She
was out of the water for years, since the early fifties maybe, over at
the shipyard in Superior. You could see her from the highway, her
masts down, sails stowed away. I loved that boat. All the
time I was growing up I made plans to buy her someday. What shall
I say happened? That my father bought her and put her in the back
yard and kept garden tools in the hold? Or that my mother bought
her and kept her in the china closet with the jade Buddha and the
eight-day clock? That her brass gleams in the firelight, still
dry and harmless? No. I bought the Dutch Shoe and sailed to
Rangoon and Singapore and a hundred other places. I faced
incredible dangers and hardships. I talk loud and drink all
night. When I snore I wake bears in the forest and fish in the
sea. Early mist rises from the water. Ice forms on the
masts. My hair has turned white and my teeth have fallen
out. I can't see a thing and I am sailing awa
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