"I know how to hook a bait dad, for fuck sakes"
"Yeah, Georgie let out on me, let all the anger out. It'll make you feel better. So are we going to go into it? Or are we going to sit in silence like we did the entire trip here?"
"Why do you guys have so little trust in me? Did I speak my first word when I was 5? Did I learn how to walk in first grade? Did the pediatrician once inform you of some impairment which you then decided not to tell me about?"
"Lots of normal people look to their family in a tough spot, lots, we just - look, son, I want you to know we're here for you, I felt we needed to push you because, well, me and your mother believe you think we're critical of you, and that's plain wrong. I know your potential Georgie, shit, all the chefs from Florida to Alaska and every shit-town between them knows your name. but when God gave you whatever the hell the taste equivalent of hypersomia is, he also give you a neurotic cocktail son."
The water was calm, occasionally, a gentle gust disturbed the stillness. They sat apart quietly for a while after, the father pondered if he had said something wrong, the son mulled over the accuracy of what was said. Gulls argued aloft, waves bustled below. The son sat cross-legged before the fishing rod, meditating, the father dawdled by the helm. The son's rod shook, he came back to his wits, false positive he decided.
"I wasn't wrong though"
The father walked back to the deck.
"What?"
"I wasn't wrong"
"For God's sake Georgie you pissed in Mr.Caldwell's soup, I can't even believe you managed to get a job after that incident. And why? Just why? You were a dick's length from from chef executive, wasn't that what you sweat and bled for all these years?"
"Must have been a long dick"
"Okay, forget about the promotion, was the pissing necessary?"
"First of all, I didn't piss in the soup, I'm not an animal, I just poured some piss I saved when I went to the bathroom. Second of all, I knew that cunt was spying on me in the kitchen, I had to confirm it, how else would he have known about the piss?"
"What if he wasn't? Would it be fair for him to swallow that piss-riddled soup?"
"He wouldn't have noticed"
"Georgie, for your career's sake, I hope that's not true"
Clouds were dark now, heavy, straining to keep hold of their fluids. The wind grew stronger, in turn, the waves were anxious and the ship bobbed with increasing force. The pair were too immersed in argument to notice restlessness of the sea. After a succession of closeted insults and sarcastic agreements, a vicious thunder startled the men back to their senses.
"Fuck, we should head back dad, the weather's getting bad"
"Yeah, get everything inside, I'll turn us around"
A few minutes after they were in the bridge, safe and secure, rain struck the windowpanes in sheets. No gaps for the sun to peek through. It was dark and gloomy, but in the safety of the bridge, there was a strange warmth despite the uneasiness. The spectacle was something out of an oil painting.
"How long till we get back?"
"A few hours, you know how to use the radio?"
"Yeah, I think, is that going to be necessary?"
In other words, how fucking dangerous is this?
"Hopefully not. Look at the size of that big cocksucker"
He glanced at one particular mammoth cloud. The waves were toying with the ship now, throwing it around like a piece of cardboard, a sudden jolt threw Georgie headfirst into the window, cracking both the glass and his forehead.
"Are you okay?! Georgie! I can't leave the helm, are you okay?! Stay down and brace yourself."
Georgie moved in a sluggish manner, he sat against the wall and grabbed the metal railing above his head with one hand, and with the other hand he felt his forehead for something, blood.
"It's just a cut Georgie, hold on, we'll be fine in bit. Hold on, son, hold on, we'll be fine, I'll bandage it up in a moment, don't panic, we're fine - SIT THE FUCK BACK DOWN, don't try to get up just stay where you are"
A tilt to the left, and water barged through the right; a tilt the right, and water barged through the left. A mist patiently engulfed them, thunder tolled the minute. Mist became fog, and they were blind, relying only on equipment.
"George get the radio, go get the - GEORGIE WAKE UP, I need you son, I need you, focus, please son-"
"I don't want to..I-I don't want to die, dad, I'm sorry for shouting, I'm sorry dad"
His voice was fading.
"I'm sorry..I'm-"
"CUT THIS SHIT OUT GEORGIE, I want you to fucking crawl to the radio and get help. Fucking drag yourself by the teeth, but we're not dying here, get up, call for help, go, NOW"
"O-Okay..okay, I can - I can get up, I can go, fuck, I don't want to die dad-"
He started wailing, loudly, fumbling about in the ground.
"-please dad, I don't want to die, I don't want to die"
"Sit there and die, or try the radio"
The son gradually stopped his pathetic squall. He got up, started towards the radio, stumbling intensely, falling down once, getting up, almost falling again mid-way but his father got a hold of him, when he regained sufficient balance he started moving again. He got to the radiotelephone, tuned it to the emergency channel and started screaming into the speaker.
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US! WE NEED HELP! WE NEED HELP!"
There was no signal, they both knew, yet Georgie kept screaming. The storm was mad, no oil painting could hold this rage, water started to rise in the bridge.
"Georgie, quickly, come here, take the helm"
The father reached into a cabinet, pulled a revolver, a lighter and a pair of cigarettes. Turkish Silver. He gave one to his son, lit the cigarette, and this he lit his own cigarette. The son understood, and the cigarette made him calmer.
"I don't regret pissing in Mr.Caldwell's soup"
They smiled to each other, the father gave a light chuckle and then killed the both of them. Their bodies were found in the capsized boat the next day.