never noticed that the three children were pea green in the spots where they were not beet red from the sunburn. If he had only known it, the hot dogs, huckleberry pie, strawberry pop and worms squirming on the hook weren’t doing them much good.
At the wharf, he leaped to the dock and the children followed his example. All made it excepting Tilly