Read Online Boy on the Edge by Fridrik Erlings - Free Book Online
Authors: Fridrik Erlings
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remembered Emily’s story about the Miracle Man, who had rescued the sailors of the trawler, the one who had rowed his little boat from these very shores, without anyone understanding how he had managed to put the boat to sea or pull it back up on the edge.
It took Henry a long time to gather enough courage to try and climb down. It was difficult because of his leg; it slipped from underneath him on the wet rocks. He tightened his grip on the rusty chain, his heart beating faster than ever. When he looked down, it seemed so much farther now than when he was up on the edge.
Gusts of wind pushed him around on the chain or pulled at him, so he tightened his grip and pressed his forehead against the cliff, his legs dangling in the air.
Midway down he came to a ledge that protruded from the cliff wall. He let the chain go and sat down to rest.
Drying his nose on his sleeve, he shivered with excitement, sitting alone in the middle of a steep cliff face, surrounded by the white birds hurling themselves into the void. He shivered with excitement and fear, but it was a good fear. He wondered about the Miracle Man; how had he moved the boat up and down the cliff face? And what had become of the boat? It was a puzzle. And he was going to solve it.
The chain was obviously meant for holding on to while climbing up or down, but it looked like there was something missing. While pondering this he noticed that behind him was an opening in the cliff.
It was a cave.
Its mouth was curved and the floor smooth. The ceiling was low and covered in tiny drops and needles, frozen forever in stone. Pulling himself inside, Henry saw that the cave was deep enough to give shelter if it rained, but not high enough to stand upright in. A strange thing happened when he sat down inside. The sounds of the ocean were somehow magnified in there. Its humming voice echoed in the dome of the cave, surrounding him completely. It was as if he became one with the ocean, and the land didn’t exist anymore; nobody existed but him and the almighty ocean.
As the tide came in, the surf began to roar below, hurling itself at the cliffs, shooting foam all the way up onto the ledge. The powerful rumble engulfed him, echoing around him, inside him. He was alone in the world and nobody could hear him now.
Without fear or shame he raised his rusty voice and sang with the ocean, intoning the wordless poem of the rising and falling surf, all day long until his throat hurt and his voice was almost gone.
“Where is it? Where’s the book?” she asked, standing in the middle of his room, looking around her. He had finished the morning milking, and Emily had arrived to change his bedsheets and bring him clean clothes. He didn’t have an answer ready; he’d forgotten all about the book and hadn’t thought of a lie to tell her.
“I l-lost it,” he stuttered.
Emily sighed, obviously disappointed and a little annoyed.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” she said. “That’s a real shame. It’s the only copy I have, and it’s my favorite.”
Henry was in a hurry; it was the day of the week that the milk tanker arrived, and he had to lift the heavy containers full of milk out of the cooling tank, drag them outside, and then lift them up onto the platform on the tanker.
“Sorry,” he murmured, wanting to turn away.
“Do try to find it, Henry dear, would you? It would really mean a lot to me to get it back.”
“Yes,” he breathed, and turned in the doorway.
“It’s almost spring, and some of the boys will be leaving soon,” she said as she folded his duvet neatly.
Henry waited in the doorway, sidestepping between hope and fear.
“And two new boys will be arriving, both your age,” she said, and picked up the dirty bedsheets from the floor, rolling them into a ball in her arms.
“There’ll be a lot of work this summer, so we’ll just hold off on the reading until autumn, all right?”
She walked past him with her arms full of dirty linen. He breathed in
It took Henry a long time to gather enough courage to try and climb down. It was difficult because of his leg; it slipped from underneath him on the wet rocks. He tightened his grip on the rusty chain, his heart beating faster than ever. When he looked down, it seemed so much farther now than when he was up on the edge.
Gusts of wind pushed him around on the chain or pulled at him, so he tightened his grip and pressed his forehead against the cliff, his legs dangling in the air.
Midway down he came to a ledge that protruded from the cliff wall. He let the chain go and sat down to rest.
Drying his nose on his sleeve, he shivered with excitement, sitting alone in the middle of a steep cliff face, surrounded by the white birds hurling themselves into the void. He shivered with excitement and fear, but it was a good fear. He wondered about the Miracle Man; how had he moved the boat up and down the cliff face? And what had become of the boat? It was a puzzle. And he was going to solve it.
The chain was obviously meant for holding on to while climbing up or down, but it looked like there was something missing. While pondering this he noticed that behind him was an opening in the cliff.
It was a cave.
Its mouth was curved and the floor smooth. The ceiling was low and covered in tiny drops and needles, frozen forever in stone. Pulling himself inside, Henry saw that the cave was deep enough to give shelter if it rained, but not high enough to stand upright in. A strange thing happened when he sat down inside. The sounds of the ocean were somehow magnified in there. Its humming voice echoed in the dome of the cave, surrounding him completely. It was as if he became one with the ocean, and the land didn’t exist anymore; nobody existed but him and the almighty ocean.
As the tide came in, the surf began to roar below, hurling itself at the cliffs, shooting foam all the way up onto the ledge. The powerful rumble engulfed him, echoing around him, inside him. He was alone in the world and nobody could hear him now.
Without fear or shame he raised his rusty voice and sang with the ocean, intoning the wordless poem of the rising and falling surf, all day long until his throat hurt and his voice was almost gone.
“Where is it? Where’s the book?” she asked, standing in the middle of his room, looking around her. He had finished the morning milking, and Emily had arrived to change his bedsheets and bring him clean clothes. He didn’t have an answer ready; he’d forgotten all about the book and hadn’t thought of a lie to tell her.
“I l-lost it,” he stuttered.
Emily sighed, obviously disappointed and a little annoyed.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” she said. “That’s a real shame. It’s the only copy I have, and it’s my favorite.”
Henry was in a hurry; it was the day of the week that the milk tanker arrived, and he had to lift the heavy containers full of milk out of the cooling tank, drag them outside, and then lift them up onto the platform on the tanker.
“Sorry,” he murmured, wanting to turn away.
“Do try to find it, Henry dear, would you? It would really mean a lot to me to get it back.”
“Yes,” he breathed, and turned in the doorway.
“It’s almost spring, and some of the boys will be leaving soon,” she said as she folded his duvet neatly.
Henry waited in the doorway, sidestepping between hope and fear.
“And two new boys will be arriving, both your age,” she said, and picked up the dirty bedsheets from the floor, rolling them into a ball in her arms.
“There’ll be a lot of work this summer, so we’ll just hold off on the reading until autumn, all right?”
She walked past him with her arms full of dirty linen. He breathed in
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