The second night, we broke into the generator cabinet in the camp and pulled a long power line all the way out to the road. We charged the abandoned tractor, stealing no more power than we needed, just exactly enough so it could drive the few meters to the house and from there through the underbrush to the canal.

The key was in the ignition. The tractor started immediately and drove without complaint down to the yard, over to the boat.

Caleb had converted the old cart into a trailer. On it he had built a cradle. Now we attached the trailer to the back of the tractor.

The air stood still when we hoisted up the boat. The hull rested solidly on floral couch cushions from the abandoned house. It was so big and heavy. The weight would stall the tractor, I thought.

But when I turned the key and started the engine again, it pulled the trailer without a hitch. Both the tractor and the boat on the trailer rolled forward.

Through the garden, down the path, toward the canal.

Lou ran beside me.

Marguerite took her hand. “It’s working. It’s working.”

“Come on, Daddy!”

I backed up to the canal, had to keep turning around in my seat to keep my eyes on the boat at all times. My hands were sweaty. Imagine if it didn’t work, if the cradle collapsed, if the trailer didn’t hold.

It was steep, too steep.

I closed my eyes and continued, could feel the boat pulling. It had gained momentum, was on its way down to the canal. I no longer needed to use the gas. The trailer was rolling by itself. Gravity did all the work.

“Stop!” Martin shouted.

“Brakes!” Christian howled.

I did as they said, but the weight of the boat produced its own momentum.

It was tipping over!

But it didn’t tip over. It just slid out into the canal. Exactly the way we had planned.

The trailer hit the muddy bottom.

“Wait,” Caleb called.

As if I had any choice.

The back wheels of the tractor were on the bank of the canal, about to roll down.

Caleb and Christian ran over to me and loosened the trailer. I put my foot on the gas pedal and drove a few meters forward, back toward the yard.

“Hurrah,” Lou called, jumping up and down. Everyone clapped.

Because there was the boat, in the middle of the canal. Resting solidly in the cradle on the trailer, which was now securely stuck in the mud.

There it would remain. Berthed in the mud. As stable as a post, until the rain came.

Caleb, Martin, and Christian didn’t want any payment for the labor. Not that I had anything to give them.

“But the tractor,” Christian said. “You don’t need that, maybe.”

“Just take it,” I said.

Christian took his seat behind the wheel.

“Come on,” he said to Lou. “On y va.”