“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You felt it.”
The father pulled again.
The object did not move.
But the same vibration traveled up the line.
Metal against metal.
Or metal under strain.
The Farm Father stepped into the water.
The boy followed.
“Stay behind me.”
They reached the mud mound.
The father pushed one boot against it.
The surface gave.
He crouched and reached into the mud.
His hand disappeared to the wrist.
Then elbow.
He withdrew.
“What is it?”
“Metal.”
The Farm Boy smiled.
The father did not.
“What kind?”
“Round.”
“Like a pipe?”
“Bigger.”
He looked toward the bank.
“Get the shovel.”
They dug for nearly an hour.
Mud refilled every hole.
The pond bottom behaved like thick soup.
But gradually a shape emerged.
Circular.
Perhaps three feet across.
Metal.
Flat across the top.
The rope entered through a rusted loop welded to the center.
The Farm Boy stared.
“What is that?”
The father wiped mud from the surface.
“Don’t know.”
A faint line appeared around the edge.
Not one solid plate.
A cap.
Or lid.
The Farm Father stood.
“Stop.”
The boy looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because if that’s covering something pressurized, we don’t pull until we know what.”
The boy glanced toward the rope.
“What could be pressurized under a pond?”
The father looked at the muddy water.
“That is exactly the question.”
By noon, the neighboring farmers knew.
Nobody had told them directly.
On farms, information did not require permission.
A feed delivery driver saw the father and boy near the pond.
The driver mentioned it at the grain elevator.
By lunch, two pickups had stopped along the road.
By three, the original three farmers were back at the fence.
The red-capped farmer called out:
“You still excavating Atlantis?”
The Farm Boy continued brushing mud from the iron surface.
The Farm Father did not look up.
The second farmer shouted:
“What is it?”
The Farm Boy answered:
“Don’t know yet.”
The oldest farmer climbed one rail of the fence.
“Looks like an old cistern cover.”
The Farm Father finally looked over.
“Under a pond?”
The man shrugged.
“People did strange things fifty years ago.”
“That’s true.”
The red-capped farmer grinned.
“Your boy thinks he found oil.”
The Farm Boy stood.
“I never said that.”
“No. You just look like somebody planning what color tractor to buy.”
The men laughed.