I’m pretty sure she wants to hear about sea monsters a lot more than she wants to know where I’m from, so I think I can get away with not answering her first question. “If you’ve seen all that, maybe you owe me a story afterward.” I ease myself down to sit cross-legged. My knees and I are still not on good terms.
She’s looking at me with her eyes wide, still half pouting. I’m going to have to make this a very good story. I clear my throat. It’s still parched, but the prospect of telling a story is distracting me from it a bit. “Right, so once upon a time there was a man who had to take a long journey across the sea, so he hired a boat to take him there. But as soon as the boat set out into the open water, a storm blew up, and the rain and the wind nearly sunk the boat.” I’ve told this story before, I think, to another little girl a long time ago. “The sailors kept the boat on course, though, and when the next day came, the storm had cleared, and the day was bright and sunny and very, very still. And the men thanked God that they had come through the storm.”
I think she’s still with me, even though there aren’t any sea monsters yet. “But that day and the next day and the day after that, there was no wind, and so the boat couldn’t go anywhere. So the sailors cried and prayed to God to send wind, and that night the wind came, the breath of God on the sailors, and all of them fell down asleep. While they were asleep, an angel spoke to all of them in a dream and told them that the man who hired the boat was the reason for the trouble they were having.” I can’t do voices, so I’m just telling the thing outright, hopefully with enough flourishes to keep her listening.
“When the sailors woke up, they went to the man and told him what the angel had said, and even though he cried and begged them not to, they bundled him up and threw him over the side of the boat into the deep water. And what do you think happened then?” I look at her expectantly, ready to along with whatever she suggests, but pretty sure that I know what it’s going to be.
no subject
She’s looking at me with her eyes wide, still half pouting. I’m going to have to make this a very good story. I clear my throat. It’s still parched, but the prospect of telling a story is distracting me from it a bit. “Right, so once upon a time there was a man who had to take a long journey across the sea, so he hired a boat to take him there. But as soon as the boat set out into the open water, a storm blew up, and the rain and the wind nearly sunk the boat.” I’ve told this story before, I think, to another little girl a long time ago. “The sailors kept the boat on course, though, and when the next day came, the storm had cleared, and the day was bright and sunny and very, very still. And the men thanked God that they had come through the storm.”
I think she’s still with me, even though there aren’t any sea monsters yet. “But that day and the next day and the day after that, there was no wind, and so the boat couldn’t go anywhere. So the sailors cried and prayed to God to send wind, and that night the wind came, the breath of God on the sailors, and all of them fell down asleep. While they were asleep, an angel spoke to all of them in a dream and told them that the man who hired the boat was the reason for the trouble they were having.” I can’t do voices, so I’m just telling the thing outright, hopefully with enough flourishes to keep her listening.
“When the sailors woke up, they went to the man and told him what the angel had said, and even though he cried and begged them not to, they bundled him up and threw him over the side of the boat into the deep water. And what do you think happened then?” I look at her expectantly, ready to along with whatever she suggests, but pretty sure that I know what it’s going to be.