Seth’s shoulders ached. The shadowy figure kneeling behind him touched his shoulder and held out his hand for the paddle. Seth managed to get a glimpse of him in the starlight. Instead of the dark silhouette he’d been seeing, he found a face to go with the voice.
It was a man, of course. But an old one, as suspected. His hair was as white as his beard. The hair hung down to his shoulders, parted in the middle. The face was wrinkled more than any face Seth had ever seen. It was as if the man’s skin was deformed. The hunched over back was not from being tired, but from age, and more. He gave the impression his life contained hard physical work.
Seth turned around in the canoe and settled down to watch him. The old man had already paddled most of the way and never seemed to tire. Seth’s father and mother had also been old, but not like this man. They had six children in all. All of them were either grown and moved away or dead. As the youngest child, he had been used to living with old people, but nothing about them was like the strange man in the canoe.
“Dawn, what will your name be when the sun comes up, that is, if you decide to change it again?” Seth asked.
“At my age, I’m just happy to see the sun come up one more time. Maybe you can help me decide on a good name, but I warn you that I won’t just accept any old name. It has to be special.”
“Well, mine has always been Seth, and that’s how I’m leaving it.”
Dawn paddled a few more strokes, straightened the canoe by shifting his weight, so it rode more smoothly, and said, “That makes a lot of sense to me. A name can be something to be proud of.”
“But you change yours every time you turn around.”
A chuckle, followed by another fit of coughing filled the air. “Perhaps I have simply not found the right name yet. Now I have another question for you. Is the way I name myself the most important subject you can think of for us to discuss this night, considering our circumstances?”
Seth decided Dawn may as well call himself ‘Dark’ since he couldn’t see him well in the dim light. But he kept the thought to himself because Dawn would probably find something critical or funny about his observation. He might even change his name again, and Dark seemed worse than Dawn. Still, the old man was right to ask about other subjects. Mistakes could cost him his life. Stealing a canoe and getting caught could do the same.
Despite the old man, the basic problems remained. Food, warmth, shelter, and surviving a winter grew in proportion as he found his mind continued to drift back to a name. Why should he care what a man called himself when Seth faced far worse problems? He decided to try and keep any conversation centered on important matters, but he still seethed inside.
Seth waited and considered the next topic before he said, “I have a question for you. Do you think you will live until the sun rises if you continue to treat me this disrespectful way?”
Dawn faced the front of the canoe paddling, with Seth kneeling in the bottom right in front of him. Dawn still looked off in the direction they traveled and in a calm voice said, “We must both survive this night. But what will we do after the sun rises, assuming I am alive? What will you do? Have you any plans, Seth?”
“Have you about run out of answers old man? For a prisoner, you do a lot of talking.”
“Oh, so now I am a prisoner? Or a slave? Thank you for telling me. It’s good to know your lot in life.”
Seth bailed water while thinking. He would need grease to seal the canoe sooner than he had previously thought. A little water usually leaked past the seams, but this was more than he expected. He ignored the humor in the tone and said, “Maybe you’re not a prisoner, but I have to think about winter coming fast and how to find enough food. Unless you can provide for yourself, I may have to leave you and take my canoe.”
“Look at my face, Seth. I have survived many winters. Some while living on my own and others with friends. I know things. Making it through a winter is one of them. You might want to keep me as your slave a little longer so I can serve you.”
“I’ve never owned a slave.”
Dawn paddled a few more strokes and said as he shrugged, “It’s easy. You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. That’s the relationship between a master and slave.”
Seth scooped water from the bottom of the canoe. He felt like he was the victim of another of Dawn’s jokes, but had no idea how. The man offering to be a slave was too forthcoming. He was also too funny, or at least, thought he was. The humor seldom left his voice, but Seth hadn’t laughed yet.
“What else is involved with you being my slave?”
“That,” the old man said, his voice sounding conspiratorial, “is the best part. The owner of a slave must provide him with a place to live and food to eat.”
Seth clamped his mouth shut. It had sounded nice to own a slave, but he couldn’t even provide for himself, let alone another. Finally, he said, “I have decided you’re not a slave. You have to provide half the food and help me with a shelter.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. Then I certainly hope you at least intend to keep me as your prisoner.”
“Why would you want that?”
“Slaves help with gathering the food and making a shelter, but prisoners have it all provided for them, and they have to do nothing but sit around and let others provide for them. I’d like being your prisoner, I think.”
Seth realized the old man was twisting words and taking advantage of him, but saw no way out of the situation, but one. “You are not my slave or prisoner. That is how it will be.”
“Then, are we friends?”
“No, not yet. You talk too quick and make my words into things they’re not. Let me think about it until dawn,” Seth said. He set his jaw in determination.
“Huh?”
“Huh, what? What are you asking?
A chuckle followed. “Think. You said, until dawn. I thought you were talking to me when you used my name,” the old man said, his voice still conveying humor.
Seth checked the water ahead, the flat sea to the left, and the land a shadowy darkness to his right. The breeze smelled fresh, the night was chilly, but not cold, and he had successfully escaped the Salt People. He escaped in a canoe he called his own, so when all was considered, the day had been productive, even if he still felt the tang of anger at leaving the other supplies. But if questioned, Seth would admit he was better off today than yesterday, and far better off than the day before.
He ignored the trace of water seeping into the boat while he thought and planned. It seemed less water seeped in now than earlier, so maybe the skins had swelled enough to seal the water out. But he not only had possession of the canoe, he had the old man as a resource. Dawn hadn’t reached his advanced age without skills or knowledge. Since Dawn had forced him to leave his belongings, he should replace them in some manner; that was only fair. Teaching Seth how to locate food would be a good trade.
He liked the idea. But the old man seemed to twist and turn everything he said, and worse, he enjoyed it and laughed. Seth decided he needed to fight back. “Dawn? That’s the worst name, ever.”
Dawn paddled a few sedate strokes as if he hadn’t heard, and then said in a reasonable voice, “No, there are other names that are worse in my humble opinion. Lookout!”
Seth ducked and spun, searching for the danger while protecting his head with his arms.