Armas-of-the-Lake

Achternberg for a moment let the dipping spot of his fish-hook out of his sight and glanced at Armas. He found him to be some quite well-shaped specimen of a male. Silently he hoped, the boy wouldn’t feel conceited about it. Achternberg himself had been a good-looking lad in times past what he now covered by a grey beard and moustache. He again looked out to the lake. The sun shone ardently. The lake lay calm. Silence.

Armas rubbed over his nose with his right index. After it, he shored up backwards. He appeared completely relaxed, breathed calmly.

„Do you always take French leave and behave like a submarine?” asked Achternberg in low voice as if he was afraid the pike could overhear it.

„Nope, not always. But why like a submarine?” Armas opened eyes and glanced at Achterberg in a mixture of astonishment and being amused.

„Because you so quietly dived away and put to sea like one of our newest submarines.”

„You were so lost in thought gazing across the lake, I didn’t feel to disturbing you.”

The two glanced at each other. Achternberg nodded in approval, speechless.

„Thanks, by the way, for the bath-towel, the strawhat, the sun lotion, and the cold turkey breast. It was delicious.”

„Don’t mention it.”

After a short intermission.

„Do you find, that I do have a beautiful body?” Armas intensively faced him with his shining brown eyes. Achternberg shot back the glance. Some curious as well as understandable question.

„Were I a sculptor or painter, I’d be totally inspired.”

„And as painter with words you’re not?”

Achternberg arched his right eyebrow. What was the boy up to?

„I think, I’d have to contemplate for a while before I could properly describe you. Does that answer your question?”

„Yep. − And what do you think of my cock?”

Achternberg turned his head to the singular questioner in slow-motion and gazed at him over the edge of his glasses for some endless seeming moments. He thought, he’d misunderstood. Achternberg indeed had to compose himself for a moment and caught himself by eyeing the boy’s manhood thoroughly.

„Do you mean relaxed or as a boner?” Now perplexity was with Armas. He blushed. He gulped.

„You have …?”

„I have …”

„Oh.”

„Nothing what should be troubling you.”

„It should not?”

„No. I haven’t seen anything that wouldn’t have been completely natural.”

Armas’ facial expression showed relief.

„But tell me, though the location seemingly is appropriate to do so − why do you pursue fishing for compliments? Do you have occasion to do so?” Achternberg glanced at him with repeatedly raised right eyebrow.

Armas for the first time cleared his throat being a little embarrassed.

„Well, actually it’s very long even hanging flaccid and for two years I was nothing but being chaffed at High School. Whether I was born in the land-stud, whether my father had been a horse, some just donkey after me ,Hee-haw, hee-haw!’ And one whispered to my ear what the name of the stallion was with whom my mother had mated …”

„Well?”

Armas had blushed an inch deep but he glanced up triumphantly.

„The very one afterwards walked around with a black eye that size!” Armas with both hands indicated the size of the shiner.

Achternberg laughed.

„Just one? I’d given him two!”

„Wouldn’t do since he already had been on the run.”

„Bravo, my boy!” applauded Achternberg. „Why do you let yourself get impressed by such dogs of the manger anyhow?”

„I don’t know. I was always lacking the sweeping counter-arguments. It’s too stupid that good replies always come to oneself hours later. But then nobody is around anymore to whom I could throw it for some thinking. That’s too bad!”

Armas pressed his lips together tossing „something” in the air − without having had „something” in his hand.

„It’s just the same with me. Being confronted with impertinences, I’m mostly perplexed in a way that it makes me inarticulate − and the best answers come to me in the evening. Blooming box!”

Achternberg and Armas both laughed all over their faces − simultaneously.

„Something like that does happen to somebody who can play with words like you,” the young lad was wondering and slightly frowned.

„Oh yeah, why not?” Achternberg smiled. „Du büst doch ok ‘n plietschen Burs un hest nich alltiet dat richtige Woort op dien Tung, nich?” [„You a smart lad yourself, too, and don‘t always have the right word to slip from your tongue, do you?“]

„Yep.” Armas grinned.

„See? I once knew a general who met with the same fate. On duty a smart one, having a ready tongue, but effronteries yet flabbergasted him. That’s another form of distraction − and that is a sign of sagacity and kindness. Just dumb and vicious humans are constantly quick-witted as already François Gaston de Lévis phrased in 18th century,” Achternberg lectured. Armas looked at him quizzically.

„Oh! Who Lévis was? Um, oddly enough he’s not listed neither in Brockhaus’ nor Meyers’ Encyclopedia though he happened to have been a marshal of France and a very successful field commander during the French and Indian War in Canada. But he’s recorded in the Dictionary of Canadian Biography. You may look it up at my place if you like.”

„Oh yeah, I‘d love to. May I visit you occassionally?”

„Don‘t you do that already?” Achternberg looked at him, smiling.

„Um, I guess so, kinda.” Some roguish smile flashed over Armas’ face, and with his right index he rubbed the bridge of his nose which slightly rippled right afterwards.

„By the way, these nulls who baited you − never make the mistake to overlook them since as long as they are placed after the decimal point they’re powerful and dangerous because they puff up anything in front of them − stupid talk as well. Put them afore the comma by wit and pun and next instant everything behind them will become almost meaningless but still does provide them with considerable influence. But if you view them carefully, those nulls, you’ll find them to consist merely of a thin mantle being empty inside. That applies for those fatuous dudes who are envious of your looks and corporal qualities as well as for pompous people in education, economy and politics who look at themselves as the greatest and simply talk drivel. Stupidity always had been kicked upstairs. That always was and still is fact − and that’ll remain so for evermore until the big red sun will swallow this planet, but I’m confident of that mankind in its unlimited crowd-stupidity by then will have extinguished by itself to the advantage of the earth.”

Achternberg was about talking himself into a fury, his furrow had gained an alarming depth, but he’d decelerated himself in time.

„But we all must pay attention, in all amiable abstractedness, to fight back in time since null rules the world − and the microbe of human stupidity has not yet been found.”

Armas had been listening mesmerized. He’d gotten into a summer school of Achternberg’s but not alone it didn’t trouble him but it aroused his enormous curiousity. But first he himself was facing Achternberg’s curiosity.

„May I ask you an intimate question?“

Armas speechlessly nodded Yes − he was wondering what was to come.

„We now know already that you call some manhood your own many others are envious of, a fact they in their stupidity can only reply to by malice − but why are you circumcised? You‘re no Arab and you don’t have Jewish features either.”

„You disapprove of Jews?“ Armas asked frowning.

„No, although I object circumcision for so-called religious reasons which cannot be justified whatsoever. But that’s my private point of view. I happened to have had − according to Nuremberg Laws − a half-Jewish aunt which my family had been seeing through those brown years safe and sound. − Why with you?“

They both looked squarely into their eyes. Armas tarried for a moment before he …

„My glans is too big, beautifully chiselled, I think, but too big. When I was three years old, my foreskin had to be removed because of phimosis. Those pains belong to my first permanent memories. It was some purely medial procedure. But also on account of that I terribly was being teased in school, ,You lacking some, you lacking some!’, until some insightful teacher informed my mates about the reason why. There was still some giggling and whispering but after that calm was restored. Only in shower some wanted to have a closer look. That I allowed and with that the subject never came up again. It but started all over again when they noticed that I was passing them all by length. Truely annoying.” Armas distorted his face.

Achternberg was pleased with the intimate confession. The boy already came to trust him. Or was he just glad to finally be able to talk about it? Achternberg assumed that Armas hadn’t obtained true friends. He yet hadn’t mentioned any siblings, too. Perhaps he was all by himself.

„Don‘t you have a friend?“ Achternberg decided on sounding out the social situation of the boy.

„What do you mean by that?“ Armas inquired, and all of a sudden he appeared timid.

„Well, some good pal or even bestie with whom one can talk everything over, with whom one may go swimming and see the sauna, bitch about girls, do homework, go to the cinema, hang around in discotheques, does compare the growing of one’s pubes, how long one’s dick is, putting on competition wankings and watching first porn in the internet − things juveniles commonly do at your age.“

Armas looked at Achternberg, big-eyed. He who tolerated it, forgot about his fishing rod for a moment. In that way obviously nobody ever had been speaking to the boy before. It visibly „operated” in Armas’ inner system.

„No. But must I speak about it today?“

„Whenever you’re ready to and if you’re ready to,” Achternberg replied appreciative. Armas momentarily was overwhelmed. He had no intention to overstrain him else he most likely would „shut down”.

„What have you been doing last night?” Achternberg tryed to ease the atmosphere by change of subject.

„I’ve read something from you.“

„Well? Did you like it?” Totally modest as an author Achternberg wasn’t either.

„It was funny and stimulating as well. Be that as it may, afterwards, before putting out the light, I enjoyed a wonderful erotic soliloquy with my longer self.”

Achternberg noticed that Armas blushed under his tanned skin. He more and more was pleased by the straightforward conduct of the boy and that he was no hard case. And he was further perplexed by him.

„I love to do it with myself. It’s so hot to the touch feeling one’s own body. I can hardly imagine how it was without.” Armas smiled. He seemed to be thinking of it again.

Achternberg perceived that something was bothering him.

„Spit it out!”

„What shall I spit out?“

„What you’d love to ask me.“

„You won‘t be angry with me if I want to know something intimate?“ Armas looked concerned.

„Why should I? We’re entre nous. Let it out.”

Armas locked eyes with him.

„Did you formerly masturbate lots, I mean, prior to your first girl-friend?”

„Formerly?” Achternberg roguishly grinned. „And what do you understand by ,lots’?”

Armas was flabbergasted.

„Err, three times a day?” He arched both of his eyebrows.

„Uh-huh, good average. With love from Mister Testosterone.”

That wasn’t exactly what Armas’d expected.

„Really?”

„I once happened to have been a seventeen-year-old myself, as well as you are now.”

„How come you know how old I am?“

„Now I know.” Achternberg smiled. „And at that time my hair was dark-brown.“

„And at 50 you still fancy, I mean …” He made an unambiguous hand movement.

Achternberg uncontrollably laughed in such a way that immediately afterwards he hauled the fishing rod in. Now the pike certainly had been scared off for the rest of the day.

Armas visibly wouldn‘t know what to think of this laughing fit. Such an „old man” could hardly still have any sex.

„That‘s quite nice of you looking at me as a fifty-year-old. Well, full mane, no bald spots. Add a bit more to it. It obviously was worth while never having revealed my age in any interview − therefore also the internet does not know about it.”

„Really? And you still lust for sex?”

„As true as I‘m sitting here.” Achternberg broadly smiled.

Armas looked in disbelief. His father was 45, his mother 40 − and that up to now had been appearing kind of dubious to him. He was sort of stunned that the crotch of this grey-head wasn’t dull yet and that he could boldly speak about intimate matters with a man older than his father − with the additional difference that he never could be discussing any of that with his father, and he didn‘t want to either. For it his „old man” was far too little on the spot. And his mother was a woman! A wonderful beautiful woman − but a woman! What business would men’s secrets be to a woman − what? And the girls at his High School? They were just giggling, whispering on the quiet or were busy with their obnoxious „Look! Ain‘t he cute?” Did they mean him? He wasn’t but cute! He was a man! Well, almost, sort of. Yes, in thunder, he hadn’t yet ploughed a sweet furrow, but what them all wanted: He didn’t have a hell of a motorbike, his iPhone wasn’t the bleeding edge, he didn’t give a damn about expensive branded articles, he nilled celebrating boisterous parties where „talking” meant shouting at each other and afterwards one’s head was ringing for hours, he disapproved of booze, he didn’t smoke. He wanted to play volleyball or go swimming, do some strength training to chisel his muscles, he loved to read which he did a lot. One girl he once asked whether they could mutually read to each other. Then she equally could buy herself an audiobook was her foolish reply and ditched him. What he was wishing for, girls weren’t able to keep up with. And how they were talking about sex! He’d overheard conversation he’d blushed bright red merely by listening. What they all expected from a boy and his penis! Top performance non-stop − the entire Kama Sutra up and down.

He once looked it up. Those were studies of its own. How could one add that to one’s repertoire in such a short space of time? No, that was too much for him, too strainful. He was yearning for tenderness, not for exaggerated exercices besides school sports.

Armas in addition was facing the problem that he lost his semen unvoluntarily again and again. Because of his circumcision his glans rubbed itself at any fabric so intensively that at least once a week he creamed his jeans. At the age of fifteen it’d happened to him more than once by the public pool or at school swimming being in his tight scrimpy swim briefs. Stupid remarks and the sneering haunted him for quite a while.

He secretely feared it might happen to him while having sex with a girl. He was terrified to get laughed at.

And the boys? That was quite another subject. He’d truely had it up to here with them for certain reasons.

Armas sensed that he could trust this novelist but he wasn’t ready to reveal everything to him after two days. Nevertheless he was looking forward to tell many a things to somebody he had the feeling to being understood by and not being laughed at. Achternberg was interested in him and he was interested in Achternberg. That was a good basis.

He had no near friend with whom he during summer could be lying naked underneath a tree exchanging innermost thoughts, to be continued during winter back to back on the large widow bench in his room, enveloped in warm pullovers, talking about anything and everything. When he sat in the big bathtub he wished for a pal with whom he could sprawl out in it, listen to stirring music, wash each others hair, gossip until the water were cold and their fingers shrivelled. In the sauna he always sat alone on the bench although at all times many people were around him. Nobody was interested in him, let alone gaping at his dick. He more than once had done a runner soon dudes of different age were crowding him. Last time he’d threatened an approximate twenty-year-old with blows should he once again wipe along his penis „by accident”. Meanwhile his body height was of considerable support. „Keep your head, baby!“ the obtrusive bloke came to say before he‘d withdrawn with a last brazen final glance by his hands raised.

Armas cleared his throat.

„You still take delight in having sex, really?“

„Yes, of course, what have you been thinking?“ Achternberg laughed. „That does not stop only because a man begins losing his hair or does turn grey. I could give you quite a list of prominent persons which had begotten children having been aged over sixty and seventy, admittedly with distinctly younger women. Are you familiar with Anthony Quinn?“

Armas shrugged − along with distorted chin.

„Well, he‘s no longer with us for a couple of years. He happened to have been a world-famous Mexican-American actor. Last year he’d have turned a centenarian. That old chap begot his 13th child at 81 and passed away at 86. Quite an achievement, eh?”

One could tell by looking at Armas that inwardly his jaw dropped. His face was sheer disbelief. Wouldn’t somebody of that age live in a nursing home? Could one of that age possibly still be that vital? Wow, in that case he’d have a lot of fun ahead.

„Go and watch ,The World in His Arms‘. In this movie he plays the counterpart of Gregory Peck, in ,Lawrence of Arabia‘ he plays the part of a tribal prince conquering Akaba, and his most famous movie is ,Alexis Sorbas‘. Therein he dances a sirtaki like a born Greek couldn‘t have performed better.“

Armas contemplated.

„,Lawrence of Arabia’ I’ve seen earlier this year. Is he the one who slains a Turkish Army officer with his sabre? Impressing scene.”

Achternberg marvelled at the detailed memory of the boy. That spoke for his powers of observation. The movie runs for three hours after all.

„Yes, the very one. But in reality without the hooked nose.“

„Then I do visualize him. He still was able at 81? Cool!”

Achternberg couldn‘t escape smiling because of Armas’ amazement.

„Would you excuse me for a moment? My beloved green tea urges out.“

„Sure.”

Achterberg got up and disappeared behind the tall reeds. When he returned, he was alone again.

*

3rd day

Achternberg had been assidiously authoring in the evening until late at night − as customary with him when getting on a roll. Armas had become some true inspiration.

After the breakfast he’d again arranged everything for the boy by the jetty. This time he added a towel for drying himself off. The day promised to be a fine one. The weather forecast was promising.

Some readers’ electrographs had been piling up which Achternberg sequentially answered − that‘s good manners. Among it also was mail from his American wordsmith friend Shawna Tylerson. She again had published some nice erotic short stories. He was fond of her style. She wrote quite different from his but that made the attraction. He decided to write her in the evening so she could read in the middle of her day according to her local time.

The computer shut down and Achternberg got ready to leave the house for a couple of hours.

When he approached the lakeshore the very moment Armas alighted from the water, heavily breathing. His wet body blinked and shone sun-drenched. He shook out his hair making waterdrops sprinkle and tucked his hair − when he descried approaching Achternberg. Armas waved at him with a beaming smile he who was smiling back − and expected him.

„Hello, Herr von Achternberg.”

The writer halted before Armas who still was breathing hard, put down his folding chair and the picnic basket − both extending their hands to each other for the first time. „Moin, moin [Hello!], my boy!” It became a firm handshake about which either of them rejoiced in his own way.

„Good, that he ain’t got no flabby hand-grip. Nothing worse than shaking hands with a ‘dead fish’.”

„Cool, that some quill-driver can be that vigorous.”

„I today also put down a towel for you to dry off.”

Armas turned around letting Achternberg‘s hand go.

„Oh, thank you!” The boy took a few paces to his prepared resting-place, took the towel up and commenced drying himself off. In the meantime Achternberg proceeded to the jetty and arranged his place. Before he could sit down and cast the fishing rod, he for the first time heard the boy asking him a favour:

„Would you please lotion my back? That’d save me from straining my back.”

Achternberg turned around. Armas already stood behind him and extended the plastic bottle to him. Achternberg took it, Armas turned around, supported himself against his thighs and leaned his head forward.

The boy slightly winced when Achternberg squeezed a thick blob between his shoulder blades. The sun lotion was cool and Armas obviously sensitive.

Achternberg put the plastic bottle down onto his folding chair and commenced spreading the lotion on Armas’ back and to slather it.

„Your butt, too? It would suffice.”

„Yeah, sure, don‘t be shy! Just picture to yourself I were your son.”

Achternberg arched his eyebrows, what the boy indeed couldn‘t see. What had happened overnight? Such a leap forward in intimacy? Achternberg couldn‘t understand but there wasn’t enough time for contemplation since that much of a „behind” it was not.

„Done!” He patted the boy’s shoulder. Armas erected himself and asked for the plastic bottle. Achternberg extended it to him. The boy squeezed quite some sun lotion to his right palm and commenced slathering himself thoroughly.

Achternberg finally wanted to turn to angling …

„Would you wash me if I were ill and couldn‘t do it by myself, I mean, if I were your son?“

Armas slathered his flat belly like being lost in thought. „Most certainly I would.”

„Intimate too?” Armas carried on by slathering his penis. „I mean, arse and dick and stuff?”

He scrutinized Achternberg who held the gaze.

„If you were entrusted to my parental care, certainly. And as baby-son I‘d have changed your diapers, with everything that comes with that, including tummy-buzzer. You likewise could be my godchild or the orphan boy of perished friends. Why are you asking?“

„And you wouldn‘t look at that being gay?”

„Of course not! Just rotten brains would do that, ill philistines of our socially coldish society. Honi soi qui mal y pense!”

„Then I don‘t know why you asking whether you shall slather my behind, too, or not. Are simply my butt-cheeks, aren‘t they?“

„Normally one wouldn‘t do a thing like that being barely acquainted, would one?“

„Do we behave normally then?“ Armas quizzically looked at him with laughing eyes.

Achternberg cleared his throat and gave no answer − for the time being.

When Armas was about to turn away …

„Would you wash me if I were your sick father, uncle or a close friend?”

They both locked eyes.

„Of course. Everywhere. Anytime.“

Thus the arse-question had been resolved. A new tight bond of friendship was being built.

„In case you wanna drink some, mineral water is in the picnic basket right here. Help yourself.”

Two hours later.

Armas had been falling sound asleep but thanks to his pre-tanned skin and the high-levelled sun protection factor he hadn’t suffered any skin irritation when he woke up and lolled. He stretched out like early in the morning after some good night’s sleep. The boy got up and saw that Achternberg still sat on his folding chair, staring across the lake. He felt pressure on the bladder. He to the right stepped behind the reeds and peed. Armas felt like a piglet in the mud. When he’d cut the last drop loose he approached the wooden jetty and marvelled at Achternberg’s excellent sense of hearing. It was not until his grabbing for the mineral water in the picnic basket that he was asked …

„Did you sleep well?”

„Oh yeah, thanks. I actually had some nice dreaming.”

„Care for telling me?”

„Could be. − Any pike news?”

„Nope. He’s making a fool of me.”

Armas grinned and sat down by Achternberg, cross-legged.

„Perhaps you picked the wrong come-on?”

„With this wobbler I once before got a pike of more than one metre in length from his element, almost fifteen kilograms it had.”

„From this lake?”

„Nope, in Finland, last year.”

„Seems to be some smart fella since else a pike even snaps at a banana skin tugged through the water.” Armas acted experienced.

„Really? You might try by crossing the lake with some banana skin, huh?”

„And then comes that this rascal mistakes my dick for prey. No thanks!” Armas shuddered and protectively covered his manhood by his right palm for a moment. „Once the pike has vigorously bitten it won‘t let go. Still wanna have fun with my Monsieur Bouchon!” His face was one single reluctance.

Achternberg smiled. Armas indeed had been reading his erotica.

Soothing quietude fell for quite a while. Armas closed eyes and put back his head. He appeared completely relaxed and yet he inwardly made an attempt for a further question.

„Am I a joke because I as a seventeen-year-old hadn‘t had sex with a girl yet?”

„No, of course not. Why should you be?“ Achternberg looked at him, Armas just opened his eyes − their eyes met. „What gives you that idea?”

„For I‘m laughed out of court because of that in my class.”

„Who‘s laughing at you? Girls or boys?”

„Boys do, particularly three of them, and the others not a lot different grin pudding-headed either.”

„And you put up with that?”

„Couldn‘t arrange some fucking for show, could I?” The argument had something to be said for it.

Achternberg did some brief thinking.

„Let‘s keep up with those three especially nice guys. Do you know whether they already …?”

„However that may be, they shoot their big mouths off. But I only once observed one of them with a particularly pretty girl by the public pool.”

„That must not necessarily have been his girl-friend. One may go swimming with one‘s own sister or a cousin-girl as well.“ Armas hadn’t thought anything of it. He, as a matter of fact, hadn’t noticed Martin making out. Never before. Neither Edgar and Holger. Now he could figure, why.

„You know, those who bitch about others the loudest and most spiteful are only eager to divert suspicion from themselves and to gloss over their own deficits. Heard of often enough, believe me.”

„Do you really think so?” Armas still looked doubting.

„Oh yeah. That is a concept up to so-called high politics. Especially in weak political systems heads of state love to distract from their domestic problems by making a bogeyman out of minorities in their own country or in neighbouring states, stirring chauvinism or even going to war. Then acts of war are prosecuted against neighbours because there as minority living own fellow countrymen allegedly have to be protected not to mention that their residential areas are being annexed by landgrab of the aggressive state. That increases oftentimes almost religiously excessive nationalism and thusly some semi-dictatorial president, let alone a dictator, is able to excellently distract from problems of his own doing. In addition annual victory parades are being celebrated to commemorate so-called victories from yonks ago stirring blood of each and every chauvinist while the rest of the body does forget it’s hungry. Very simple. Works with dumb people as well as with intellectuals who ought to know better but do promise themselves advantages by their spineless aiding and abetting. Simple psychology. Those three knaves don’t do it any different with you as it seems to me. How does it manifest by them against you?”

Armas had been listening mesmerized but now he lowered his gaze and more than that − he moped.

To Achternberg it was clearly recognizable that something depressed the boy.

„Will you tell me?”

„Must I?” Armas looked at him almost as being despaired.

„You mustn‘t anything but die some day, but perhaps I can help you, in that case I just oughta simply know what these louts are carrying on with you.“

„That‘s exactly the point! They gossip, I do carry on − with boys.“

A thick teardrop trickled down his right cheek without creasing his beautiful face to weep. It touched Achterberg to the quick in such a way that he instantaneously decided to come to the wounded boy’s defence with all his might. But that very day he didn’t find an opportunity to do something since all of a sudden Armas got up, dived headlong into the lake and swam off.

Achternberg had no alternative but to follow him with his eyes. He didn’t cat-call at him, just let him leave. He’d come back.

But for three days Armas didn’t show up. The large bathing-towel Achternberg spread out daily at lakefront remained unused. The towel for dry-off remained unaffected, very neat and proper folded square as well as the turkey snack wrapped in tinfoil. The sun lotion remained untouched.

Achternberg worried about this wonderful boy and yet he did not. Armas was wounded but not fatally. His very foundations had been rocked but he hadn’t been shaken literally. Else he’d reacted on it quite differently, would possibly have committed the stupid thing to kill himself. He would come back, and Achternberg figured out first basics of a campaign against this gang. And when he approached the wooden jetty the forth day after Armas’ grief-stricken confession, the boy already sat there. He propped up himself backwards and let his long legs dangle in the cool water indulging in the sun on his naked body. One look towards the bathing-towel made Achternberg leap that his visitor had been hungry: the tinfoil was lying next to it very neat and properly folded square. The plastic bottle with the sun lotion stood right next to Armas on the wooden jetty.