“Yes.”
Just when they had taken the oar and were pushing their little boat off from the shore, Machida came rushing along, stumbling over the stony wharf.
“You can’t row, can you?” called out Yamaguchi, who had until recently been a sailor.
“Row? Of course I can.”
“If we have too many, they’ll only get in the way. … the boat’ll capsize.”
Machida appeared not to hear, and, jumping in at the stern, made the whole boat rock.
“Look there! Damn you!”
Only the waves lapped the side of the boat; not a single fish was heard leaping in the water. The launch, with her lights extinguished, lay alongside the pier looking like a whale as she showed faintly through the darkness. The row locks were dry and creaked, but when water was poured on them the noise stopped. Their boat drew near the launch.
Machida’s heart was beating with excitement. To tell the truth, he could not row. This was the first time in his fife he’d tried rowing and he exerted himself to save his face.
“If the thugs appear I’ll try some ju-jutsu on them and chuck them into the sea.”
“Don’t speak so loud!” grumbled Yamaguchi.
The sound of a motor truck on the shore came through the chilly air. Every light in the village was out, and from the water they couldn’t see a thing. The truck had come under cover of darkness to carry off the pickets.
