Underlake

A neighbor's 22-ft. sailboat sank because mice had eaten the foam insulation over the winter, and the first time it launched water flooded the hull and dragged the nose under.  The rest of the boat followed, drowning gracefully, like a ballerina taking a bow.  It was probably still there somewhere, Nan thought, upright on the lake bottom, sails full up.  Down past the cold layer, where the toothy, prehistoric pike trolled, down, down, to the dark vanished world, resting in the underlake, lazily rocking its mast while people went tubing and skiing, touching the surface of the lake with their slightness like water bugs.

Lesley Bannatyne, Underlake

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