The Rope Ferry

Bao and his grandfather lived on a farm. A wide river ran past it. There was no bridge. To go to town, they used a small ferry. A long rope crossed the water. A man pulled the ferry along the rope.

The ferry man was Mr. Tran. He was a big, strong man. He crossed the river twenty times a day.

One Thursday morning, Bao and Grandfather came to the river. They had two baskets of eggs for the market. The ferry sat on their side of the water. But Mr. Tran was not there.

A small boy ran up to them. "Mr. Tran is sick," he said. "His back hurts. He cannot work today."

Grandfather looked at the river. "No ferry, no market," he said.

"Can we pull the rope ourselves?" asked Bao.

"I am too old," said Grandfather. "My arms are not strong now."

Bao looked at the rope. It was thick and wet. He put his hands on it. It was heavy, but he could move it a little.

"I can try," he said.

"The river is deep," said Grandfather. "It is not a game."

"I know," said Bao. "I will go slowly. You can hold the eggs."

Grandfather thought for a long time. Then he nodded. "Let me see your hands," he said. Bao showed him. They were small, but they were hard from farm work.

"Wear these," said Grandfather. He took off his old gloves. They were too big for Bao, but they helped.

They climbed on the ferry. It moved a little on the water. Grandfather sat in the middle. The baskets sat on his knees. Bao stood at the front and took the rope.

He pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again. The ferry moved one step.

"Use your legs," said Grandfather. "Not only your arms."

Bao put his feet against the wood. He pulled with his whole body. The ferry slid forward. The water made a soft sound under it.

Pull, step. Pull, step. Bao counted in his head. His arms burned. The far side of the river looked very far away.

In the middle, the water was fast. The ferry turned a little. Bao held the rope tight. A cold wind pushed against his face.

"Stop and rest," said Grandfather. "The rope will not move away."

Bao stopped. He breathed deeply. A white bird flew over the water and called out. Then he pulled again.

It took forty minutes. Mr. Tran did the same trip in ten. But at last, the ferry touched the far side. It made a soft bump.

Bao fell down on the wood. His hands were red. He laughed and could not stop.

Grandfather stood up and put the baskets on the ground. "You are not a small boy now," he said. "You are a ferry man."

At the market, a woman bought all the eggs. Bao took the money home. He put some in a small jar. Then he bought hot buns. They ate them on the road.

The next day, Mr. Tran was back at the river. His back was better. Bao stood on the bank. He watched Mr. Tran pull the rope. The ferry looked small and slow.

"Come," said Mr. Tran. "Take the other side. Let me see what you can do."