Morning Pages 10/16/19

The headlights from the car drew nearer as the ferry pulled itself across the short span of water.
The ferryman rocked back and forth with the buck of the waves on the uneven surface, just as the ferry itself did. He didn’t fight it but swayed back and forth and before long the winches and heavy chain had guided the ferry directly into the small dock on the southern side of the river.
Outside, the rain whipped about him and tugged upon his jacket hood. He stepped carefully down the corrugated steps and down to the dock.
He bypassed around the ferry gate and walked up to the car. The engine was still running.
When he came to stand at the driver’s side the window rolled down and even though it was dark, the light of the lone lamp overhead gave the ferryman a moderate view of the driver’s face.
He was young and handsome. Clean-shaven and respectable with wireframe glasses on. Beside him sat a woman who was presumably of a similar age and likely his wife, as a little girl of maybe 5 or 7 sat in the back seat.
“Hello,” said the man, in an English accent.
“Yes?” asked the ferryman.
“We’ve got reservations across the river. I apologize for the lateness.”
The ferryman shrugged. “S’okay. But,” and he bent down to take a closer look at the family.
The woman had long dark hair, tied up in a bun, and the little girl was sleeping, clutching a stuffed lion.
…”I can’t take you across,” finished the ferryman.
“What?” the man’s voice was strained now. With good reason. He had no idea what he’d gotten his family into. The ferryman would put a stop to it. “Isn’t this the ferry to Hilde Svend?”
The ferryman nodded, but it was an action that was more in agreement that the town’s name was the correct one, not that the ferry necessarily led to said town. He took a breath and looked up into the sky, letting some raindrops land on his face. He took a deep breath and shook his head and turned back to the English family.
“You’re on holiday?” he asked them.
The driver nodded. “That’s right.”
“Did we take a wrong turn?” asked the wife. “Is this the wrong ferry?”
“No, Darlene, I’m sure it’s correct,” said the Englishman.
The ferryman regarded him. Then said, “Might have been on a different night, under other stars.”
The man in the car squinted at the ferryman. Then pointed to the sky. “It’s raining.”
“Oh, don’t think they aren’t up there,” said the ferryman. “And those constellations aren’t ones you’d know. You’ll have to wait ’til morning.”

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