Almost no one believed the old man when he warned visitors about sharks in the Ohio River. They attributed the old man’s DANGER: SHARKS sign to senility—until he showed them the evidence. Then they sang a different tune.
Of course, he knew that one day a visitor would laugh at his sign and step carelessly into the muddy waters. Then there would be a tragedy. But some people could not be saved from themselves.
He lived by the river’s edge in a houseboat that had seen far better days. The old man lived alone with his memories. He was surrounded by photographs—of a wife who had died many, many years ago, and two children whom he had also outlived. There were also pictures of seven grandchildren; but they were all early middle-aged now. They had families and lives in distant cities. None of them had visited the old man for many years.
Most of the time he kept the boat docked in its usual spot on the Ohio side of the river. Its motor leaked oil; and anyway, there was nothing much to see on this stretch of the Ohio River except the rugged hills of rural Kentucky on one side, and the similar landscape of Ohio on the other.
I am an old man, he thought to himself. But I am not quite helpless; and I will do what I can. I will warn others so they will not die unnecessarily.
One afternoon in early August, a young man and his girlfriend (the old man assumed that she was his girlfriend, though he could not be absolutely certain) appeared in the parking lot that abutted the boat dock. They saw the old man rocking on a chair on the deck of his houseboat. Then they saw the sign that said: DANGER: SHARKS.
“Excuse me, sir!” the young man called out. The old man guessed that the boy was maybe twenty years old, at the most. “What’s this all about?”” he gestured to the sign. “Is this an inside joke?”
“It’s no joke,” the old man replied. On the far side of the parking lot was a four-wheel drive vehicle with a trailer behind it. A jet ski was perched upon the trailer. The old man knew immediately what the two young people had in mind.
“You can’t be serious,” the young woman said. She wore her long hair in a ponytail. Like the young man, she was dressed for the water. “There are no sharks in the Ohio River.”
“Don’t be so sure.” the old man said, beginning a variation of his long-practiced spiel. “We aren’t talking about a shark like the one in that movie that came out years ago. Ever heard of bull sharks? Bull sharks can survive in fresh water. They’ve been documented in the Mississippi as far north as Illinois.”
The young man chuckled and the old man thought: He is not a bad sort—not really; but he will try too hard to impress the girl. Young men always fall into that trap.
“Yes, sir, I’ve heard of bull sharks; and I’ve heard those old stories; but sharks in the Mississippi are extremely rare. Like hen’s teeth. And we’re hundreds of miles up the Ohio River!”
The young man turned to the girl and smiled confidently. “Come on, Cindy, let’s hit the water!”
The girl did not move. She did not return the young man’s smile. Instead she said to the old man: “Can you show us, Mister? I mean, can you show us the sharks?”
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