IS there always room for one more?

I was digging through some old documents and ran across a short story that I spontaneously wrote as a freshman. It was not for an assignment for any class. It was a moment of inspiration. I came home from class one day and typed it out in one sitting. I may have done some minor editing but essentially it came straight out without prodding or apparent purpose. For some reason as I reread it today it still brings back powerful sentiments. I dare not study it too much for fear of losing those sentiments but in any case I thought I would record this small blurb of my past within the towers of these proceedings.

Always Room for one More

The old ferryman woke to the sounds of the bells. Only it wasn’t just the bells in the local church it was the bells from the entire town. The old man quickly rose to his feet. Pulling a well-worn coat around his stringy form he exited his small comfortable cabin on the shores of the river. Turning to the town he was immediately entranced by the glow of a hundred houses lit with the light of a million flames. The screams in the distance hardly seemed real as he stood there faced with the destruction of the great city. The street was filled with people; some running from the blaze while others with buckets in hand headed toward the inferno. Two blocks away a house suddenly caught fire and burst into the newest and brightest of the hundred burning buildings.

A man grabbed him from behind. “Are you the ferryman?”

“Y-yes” uttered the old man.

“Good, quickly now, we need to cast off. The ferryman turned to the river of his livelihood and saw his old ferry nearly filled with people. Several men had the line in hand and were trying to undo the knots.

“Wait,” he called, “Let me get those” He laid hold upon the complex knots and with deft finger pulled the knot out in seconds. He jumped down to the dock and moved rapidly over to the other line working the magic of experience on the carefully crafted knot there as well. Several other people were working there way down the dock

“Is there room for a few more?” one of them called out, still coming toward them. “Yes”, replied the ferryman, “there is always room for one more on my boat while I am here.” So the extra people climbed aboard. The ferry was packed but the people shuffled around and somehow everyone fit. The ferryman climbed around over to the oar and started pushing off.

“Wait for us” a voice cried, the roar of the fires drowning out all other sound. It was a young man and his new wife clutching a blanket about her. A few of the men grumbled about there not being enough room but the ferryman was quick to pull them aboard.

“There is always room for one more while I am here.” He said somewhat pointedly. The ferry was completely free of its moorings on and had begun to drift slowly away from the dock. The houses a mere block away had begun their first fiery throes as the element of light wrought itself into the timbers.

A splash on the back of the boat announced the arrival of the next three people: two young men and a woman of about the same age. The momentary disturbance caused a ripple of movement on the crowded vessel as hands reached down to pull their fellow passengers aboard. It was a very cool night so blankets were quickly passed around to help the water-chilled people.

An old woman was the next person to find her way out of burning city to the old wooden dock. The ferryman asked no questions he merely offered her a hand and she crowded her way on to the boat. An antsy man near the back of the ferry grumbled, “There’s always room for one more on this boat” as he was pushed a little harder into the middle-aged woman standing next to him.

Finally the ferryman had his hands once more on the oar and the ferry began to slowly pull further from the dock. When it was three feet away a voice called out from shore.

“Don’t leave us, we can pay you well!” A banker from the other side of town had somehow found his way there with his young daughter and his wife. They looked exhausted from wandering through the streets and extreme lack of sleep. Their nice clothes were covered in ashes and the man was desperately grasping a few thin pieces of paper.

The ferryman dug his oar into the soft sand of the river and pointed to the plank that lay on the dock. “There is still room for you on my boat, and there is no price but discomfort.” The plank was quickly pushed over to the ferry and three more bodies joined the mass on the small, square ferry. The people had to hold on to each other to keep from falling off. If one should fall several who depended on him for balance would also fall. The ferryman was perched near the oar holding onto the oar lock for balance. A man behind him also held onto the back of this shirt to keep him from plunging into the watery darkness.

The house next door to the ferryman’s suddenly burst into a ball of fire as only wood dried for scores of years can. Light fell upon everyone in the boat illuminating their faces as they all stared at the city in awe. The head of the ferryman silhouetted by the flames bent down as he focused on the oar. He pushed on the oar to start the ferry moving once more then pulled it out of the mud. The water lapped onto the edge of the ferry soaking the feet of the passengers on the edge.

“It’s a good thing nobody is still behind us; anymore and this boat would be a bathtub.” remarked the man holding the back of the ferryman.

“Much more weight and we wouldn’t make it over the sandbars” admitted the ferryman as he gazed intently into the black waters. Then he saw something move in the inky darkness. A burst of light from his burning house reflected on the water where he saw a small boy. The ferryman quickly looked up and saw the small boy standing at the end of the dock with his small deep eyes gazing after them. The ferryman quickly dug his oar into the river once more, stopping the ferry.

“We can’t go back, it’s upriver and the fire is too close” said the man behind him.

“We can’t go back, but I can” said the ferryman with a different kind of fire burning in his eyes. The gap between the closest corner of the boat and the dock was nearly eight feet. “I need your help” said the ferryman, looking back at the man who held his shirt. “You need to get these people across the river” The man nodded.

“But what about you?” he asked although he knew the answer. The ferryman grasped the oar with all his wiry strength and flung himself toward the dock. He didn’t quite make it but he was close enough to grab hold and pull himself up. The small boy smiled at him as the old man clabbered, dripping onto the dock. “There is still room for one more on my boat” said the ferryman as he gathered the small boy into his arms. “Catch him” he called across to the strong man who was none guiding the boat. With that he threw the boy into the air as his house began collapsing behind him.

The strong man pulled the small boy onto the boat with a grunt and reached out ready to catch the old man. But the oar had slipped when the small boy had landed and the ferry began once more its slow journey down river.

“Worry not” cried out the aged ferryman as the flames began to lick at the tar covered dock. “There was only room for one more” He turned and faced the flame as the ferry slowly crawled into the cool darkness of the river. His eyes reflected into the burning city a light far brighter and far hotter then the fires of a thousand burning cities. With a sorrowing look of understanding at the fallen city a few small tears fell from his burning eyes.