For Christmas, I wanted a kayak. For months, I had been poring over the catalogs of various suppliers, comparing specifications and accessories and looking at the pictures of people in kayaks exploring wild places.
Finally Christmas eve arrived. The bell rang, the doors to the drawing room opened, and there was the Christmas tree with its candles and tinsel and a pile of presents under it. A few small ones were for me but I don’t remember what any of them were any more. Except the last one, which when unwrapped turned out a bottle of cleansing lotion for rubber kayaks. I knew what that meant: I’d not get a boat for Christmas. I felt the tears of disappointment rise. My father, who had been watching me, quickly directed my attention to the back of the sofa. There was a brand new folding kayak, exactly what I had wished for.
No snow had fallen yet, but temperatures were close to freezing and there was a lot of wind. Even so, the next morning I insisted that we go down to the river and try my new kayak. We put on our wool sweaters and heavy jackets and carried the boat down to the narrow sand beach. I carefully got in without touching the cold water while someone held the boat, someone else passed me the paddle, and with everyone anxiously watching, I set off. Too soon they called me to turn back.
Once I got out, it was my father’s turn. He was tall, and when he got into the kayak, we all had to hold it to keep it from capsizing. He took off, and after a few strokes it became clear that he had trouble keeping his balance. The boat flipped over, and he went in. Everyone started screaming. Fortunately, the river was shallow enough for him to stand, and he made it back to shore.
We all agreed that he needed to get back indoors immediately to warm up and change. In the meantime, we tried to get the kayak out of the river. This was difficult since it was full of water, making it heavy and hard to handle. In addition, none of us wanted to wade into the freezing river.
Eventually, my father came back wearing fresh, dry clothes. He started to help us to pull out the kayak, but even so it was hard work. During a particularly hard pull, he slipped and once again fell into the river, this time sideways. Again there was much screaming, but this time they were screams of delighted disbelief. The slapstick quality of the moment was heightened by the fact that he was normally a careful and dignified man.
Once it got warmer in spring, the boat was wonderful. I spent many days floating up and down the river, and this is something I still do, even though the boats and rivers change. When I moved abroad, I gave my kayak to one of my cousins. As far as I know, some kid is still using it somewhere.
Nehaveigur 