A Voice for the Lock

Otto keeps the lock at Willow Bend. He opens the gates and turns the handles. He lets the boats go up and down. He loves his work. He does not love the megaphone.

The megaphone hangs on a hook by his door. It is old and white, with a long black handle. Otto uses it only when he must. Boats cannot hear him over the noise of the waterfall. So he lifts the megaphone and says three words. "Gate is open." Then he puts it back.

Otto is a quiet man. He talks to ducks and to his own boots. He does not talk to people. When a boat comes, he nods. When a boat leaves, he waves. That is enough for him.

Every Saturday, one boat comes through the lock. It is long and narrow and painted plum purple. Its name is Pickle. A man named Gideon steers it.

Gideon is the opposite of Otto. He talks to everyone. He talks to the ducks, too. He tells Otto about his week while the water rises. He tells him about his job, his sister and his bad knee.

Otto listens. He nods. Sometimes he says "Mm." Once he said "Ha." Gideon still talks about that day.

This Saturday, the lock is busy. Six boats wait in a line on the canal. Their owners stand on the decks and drink from big mugs. Pickle is the last in line.

Otto opens the first gate. The boats float in, one by one. The green boat comes first. Pickle comes last. Otto closes the gate behind them. He turns the handle at the other end. The water pours in with a rush. The boats begin to rise.

His hands know the work. His mind is on Pickle at the end of the line.

Gideon waves at him from the back of the boat. Otto waves back. His chest feels tight. He turns away and looks at the water.

Gideon ties the rope to a post. The water keeps rising.

"Good morning, Otto," says Gideon.

"Mm," says Otto.

"Lovely day for a lock," says Gideon. "I have a story. Do you want to hear it?"

Otto nods.

"I met a goose on the bridge," says Gideon. "It looked at me like a judge. I said sorry, and I went around."

Otto smiles. He cannot help it. Gideon sees the smile and smiles back. For a moment, neither man says anything.

Then Gideon sighs. He looks up at the wall of the lock.

"This is the last trip of the year," he says. "Pickle goes to the winter harbour on Monday. I will not come this way again until spring."

Otto's hand stops on the handle.

"I want to ask you something," says Gideon. "May I?"

Otto nods again.

"All year I make wishes in this lock," says Gideon. "They are small wishes. I wish for good water. I hope the goose is nice. This week I wish for one more thing."

"What is it?" says Otto. The words come out small, but they come out.

"I want you to talk for one whole lock," says Gideon. "Not a nod. Not 'mm.' Real words. I only want to hear how your voice sounds."

The water is nearly at the top now. The other boats wait. Somebody coughs.

Otto's mouth is dry. He opens it, and nothing comes out. He tries again. Still nothing.

He wants to say so many things. He wants to say that he waits for the purple boat. He wants to say that winter is too quiet. He cannot find a single word that fits.

Then he looks at the hook by the door.

He walks to it. He takes down the megaphone. His hand shakes, but he holds on tight.

"What are you doing?" says Gideon.

Otto does not answer. He steps onto the wall. He lifts the megaphone to his mouth. He closes his eyes.

"Gideon," he says.

The word booms over the canal. Ducks fly up from the plants. Five owners turn to look. Gideon's hand stops halfway to his hair.

"I look for your boat every Saturday," says Otto. His voice is loud and steady. It is easier than he thought. "I count the days from Monday. I have a chair by the gate for you. I never use it."

A woman on the green boat puts down her mug. A man on the second boat takes off his hat.

"I do not talk because I am afraid," says Otto. "I think you will go away when I say something silly. But I want you to come in spring. I want you to come in winter, too."

He opens his eyes. The line of boats is silent. Even the water sounds quiet.

Then the woman on the green boat starts to clap. The man with the hat shouts "Well said!" Someone blows a horn. A dog barks. The noise rolls along the canal, and Otto's ears fill with it.

Gideon stands very still on the deck of Pickle. His eyes are wet. He laughs, and then he stops, and then he laughs again.

"I asked for one whole lock," he says. "I did not ask for the whole canal."

"You said real words," says Otto. "I used the loudest ones I had."

Gideon climbs onto the wall. He walks up to Otto. He is still laughing. Up close, he smells of soap and engine oil.

"May I sit on that chair by the gate?" he asks.

"It is yours," says Otto.

They sit side by side in the sun. The water in the lock is still. The boats wait, and nobody minds. After a while, Gideon takes Otto's hand. Otto does not look away.

At last, a man on the third boat shouts.

"Who opens this gate?"

Otto stands up. He lifts the megaphone one more time.

"Gate is open," he says to the whole canal. "Also, I am in love."

"We heard!" shouts the whole line of boats at once.

"Next time," says Gideon, "just send me a letter."

Otto lifts the megaphone again. "Dear Gideon," he booms.

The whole canal laughs.