Bob's Boat

   Plenko and Bob were best friends, and life on the island was good. Their friendship was forged on Crescent Beach, largely. That’s where they would go most days to sip on maku and to look at girls.
 
   Nowadays, Crescent Beach only exists on a few old maps, and in the memories of a few old souls. It was washed clear away by the hurricane of ’26. All that wonderful, white sand was reclaimed by Poseidon, one of the worst repo men around.

   When Plenko drank too much maku, he would ramble on and on about nonsense. This had the potential to scare away the girls, so Bob would rescue Plenko by saying, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s go fishing, Plenko,” or something to that effect. Plenko would usually go along with the idea.  
 
   When Bob drank too much maku, his eyes would become glassy and lecherous. This also had the potential to scare away the girls, so Plenko would rescue Bob by saying, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s get some food, Bob,” or something to that effect. Bob would usually go along with the idea. 
 
   Like brothers were Plenko and Bob. Two peas in a pod.

*          *          *

   One day out on Crescent Beach, Plenko had an idea, and he shared it with Bob in the form of a question: “What if we built us a good-sized boat and used it for planking instead of fishing?” Plenko asked. This was a radical question.
 
   “What do you mean?” Bob asked.
 
   “Well, have you ever gotten the vibe that fisherman sort of secretly despise plankers?” Plenko replied.
 
   “Um, no. I mean, I guess I never really thought about it.” Bob was sipping his third maku and squinting to get a better look at a girl down by water’s edge. She was bending over to pick up a hermit crab, unaware that anyone might be looking.
 
   “Here’s what I mean,” Plenko continued. “What do plankers want to do? They wanna plank. They wanna hitch a ride over to Ulu, or the Blue Hole, or Wells, or whatever. But to do it, they have’ta hitch a ride on a fishing boat and they have to cough up a few graftins for the privilege. Fishermen’ll do it alright, but only begrudgingly. And I get it, too. They have much more important things to do. Like catching food.”
 
   “OK. Fine. I know how planking works. But what exactly are you getting at?” Bob wasn’t following yet.
 
   “What if we built a boat and plankers pay us to get a lift?” Plenko said, leaning in toward Bob for added effect. “We could build a boat, one that held, say, a dozen people at a time. We’d charge ‘em a few graftins a-piece to go here and there. And we could map out a regular route that hits all the usual hot spots. I bet we could make two or three loops every day. Between all the islands, I mean.”
 
   “But boats are for fishing, not for planking,” Bob countered. Bob was right. Up until that very moment, the thought of a boat purposed for anything other than fishing was as foreign a thought in the islands as, say, building a rocket ship to Jupiter.
 
   Plenko had, in effect, right there on Crescent Beach, with his toes wiggling down deep in Poseidon‘s wonderful, white sand, invented the concept of a water taxi.
 
   It took quite a bit more explaining (and several more makus) before Bob saw the light. But, when he did at last see it, Bob sat bolt-upright and declared, “Plenko, you’re a genius! We’re gonna be rich!” A fart trumpeted out behind Bob as he said this, an unexpected byproduct of him straightening up his spine, just so.

*          *          *

   By and by, Plenko and Bob became real entrepreneurs, sure enough. But the business-building part of their story is not the interesting part. The interesting part has to do with Plenko abandoning the business he created, and then wondering, years later, if that was such a wise move. Getting there requires spelling out a few things first.
 
   One thing is that Plenko was the ‘idea and experience guy,’ and Bob was the ‘money guy.’ From Plenko came the creative spark as well as the know-how for designing, building, and operating a great, big boat. From Bob came a wealthy and well-connected father, a father who was, in fact, an Eentoo – a minor chief. In addition to being well-connected, Nucif, Bob’s father, happened to have a rather special interest in Plenko's business scheme. Nucif gathered the many thousands of graftins from personal buddies of his at the Conch Club that were needed to build the boat and set the business afloat, both literally and figuratively.  
 
   Another thing is that Bob was more than content to stand back and watch as Plenko built the boat and the business. Plenko noticed this and tried to entice Bob into taking a more active role. But Bob had other ideas. Bob wanted to continue sipping his makus on Crescent Beach, and he wanted to continue looking at girls with his glassy eyes. This laid a foundation of sorts for Plenko, upon which Plenko would build, brick-by-brick, a little house of resentment. Call it a humble abode. Bob had his own little house too, to be sure, but his was not built by his own hands. Bob’s little house had been built by his father’s father, who was a Banoor – a major chief. This was Bob’s inheritance, so to speak. It was a house of self-righteousness. Call it a castle.
 
   And another thing: The boat was given a name. She was called the Plenko Planker.

*          *          *

   Anyway, Plenko got the business underway with little-to-no help from Bob. And then, as if by magic from Bob’s perspective, the Plenko Planker set sail and ended up doing exactly what she was designed to do: She efficiently shuttled plankers to and fro, from sunup to sundown most days; she stuffed some graftins into the pockets of Plenko and Bob.
 
   But alas, even though business was good, a rift grew between Plenko and Bob. The two peas became agitated about being inside the same pod together. Although their oars may have appeared to be perfectly synchronized to most casual onlookers, there was a mismatch in how they rowed. While dipping and pulling, Plenko was busy building his little house while Bob was busy living in his.

*          *          *

   “Bob, could you be here a little early tomorrow morning?  I mean, before the first group of plankers turns up?” Plenko would ask. “We probably ought’a clean up the boat a little. She’s getting a little grungy.”
 
   “The boat looks fine to me,” Bob would say.
 
   “Well, I would appreciate some help, just the same. I’m gonna aim to be here just before sun-up.”
 
   “Suit yourself. Have fun,” Bob would chuckle. “I need my sleep.” And then, as an afterthought, Bob would add, “And by the way: I’m not your helper. I’m your partner. You don’t get to decide about what we do all the time and then expect me to hop to it.”
 
   “I’m not barking orders at you, Bob. I’m just noticing that the boat could use a good once-over is all,” Plenko would reply. “If the boat’s stinky and gross, it might turn people off to riding with us.”
 
   “I think the boat’s fine,” Bob would repeat as he walked away.

*          *          *

   “Bob, can I ask you a question?” Plenko would ask.
 
   “Fire away,” Bob would reply, bracing himself (just a little, in hopes that he’d appear more alert) by sitting more upright (just a little, in hopes that any stored farts didn’t slip out).
 
   “When I checked the box this morning, I saw that we’re ten graftins short. Do you know anything about that?” Plenko would ask this in as calm a voice as he could muster.
 
   “Oh that. Well, yeah. I went ahead and paid myself for next month,” Bob would answer.
 
   “But we don’t know all the expenses for the upcoming month yet. Like, I think our dock fee on Ulu is coming due. And business seems to be kind of slowing down here at the end of the season too, so who knows what we’ll actually be taking in next month. Besides, we each paid ourselves just last week,” Plenko was genuinely puzzled.
 
   “I’ve decided that I like paying myself at the beginning of a month instead of the end of a month,” Bob would say, unblinkingly. “That way, I make sure to get paid. I’m an owner. I should get paid first.”
 
   “That feels backwards. As an owner, isn’t it in your best interest to make sure your business is healthy? I mean, it’s kind of like being a parent. You want to make sure your kids have enough to eat before feeding yourself, right?” Plenko would contend.
 
   “You and your analogies. Geez,” Bob would say as he rolled his eyes. “My dad said I can pay myself now.”
 
   “What the hell does Nucif have to do with anything?” Plenko would be getting hot under the collar at this point, but he’d be doing his very best to stay balanced, neutral. “Does your dad know what our operating expenses are going to be this month? What if we can’t afford to pay our bills because you’ve dipped your hand into the cookie jar too early?”
 
   “My dad says if we get in a hole, we can just borrow more graftins from somebody. He says we shouldn’t be afraid of debt.” Bob would say things like this, cool as a cucumber.
 
   “I think debt might kill the goose, Bob. I think you might kill the goose.”
 
   “Whatever. I like getting paid when I want. Otherwise, what’s the point of being a business owner?”
 
   Plenko would stare at Bob, not knowing quite what to say.

*          *          *

   “That guy was a real dickhead,” Bob would say, speaking of a planker who had rubbed him the wrong way.
 
   “I saw you two going at it, but I didn’t quite catch the whole thing,” Plenko would comment. “What happened?”
 
   “The guy kept chewing his pistachios real loud, and pointing at stuff the whole ride, and explaining everything to his girlfriend like he was some kind of goddam expert” Bob would explain. “Plus, he tried to take my seat when he first climbed aboard.”

   “Everybody’s different. I’m sure some people get annoyed by you sometimes too. I mean, what do you think people think when you go full mental on the seagulls? Or about how you’ll up and quit rowing to eat your goddam snacks, even when we’re smack-dab in the middle of the cross currents?” Plenko would add.

   “Well, you’re a dick too,” Bob had little tolerance for self-reflection.

   “Listen. I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just trying to put things into perspective. A part of what we’re trying to provide here – I think so, anyway – is a little relief for the plankers. After all, they’ve been taking shit from fishermen for all these years. So, wouldn’t it be nice if they could actually enjoy a boat ride, for once in their lives? If you’re shitty to our customers, they’re probably not gonna want to ride with us again.” Plenko would get all philosophical if you let him.
 
   “Anyway, fuck that guy,” Plenko would say.

*          *          *

   “Junko-Pai’s gonna ride with us today,” Bob would announce, matter-of-factly.
 
   “I thought we had it worked out to where you were gonna give me at least a day’s notice whenever Junko was coming aboard?” Plenko would ask.

   “I guess she decided last-minute. You know how it is. Why do you need advance notice, anyway?”

   “Ummm. Because Junko’s a handful, man. I have to mentally prepare myself. Plus, we shook hands on it. Anyhow … Today it’s gonna leave us one seat short. Each way. And we’re tryin’ to break even today, remember?” Plenko would try to be nice, but he didn’t have much use for Bob’s girlfriend. She annoyed him, and he suspected that most customers felt the same way. “If we don’t break even this month, we’re each gonna have to take a hit, you know?”

   “Pffst. There’s not gonna be any pay cut for me. I already took my graftins, pal – at the top of the month,” Bob would snort. “I guess I forgot to mention that.” Bob would then add with genuine gusto, “Junko-Pai made lunch for everybody!”
 
   “Her crunchy squid thingies, I assume?” Plenko would guess.
 
   “Right!” Bob would answer with glee. “Everybody loves ‘em!”
 
   “Actually, I’m not so sure that anybody but you and Junko-Pai love ‘em. I mean, please tell her not to force ‘em onto people if they don’t want ‘em, like last time. They smell kinda weird, man, and some people just don’t want ‘em. You must understand this, right? And she doesn’t have to take it all personal and start to cryin’ and foot-stompin’ and the like when someone doesn't like 'em. It’s kind’uv a bit much, don’t you think?”

   “You smell weird,” Bob would say.

*          *          *

   Now, as promised, comes the interesting part of the story.

   Day after day of dealing with Bob eventually wore poor Plenko down. He likened it to getting pecked to death by a duck. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Plenko came to discover that he did not particularly love the work of planking. To Plenko the work was beyond monotonous. Day after day of rowing and selling and wondering if there were going to be enough paying plankers to make ends meet was beyond Plenko’s huckleberry. Plenko’s soul began to hurt and hurt.

   Bob, on the other hand, was quite well-suited to planking life. What might be considered abject monotony by most was joyous ritual for the likes of Bob. Especially the rowing. Not that Bob was a great rower or anything – He was, in fact, quite ham-handed, splashing and banging about like a madman. However, as Bob would row and row and row, he would go into something like a trance. His eyes would become as glassy and lecherous as they would while staring at girls on Crescent Beach. His soul would leave his body and fly way up high, beyond where the seagulls could get to him, up where the Earth looks small and round and blue.

*          *          *

   “How do you figure Bob can handle the day-after-day monotony of the Plenko Planker?” Plenko asked Natua one evening, just a few days before he bailed on Bob and the business. Natua served drinks at one of Crescent Beach’s many fares, a place called Wan-ah-en-a-too. Natua was the right person to ask. She had studied Plenko and Bob for many years.

   “Bob?” Natua asked. “Bob who?” She smirked.

   “You know, my partner, Bob. From the Mantiba clan. Son of Nucif.” Plenko knew full-well that Natua was baiting him into speaking Nucif’s name out loud. She loved that. Plenko went along with it because Natua was good people, through and through.

   “Son of Nucif? Hmmm. Oh, that Bob. Your Bob, you mean? Ah, OK. Well … I’ll tell you something about him,” she paused, set her tray down, and then placed her left hand on her hip. “Before I got to know him, I thought Bob was wingo or something.”

   “Bob’s not wingo. He’s actually really intelligent. He’s my best friend. My business partner. I’m asking you seriously.”

   “Oh, I don’t mean anything bad by saying that,” Natua quickly corrected. “I just meant that I thought maybe Bob was a little touched or something when I first met him. That was my honest first impression of him.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “You know how he lurks around and how weird he gets when he’s got a coupl’a drinks in him.”
 
   Plenko nodded. He knew. “Well, whadd’ya think of him now? I mean, you’ve known him pretty well for a coupl’a years now,” Plenko asked.
 
   “Maybe he’s robust wingo,” Natua said with a wink.
 
   “Get serious. Why do you think Bob’s so goddam happy to plod along with the Planker? I mean, running that boat, day after day, just about makes me crazy.” What Plenko really wanted to know was this: Could it be that Bob, son-of-a-bitch that he was, was actually better-suited to running the planking business than he was himself.
 
   Natua shifted what little there was of her weight over to her shapely right leg and said, “This is exactly what I’m getting at, and you’re just not letting me finish, Plenko.” She could make her face and voice stern while still being kind. “You know, like, you give a guy like a Bob type a really monotonous task like mending nets or shucking clams or whatever, and he’ll relish the repetition of it all. Some people are just like that. Like, he could get the same satisfaction from banging his head against a wall again and again and again. Like Mardoo’s son. Whatshisname? Hoo-Nu?” Natua paused for a second before continuing. While doing so, she shifted over to her left. “But you, Plenko … You’re not wired for that. You’ll never, ever be happy doing those kinds of things. You’re the type who needs to be creating things all the time.” Natua picked up her tray and shot off before Plenko had a chance to respond.
 
   Plenko, at that very moment, saw the light.

*          *          *

   Plenko jumped overboard one fine spring day, which happened to be, unbeknownst to him, the vernal equinox. What Natua had said to him a few days back had rung him like a bell. And now he was simply resonating with new thoughts such as “I give myself permission to move on.”
 
   But even with all this resonating, Plenko felt a twinge of guilt somewhere deep down. It had nothing to do with abandoning Bob, robust wingo that he was, leaving him to flail about on his own with the Plenko Planker. The guilt had to do with a nagging, ancestral feeling that a Captain ought not ever abandon his ship.
 
   But abandon his ship Plenko did. And with gusto. Plenko swam away from that clap-trap as fast and as furiously as he could, with both arms and both legs splashing wildly.
 
   The shore was nowhere in sight. Plenko was in the cross currents. He didn’t care.
 
   “What are you doing, Plenko?! Where are you going?!” Bob yelled and yelled, as Plenko took leave of him.
 
   Plenko never answered. He just swam and swam and swam.

*          *          *

   Many, many moons later, long after he had set his new course, Plenko had a chance encounter with Natua, his old friend from the Wan-ah-en-a-too. Plenko hadn’t seen her since he left the island all those years ago.
 
   “Natua!” Plenko exclaimed. “Is it really you?”
 
   “Oh my!” Natua squeaked. She then squeezed Plenko like a vise. “Dear, dear Plenko,” she whispered in his ear. It was like a sweet song for Plenko.
 
   Plenko squeezed her right back for as long as he thought they could stand it, and then, without completely giving up his grip, he pulled his head back just enough to get a good look at her, “What are you doing here, of all places?” They were a long, long way from the island.
 
    They exchanged stories and quickly covered all the how’s and why’s about being just there and then. Old friends make easy work of such things. They caught up on many other matters too, before Natua asked about Bob.
 
   “Are you still in touch with Bob?” Natua asked.
 
   “No. Wow. I haven’t seen old Bob or spoken to him in a long, long time, Natua. Since I left the big island,” Plenko replied. Plenko noticed a flash of confusion across Natua’s brow, so he asked her why she had asked.
 
   “Well, I guess I thought you guys were still connected. You know, even if you’re not best friends anymore, I thought you were still tangled up as business partners or something,” Natua said. She then looked at Plenko a little sideways and asked, “Aren’t you?”
 
   “Heavens, no,” answered Plenko. “That’s Bob’s boat now. I left all that behind.”
 
   “But Bob’s still running her. She’s still named the Plenko Planker. Why’s that? I think that’s why people assume you’re still involved.”
 
   Plenko knew why Bob hadn’t renamed the boat. Poor old Bob lacked the spark. But Plenko didn’t say anything. Instead, he side-stepped Natua’s question with, “Who knows? Anyway, how’s old Bob doing with it? I mean, is he still making a living and all?”
 
   “Actually, I think he’s pretty well-off,” Natua answered. “Junko-Pai dresses like she’s Queen Parootu.”
 
   Plenko didn’t say anything. He shrugged, looked down, and nodded his head a little.
 
   “Is that weird? I mean, is that weird for me to say that?” Natua asked.
 
   “No, it’s not weird. I figured as much. But it burns a little, if I’m being honest.”
 
   “I get that. Do you ever wish you could go back in time and have another go at it? I mean, knowing what you know now?” Natua always had a way of drilling in.
 
   “No. The burn isn’t from wishing I was still in business with Bob. Or from wishing I was still best friends with him. I can clearly see that neither of those things were good for me. The burn is from something else.” Plenko paused and tugged on his right earlobe. He was searching for words.
 
   “Is it the graftins? Are you burned about Bob and Junko-Pai living high on the hog? Do’ya want Poseidon to swallow ‘em up like he did the old beach?” Natua asked.
 
   “No. Good for them, I say. Good for Bob and Junko.” Plenko meant that. He wished them no harm. “I guess it burns me that I wasn’t experienced enough at the time I left. I mean, I just walked away without placing any value on what I created. I just swam away, I guess. It’s like I built a house from scratch, and then gave away the keys to someone – and now they’re living there, in that house I built, rent free.” Plenko let go of his earlobe, satisfied that he’d found a way to explain himself. “Sometimes I wish I would've struck some sort of deal with Bob. Or Nucif, more like it. Maybe I could've worked out something where … well. I didn’t. I just didn't do it. And that’s that. I just didn’t have the horse-sense at the time.”
 
   “Live and learn,” Natua said flatly, but not without some compassion.
 
   “Live and learn,” Plenko repeated. “Other times I feel like me getting myself out of that situation, free and clear, was the only way to go. It severed all the physical and energetic ties. Cold turkey. Ya’know what I mean?”
 
   “Yep, I can see that. But we’re thinking and talking about it, right now, aren’t we? In this moment, right now, I mean. I mean, maybe there’s still an energetic tendril that needs some untangling?”
 
   “Ah shit,” Plenko said. “You might be onto something.”
 
– O.M. Kelsey