Big Water by Andrea Curtis Today I feel only dread. I’m sweating again—my cheeks are flushed. I thought I would feel relieved to be back in civilization, to be rescued from certain death, but instead, seeing the town and the men rushing about on the dock, the boats and sails and horse-drawn wagons, I’m struck again by what we have just endured. I want to find Daniel, see his face, know that he remembers too, but he’s tunneled down beneath the blankets like a mole. “Parry Sound,” Henry calls out, and I see the blankets covering Daniel begin to stir. Along the shore, lumber is stacked in piles as high as a schooner. It looks like a pencil drawing done with a ruler—perfect, straight lines. Boats, most of them small, meant for fishing, dot the bay here and there. Some are tied up at dock; others are anchored in the water just past the river. The chimney stacks of houses and large wood-frame buildings whisper smoky murmurs into the sky. I hear the hwah of a seagull and look up, hoping absurdly to see the bird from the other day. But there are many seagulls, all of them flying around like tugboats escorting a ship into harbor.The wind begins to die as we get closer, and Henry and Eva set to work dousing the sails. I want to help them, show my gratitude, but when I try to move, the muscles in my legs are putty, my head a spinning top. Eva looks at me with eyebrows raised and shakes her head no. She points to the bottom of the boat. I should sit. Henry and Eva fold the sails and get out oars. We are bumping up against the stone-filled cribs of a large, wide dock within minutes. I watch the men on the docks with their untamed beards and callused hands, their frayed wool pants and faded hats. They are young and old and move about like a kind of machine, few of them speaking but working together without need of words. Moving cargo, hauling wood, cleaning boats. Picking up, passing, carrying. I hear one call to another in French, someone respond in English. A thick-necked tabby cat sneaks down the dock, sniffing here and there. It rubs its long orange-and-white striped side along one burly man’s boot. The man reaches down and scratches the old cat behind its ear, and it leans in toward him. These men pay us little attention until we are banging up against the high dock. Their faces flicker with confusion, then disbelief as Daniel calls out, “We were on the Asia. The boat is sunk. We There’s a moment in which nothing happens, as if no one can quite believe what he is hearing. Then one man shouts, “Survivors!” and scrambles to take the bowline. Another reaches far down into the boat to haul Daniel up like a fish on a line. They gesture to me. “Petite fille,” they gasp. I lift my arms, and someone takes my hands. The blanket falls from my shoulders as I’m in the air. “A girl,” one says. “A child.” I don’t have time to think about how strange these words sound, how little I feel like a child, before I am half carried, half dragged down the dock, men smelling of sweat and wood and coal pushing in on either side of me. I am still weak, my forehead on fire once again, and I let them lift me, though I don’t like their arms around my waist, though I want to turn back to Eva to say, Thank you, thank you for your berries and your kindness. Thank you, Henry, for keeping us safe when there was no one else. Daniel is beside me, though he is allowed to walk on his own. I can hear him talking to the men, but I can’t make out the words. There are shouts all around us. “The Asia! Survivors! Make way! Survivors!”are survivors! Help us.” He holds up the pillowcase with S.S. Asia stenciled along the hem. Use the excerpt from “Big Water” to answer the question. It is possible to infer from this excerpt something about what Henry and Eva have done for Daniel and the narrator. What inference can you make? In 3–5 sentences, state your inference and provide strong and thorough textual evidence from the excerpt to support the inference.

Question

Big Water by Andrea Curtis Today I feel only dread. I’m sweating again—my cheeks are flushed. I thought I would feel relieved to be back in civilization, to be rescued from certain death, but instead, seeing the town and the men rushing about on the dock, the boats and sails and horse-drawn wagons, I’m struck again by what we have just endured. I want to find Daniel, see his face, know that he remembers too, but he’s tunneled down beneath the blankets like a mole. “Parry Sound,” Henry calls out, and I see the blankets covering Daniel begin to stir. Along the shore, lumber is stacked in piles as high as a schooner. It looks like a pencil drawing done with a ruler—perfect, straight lines. Boats, most of them small, meant for fishing, dot the bay here and there. Some are tied up at dock; others are anchored in the water just past the river. The chimney stacks of houses and large wood-frame buildings whisper smoky murmurs into the sky. I hear the hwah of a seagull and look up, hoping absurdly to see the bird from the other day. But there are many seagulls, all of them flying around like tugboats escorting a ship into harbor.The wind begins to die as we get closer, and Henry and Eva set to work dousing the sails. I want to help them, show my gratitude, but when I try to move, the muscles in my legs are putty, my head a spinning top. Eva looks at me with eyebrows raised and shakes her head no. She points to the bottom of the boat. I should sit. Henry and Eva fold the sails and get out oars. We are bumping up against the stone-filled cribs of a large, wide dock within minutes. I watch the men on the docks with their untamed beards and callused hands, their frayed wool pants and faded hats. They are young and old and move about like a kind of machine, few of them speaking but working together without need of words. Moving cargo, hauling wood, cleaning boats. Picking up, passing, carrying. I hear one call to another in French, someone respond in English. A thick-necked tabby cat sneaks down the dock, sniffing here and there. It rubs its long orange-and-white striped side along one burly man’s boot. The man reaches down and scratches the old cat behind its ear, and it leans in toward him. These men pay us little attention until we are banging up against the high dock. Their faces flicker with confusion, then disbelief as Daniel calls out, “We were on the Asia. The boat is sunk. We There’s a moment in which nothing happens, as if no one can quite believe what he is hearing. Then one man shouts, “Survivors!” and scrambles to take the bowline. Another reaches far down into the boat to haul Daniel up like a fish on a line. They gesture to me. “Petite fille,” they gasp. I lift my arms, and someone takes my hands. The blanket falls from my shoulders as I’m in the air. “A girl,” one says. “A child.” I don’t have time to think about how strange these words sound, how little I feel like a child, before I am half carried, half dragged down the dock, men smelling of sweat and wood and coal pushing in on either side of me. I am still weak, my forehead on fire once again, and I let them lift me, though I don’t like their arms around my waist, though I want to turn back to Eva to say, Thank you, thank you for your berries and your kindness. Thank you, Henry, for keeping us safe when there was no one else. Daniel is beside me, though he is allowed to walk on his own. I can hear him talking to the men, but I can’t make out the words. There are shouts all around us. “The Asia! Survivors! Make way! Survivors!”are survivors! Help us.” He holds up the pillowcase with S.S. Asia stenciled along the hem. Use the excerpt from “Big Water” to answer the question. It is possible to infer from this excerpt something about what Henry and Eva have done for Daniel and the narrator. What inference can you make? In 3–5 sentences, state your inference and provide strong and thorough textual evidence from the excerpt to support the inference.

Answer 1

From the given excerpt, it can be inferred that Henry and Eva have provided care and support for Daniel and the narrator. The narrator mentions that she wants to find Daniel, suggesting a sense of comfort and familiarity between them. Additionally, Henry and Eva are described as taking care of the sails and instructing the narrator to sit, implying that they are looking out for her well-being. Furthermore, the narrator expresses gratitude towards Eva and Henry, indicating that they have shown kindness and assistance during their time together.

Answer 2

From this excerpt, it can be inferred that Henry and Eva have provided support and care for Daniel and the narrator. The narrator expresses a desire to find Daniel and see his face, indicating a close bond between them. Additionally, when the narrator tries to help with the sails, Eva stops them and gestures for them to sit, showing concern for their well-being. Furthermore, the narrator expresses gratitude towards Eva and Henry, mentioning Eva's kindness in providing berries and Henry's role in keeping them safe. This suggests that Henry and Eva have been instrumental in supporting and taking care of Daniel and the narrator during their ordeal.

Answer 3

From the excerpt, it can be inferred that Henry and Eva have taken care of Daniel and the narrator, providing them with assistance and support. Firstly, the narrator mentions being grateful to Henry and Eva and wanting to help them as a form of gratitude. This suggests that Henry and Eva have been helpful and supportive towards them. Additionally, Eva looks at the narrator with raised eyebrows and shakes her head no when the narrator tries to help with the sails, indicating that she wants to take care of their needs. Lastly, Henry and Eva fold the sails and get out oars, suggesting that they are taking responsibility for the boat and ensuring a safe arrival. The actions and gestures of Henry and Eva demonstrate their care and support for Daniel and the narrator.