First Avenue (50 page)
“Let’s go,” he yelled.
“I’m coming,” said the voice from above.
Maria ran down the steps with her hands engaged in the last steps of tying back her hair. She wore blue jeans and heavy laced boots and pulled fishing gloves out of her waterproof jacket. She zipped a life jacket over her coat and tossed his life jacket to him. He had never worn a life jacket in the kayak, but she wouldn’t wear one unless he did. He zipped it over his sweatshirt.
“Front or back?” he asked.
“I’ll steer,” she said.
“You’ll be sorry if you get those boots wet.”
“I won’t get them wet. Do you need any help with that?” She pointed to the open hatch.
“No. I have everything,” he said.
He fastened the hatch cover down and reached for the grip on the bow of the new kayak. Below the grip was the freshly painted name,
North Star
. She grabbed the rear grip and they carried the boat to the water. She held the stern while he got into the front cockpit and cinched the waist skirt tightly around him. Then she pushed the kayak forward until her feet were at the farthest reach of the water. The bow was buoyant. He steadied the boat with his paddle while she lowered herself into the rear cockpit. When he urged the kayak forward with his paddle, she stuck hers into the sand and pushed them off the beach. In deeper water she released the rudder and joined the rhythm of his strokes.
“Good job,” he said. “Just like an expert.”
“It’s easy when all the weight is in front.”
Sam decreased the angle of his paddle so that at the completion of a stroke it broke the surface and threw a stream of water toward her. He expected retaliation, but she only laughed.
She had become stronger, and it was now possible to leave ten minutes later than when he crossed alone. He had not adjusted his alarm yet. He still believed she would come to her senses and decide to sleep in. Nevertheless she had been ready every day except those when she was not working. When he went alone in
Gloria
, it seemed more than a ten-minute difference.
Today, Sunday, they had slept later, which may have accounted for her lack of retaliation. Today they would build something. If everything went right and there were no surprises, they would finish by the end of the day. It was
She liked to sit in the rear cockpit so that she could steer the
North Star
with the foot pedals. Also, when she sat behind him, he couldn’t see how hard she paddled. At first her arms had hurt so much that they felt like they would fall off, but she was becoming used to it. She had learned to pace herself and not dig her paddle so deeply in the water.
“Do you think Silve will have breakfast ready?” she asked.
“I hope so. I’m starved,” he said. “How much time?”
They passed the rock jetty that had become their first mark.
“Thirteen minutes, ten seconds.” It was her job to track the time.
“The best so far. You must have slept well.”
“I did. How about you?”
“I slept well,” he said. “Silve seemed a little nervous yesterday. Do you suppose he’s having second thoughts?”
“No, but he’s worried about getting everything done before he opens tomorrow. He says that all he knows about saws and hammers is that one cuts off your finger and the other smashes it.”
Her father did not stop paddling even as he laughed.
“I wish
“Way too late. She’s long gone by now. Look. You can see Silve’s windows from here.” He pointed with his paddle. “Above the Viaduct,” he said. “The only windows that are lit.”
“You should call her,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. He stopped paddling and turned to look at her.
“I was just wondering if you shouldn’t call her.”
“How do you know what I do? You’re not around all the time.”
“So, do you call her?”
“None of your business. Anyway, what about you? Not that I’m encouraging anything.”
She flicked her paddle forward to shoot water his way—delayed retaliation. He turned to the front again, dug his paddle deep into the water, and yelled over his shoulder, “Get in gear, or we won’t beat our record.” Then he felt the surge that came when their strokes were synchronized and both were pulling hard. This time he was going to push her. He wasn’t going to ease off. That ought to keep her quiet.
She maintained a serious stroke longer than he expected and called out the time when he asked for it. At the buoy marking the final third of the distance, they were way ahead of their previous best, and he slowed to a normal pace. If he did not, he would lack the strength to walk up the hill to Silve’s. He looked back at her determined face and saw her struggling to keep up.
“Still with me?” he asked. He could still only wonder that she was there.
“Barely.”
“I’m dying, too,” he said, believing the opposite.
When they climbed the final steps that wound up Post Alley to
Pike Place
, they stopped for a moment to rest.
Pike Street
across
First Avenue
toward the Donut Shop. It was still closed. Otherwise the street had not changed. What had it all been about then?
Maria looked down the street with him. She had his tool belt slung over her shoulder and looked like a lumberjack with a pretty face. The wound above her eye had almost disappeared. He put his arm on her shoulder, over the tool belt, as they walked toward Silve’s.
Sam tapped on Silve’s window, and the old man raised his knife in recognition from behind the stove. He hurried to the door.
“Good morning, sir,” he said. “And you,
“Good morning, my friend,”
“Yes sir,” said the other little man, who continued scrubbing a blackened pot at the triple sink. “Lots to do today.”
“He comes early,” Silve said. “I told him today we would start late, but he comes early anyway.”
“What time did you come?”
“I wake up, so I come. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.
“Are you crazy? You take that little boat today?
“I like that idea,”
“Sure. Then you don’t have to worry so much.” Silve began his laugh again, but he heard a noise from one of his steaming pots and cut it short. He hurried back to the stove. “Scrambled eggs with special adobo sauce. Breakfast style,” he said while concentrating on his work.
Maria carried the tool belt down to the dining room and put it on the floor. Then she went back to the kitchen to help Silve with breakfast. He was teaching her his secrets. He had already taught her to make the adobo sauce, something he would not teach her father.
She liked standing at the stove beside the old man. He talked to himself and to her in the same sentence. If he bumped into her, he didn’t apologize, and she didn’t feel that she had to get out of the way. He showed her how to shake a pan across the flame so that the meat would simmer evenly. He made noise when he cooked, sent fire into the air, and took chances with spice. Try it, he would say, and she would.
No matter what her father said, her adobo sauce was not as good as Silve’s. She hoped it might never be.
Sam walked down the steps and put his hand on the wall separating the kitchen and dining room. He pushed it to see if it would move. It did not. It was a simple idea to take it down and replace it with a counter, but he had never thought of it. Nor had Silve, who often talked about what it had been like before the new design that separated him from his customers.
When the eggs were ready, the four of them ate together in the booth next to the wall. Silve wanted to sit in the booth one last time before they pulled it out. He wanted the last bit of use from wasted money.
“I will pay you for this work,” Silve said.
“I don’t want to be paid,”
“Then the coffee will be free when you come in the morning.”
“No. It’s better the way it is.”
“I will make oxtail for you.”
“Good. One dinner. That will be enough.”
“Not for all this work.”
“Wait until we’re through before you say that. Maybe I’ll owe you money when we’re done.”
“No. This
“Maybe she should become an architect,”
“I’m starting winter quarter,”
“You must think of school first,” the old man said. “If you have classes in the morning, that’s all right. An education is very important.”
“I want to work here in the morning. This is an education, too.”
The old man raised his head and smiled. “Two educations, then. I will teach class in the morning, and those others can do it in the afternoon. Will you still come with your papa?”
“Yes. I’ll take the bus to school after work.”
“But then he will have to go home alone. He will get very tired paddling that boat by himself. Since you started, I think he has gotten lazy. Maybe you should get a motor,
“When I come with a motor, then you’ll know I’ve gotten lazy. Are we ready to go to work?”
“See, now he makes us work,” Silve said. “I should have said nothing about lazy. Yes, we’re ready. Today, you are the boss. Tell us what we should do.”
While Silve and
It was there, but now it was coming down. Maybe it was time to stop hiding his paper, too. What difference did it make? They would leave him alone if he wished.
Maybe Silve could create a poem. He had a way with words. Silve, himself, was a poem. So Silve could say the words,
“What did you say?”
“I said this is the best job I ever had,”
“Don’t mention it. I’m a regular employment agency for Silve.”
“I just want you to know I’m going to try real hard not to let you all down. It’s real nice here.”
“Your hands hardly shake anymore,”
Henry held both of them up and looked at them. “It’s been a long time since they did what I wanted.”
“Got that table unscrewed?”
“She’s ready.”
“Let’s move it out of the way.”
Henry, with his steady hands, picked up one end and
“So now we begin,” said Silve in his poetic voice.
“Now we begin,” Sam repeated.