Ellen said could you get me a slice of quiche? which sent Rolf rummaging below his cushion. In the clutter of the storage bin he found a plastic knife and wrapped dish; he carved Ellen her slice. Thanks. John said could you grab me the sunscreen? which sent Hatty diving to the depths of the storage bin under her cushion to recover a sun-warm bottle of Banana Boat. Thanks. Then Hatty said I could use another beer and that sent Lance to the cooler positioned at his right. He found Hatty a fresh beer. Thanks.
So it went aboard the pontoon boat floating over Fontana Lake, which itself floats a few hundred feet above where it should, impounded in the trees by a great big dam. The repetitive wall of trees looked nice along the shoreline. Small cabins trod the water like islands, some of which were stuffed with party. Ellen, Hatty, and the others made the boat sound lively with happy chatter. Lance sat on the captain’s chair, steering and boating, sometimes stopping to slow-tow a rope of floaties with bathers in them. From a distance, the pontoon afternoon looked like damp table manners, an endless chain of could-you-pass-me-the’s between pontoon passengers, who became sleepier over time through sun and beer.
And then a rope swing emerged off the side of a cliff. It looked to be a lousy rope swing, limply hanging only a couple feet away from ragged rocks. Hatty was the first to see it. She rose triumphantly out of her malaise saying get this boat over to that rope swing right away!
It was too dangerous for Hatty to try the rope swing and everyone on the boat knew it. But the day was too bright and the crew too fun-loving to discourage Hatty outright. It doesn’t look like so much fun, honestly, Hatty—or, it might take a real good push off the rocks to properly clear ‘em. Hatty took another sip. She held a strong face as her expression. Ron then chuckled in his swim trunks and said if Hatty jumps off the rope swing I will too. The boat motor was off and there was a pause. Fontana Lake began to gently rumble from below. Tiger-striped and the age of a middle-aged man, a koi fish slowly ascended in the style of a rocket, breaking the crust of the reservoir’s placid surface. He caught the dangling rope swing in his mouth. The pontoon crew watched on patiently as the fish both ate and climbed the rope swing at the same time. As the fish climbed so the rope swing disappeared. At the summit, the koi hovered in mid-air; he had eaten the whole rope swing and was now completely still. I’ll be. Hatty could no longer ride the rope swing because it was gone.
The longer the koi fish levitated, the more nobody could bear the thought of the spell being broken. It was too easy to imagine the fish in free fall, like imagining a tremendous sum of lake water suddenly set loose by a broken dam.
