In a rare moments clarity of thought and conviction, he holds all our attention. Captain Jordash has returned, and he has a story to tell. Egypt, a Frenchman, the Bay and our well travelled son.
It was a bet we’re told. Though its respective roots and reward remain a vague unimportant irrelevant, but gaping, plot-hole. He carries on regardless, and we listen willingly, because a story is as much about how it’s told as anything else. And this one is told well.
The one who could swim over and back across the bay the most times would be declared winner. There was no time limit. A small detail which, though easily overlooked, completely negated any athletic ability. What had been intended as a race had now become a simple test of wills.
After forty five minutes the Frenchman called it a day, satisfied that his six laps were enough to see off the beer guzzling Irish lobster. He had good reason, our lobster was only on his second lap at the time. And struggling.
While the hare lazed in the sun, our tortoise approached the home dock. His shoulders ached, his legs were sinking and his lungs were carrying more than their share of ballast. It was only the second lap, he’d have to go through the ordeal another five times just to draw. A moment of truth was upon him. A decision had to be taken, all in or all over.
It took every inch of strength but a hand eventually reached the flat surface on the end of the pier, and held on for dear life. A gasping breadth in, a long breadth out, a pause and a splash. For pride, the least he could do was try. He kicked away from the pier, and toiled for a further two hours.
At various points his arms had turned to lead and his legs to jelly. Front stroke, back stroke, breast stroke and doggy paddle were all tried, tested, abandoned and re-adopted multiple times. He encountered religious interventions and visions at a rate that would leave Moses blushing. Though, despite numerous conversions, there was no sign of a miracle. This was a slog, a sodden salty slog. Through fire and ice, the sun and the sea.
But eventually he emerged victorious, on the opposite bank, with just six and a half laps. Taken aback by such dogged determination, the Frenchman had no choice but to respectfully concede. While our hero lay exhausted, like a starfish, in the sand.
Two hours after finishing the story, exhausted again, he was found curled up on a couch in the living room. A few well aimed tokes and a half bottle of vodka will do that. Such things, so easily, make children of heroes.
Tags: competition, determination, silly bets, sleeping
