The Boat That Moved at Night

Every morning at five, Fenwick walked down to the harbor to check on his boat before he went out to fish. On the first Monday in March, it wasn't where he had left it. It was floating at the far end of the dock, bumping gently against the stone wall, and its rope was hanging loose in the water.

On Tuesday, the same thing happened. On Wednesday, it happened again. By then, Fenwick was sure he knew who was responsible. Abelardo had fished from the next spot along the dock for thirty years, and he had always wanted Fenwick's place, the one closest to the fish market. The two men hadn't spoken properly since an argument about nets the winter before.

On Thursday, Fenwick found Abelardo at the harbor café. "Leave my boat alone," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Abelardo put down his cup slowly. "Why would I touch your boat? I've got enough trouble with my own." Then he asked a strange question. "When you find it, is the rope untied, or is it cut?" Fenwick opened his mouth and closed it again. It was neither. The loop at the end of the rope was still closed, exactly as he had tied it.

That night, Fenwick hid in the net shed with a flashlight and a thermos of coffee. At three in the morning, he heard footsteps. A figure was coming down the dock in the dark. Fenwick jumped out, shining his light. "I knew it!" It was Abelardo. "Quiet," the old man said. "Turn that off and watch the water."

The tide was coming in higher than Fenwick had ever seen it. The water rose until it was almost level with the top of the dock, and his boat rose with it. Slowly, the loop of the rope, which had stretched and worn thin over the years, slid up the short wooden post. Then, with a soft splash, it slipped over the top. The boat began to drift away along the dark harbor toward the far wall.

"It's the spring tides," Abelardo said. "Around the full moon in March, the sea comes higher than at almost any other time. Your post is short, and your rope is old. Nobody has been moving your boat. The sea has." At dawn on Friday, the two men knelt side by side on the wet dock, cutting a new, thick rope. One held it while the other tied the knot.