“Are you alright, old boy? “ Neville asked, as he walked towards where I stood at the bow. “This boat should be condemned; I think we have a converted fish trawler.”
“Probably,” I nodded.
Neville continued, “I mean the poor bastards, their main industry was fishing and the government tells them they can’t fish. Christ! Newfoundland was discovered because of fish. Everyone knows Columbus bought the map to America from a Newfie fisherman. Generations of fisherman and now you can’t fish. Newfoundlanders got to go to Ontario to get a fishing licence.”
I slowly nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t seem to mean much out here, kind of trivial, meaningless.”
“Hey, come back to me cowboy!” Neville smiled as he put his arm around my shoulders. “Just remember, Monday morning we are on a flight to Ottawa – show time is 8:00 pm. That’s if this piece of recycled K-car can get us back.”
Out of nowhere a gust of cold air embraced us, the frigid air cutting through us like a laser.
“That’s it. I’m in the cabin with the others.” Trying to shake off the cold, Neville walked away holding onto a railing, for the ocean was getting choppy.
I stood there a few more minutes, wet eyed from the cold. Time to go, I thought. Everyone was sitting at a large booth style table in the galley.
“Finally come to join us, pick your poison the bar is well stocked.” Herb sounded like he was well on his way.
I got myself a drink and joined the others. As I put my glass down I noticed the liquid forming sonar-like waves, ripples like sound waves were emanating outward from the center of the glass. Engine vibration I assumed.