Spartina (10 page)

The barb of Parker’s gaff tore loose. The fish landed on deck. Dick stepped back, pulled hard on the pole of the tail gaff, trying to keep the fish straight.

Parker stepped in fast and clubbed the fish’s head with the side of the gaff. Parker tried to step on the bill, but it came up and cracked his shin. Parker said “Son of a bitch!” and shoved the gaff into the fish’s mouth with his good arm. He gave it a twist and hooked the corner of the mouth when the fish swung his bill again.

Dick clubbed the fish and caved in the side of the head.

“I should have shot him,” Parker said. He rolled up his pant leg. “It ain’t broke. Son of a bitch.”

Parker limped up to the wheel and got his ass up on the chair. Dick stowed the fish below, he’d gut him later.

Parker raised the plane, which they could see way back where they’d come from.

The pilot said the first fish seemed to be still going, still fast to the keg, the dory tagging along.

Dick said, “Maybe we should’ve took our chances, just let the spotter find the keg.”

“The plane can’t haul the fish,” Parker said. “Maybe she’ll scare off the sharks.”

The boat was vibrating from the rpms and from smacking hard. Their wake was a ribbon of green and white.

When Dick saw the dory it was turning in an arc. Then it stopped. He couldn’t figure out what had happened. He saw the keg floating in place. Elsie was breaking out the oars. As they got
close, Dick saw a shark, then two more. Just gliding by the dory, still in wide circles. As Elsie rowed, the keg seemed to pull after her. Dick figured it out. She’d come in close and fouled the propeller on the line. That meant the swordfish was fast to the dory—unless Elsie thought to unclamp the outboard and chuck it. If a big enough shark started tearing at the swordfish, or if the swordfish gave a last run when it saw a shark, the stern of the dory would pull under.

“You see that,” Dick said to Parker. “Pull up alongside the dory—we’ll haul Elsie.”

Dick got a line, put a big loop in the end. Parker swung the boat in. Dick threw the line to Elsie. She caught it, but the dory slid away on the front of a swell. Dick paid out the line. He shouted to Elsie, “Sit down! Sit down and hold on!”

Dick could see that part of the line to the swordfish was floating slack, but he couldn’t see the swordfish. He hauled in the line to Elsie. He shouted to her, “Put the line around you!”

Elsie didn’t move. She was holding on to the line with one hand, with the other she was gripping the thwart under her. She turned her head to watch a shark glide by the stern.

Parker shifted into reverse. The gap between the boat and the dory widened as the broad stern of the boat swung away. Dick didn’t dare haul in hard, he was afraid he’d pull Elsie off balance.

“Elsie! Put the line around you!” She looked at him, and he shouted again, pantomiming putting his arm and head through a loop. Elsie looked puzzled. Dick put his end of the line around his chest. Elsie understood and pulled the loop over her head.

The dory bobbed down in the same trough as the boat. Dick pulled in, the dory nestled alongside, and Dick swung Elsie up hard. She twisted in the air, holding on to the line with both hands, pulling her feet clear of the dory, then flailing them as if she was trying to run in air onto the boat. Dick got a hand on the
loop and hauled her in over the side. She scuttled toward the middle of the deck and held on to the hatch cover.

Dick looked for the line to the fish. The dory was floating away, but the keg was within reach. He leaned out with the boathook and got the line.

There was a sharp crack, then another. Dick looked around, puzzled. Parker had left the wheel and was shooting at the sharks, the fore-end of his rifle balanced across his cast. He levered in another round and fired. Then another.

“Parker, what the fuck …”

“Get the fish, asshole. Get the fish before they eat the goddamn thing.”

Dick hauled the keg, pulled in the stern of the dory, found the line on the other side of the fouled propeller.

“Elsie, give me the tail gaff.”

He hauled in the slack line. As the line came taut, he followed it with his eye and saw the swordfish. He saw the lily, the barb breaking back through the skin. Barely holding. Another fifty feet of line. He groped for the boathook with one hand and used it to shove the dory away.

“Elsie, give me the tail gaff.” He turned around and saw her still huddled by the hatch cover. He looked around for the tail gaff, pointed to it. He got it himself. The swordfish came easily. Dick spread the noose, dipped it with one hand while he pulled the swordfish in the last ten feet.

As he leaned down to work the noose around the tail, Parker stepped up beside him and jabbed the long aluminum harpoon shaft in the water. Dick saw the shaft go by his face, traced the shine of it as the blunt end hit a shark on the cheek. The shark wheeled away.

Dick tightened the noose and pulled up with both hands. He couldn’t do more than get the tail up over the gunwale.

“Hey, Parker.” Parker had turned away to get his rifle again.

“Elsie, give me a hand.” He turned his head. “Elsie.” She looked up. “Hey Elsie, grab a hold.”

She got to her feet and came over warily. He gave a heave and gained a foot and a half. He said, “Grab a hold of my belt and pull.”

Dick hauled the fish, half-lifting it, half-sliding it over the gunwales. There was only one bite in it. A jagged piece of stomach and some shreds of intestine trailed out. There was a whole silvery baitfish sliding out of the torn stomach lining. The swordfish rapped his bill once on the deck, feebly. Dick finished him off. Looked the fish over. Two hundred pounds, two hundred pounds and then some. When he gutted it, he could tailor it so the shark bite wouldn’t show.

Dick worked the lily out and hauled in the dory, got in it to fasten the lines to the davits. He got back on board. Schuyler was zooming in on the stomach of the swordfish.

Schuyler said, “Can you throw some of the guts over, get some of those sharks to come back?”

“You can if you want,” Dick said. “Or you can help haul the dory. If I do it by myself, I may dump that camera.”

Schuyler lent a hand, retrieved the camera. He said to Elsie, “Did you get any shots?”

Elsie laughed. “As a matter of fact, I did.” Dick looked at her. She was still pale, on the verge of crying. She was sitting on the edge of the hatch cover, rocking lightly forward and backward.

Dick worked the fouled line off the propeller. It wasn’t cut too bad, but it would have to be replaced. Deduct forty bucks. He looked at Elsie again. Her whole body was moving like grass in a very light wind, shimmering with fear.

He went over to her, put his arm around her shoulder. “I guess you saw some sharks,” he said. She nodded.

“It’s scary,” he said, “but they weren’t after you. Don’t believe
the movies. They weren’t after you, they wanted the fish. If you get that right, you won’t feel so nervous.”

Elsie looked at him and nodded, her eyes still dilated and unfocused.

Dick said, “The first time I saw a shark alongside, I thought he wanted me. I thought his fin was some kind of radar, telling his evil brain that I was his meat. But that’s just wrong. You understand?”

Elsie nodded. Dick could feel her still rocking slightly. He didn’t think she knew she was rocking, it was just the light after-breeze of fear on her nerves and spine still stirring her a little, a silvery tip of spartina quivering.

He got up. She caught his arm. He said, “I got to put our fish away. You did good. Parker and me ought to cut you in.”

When he finished with the fish, Dick was embarrassed. What in hell did he think he was up to?

Parker had brought out a bottle of bourbon. Schuyler had been looking for sharks where the entrails had drifted off, but they’d disappeared.

Elsie took a swig from Parker’s bottle. Dick took a swig and got a beer for a chaser. He looked up. The plane was gone. The sun was showing orange along the bottom edge.

Dick tried to calculate the profit. The crabs would cover the fuel, and maybe the new line. Seven hundred for Elsie’s fish, maybe five hundred and some for the others. Twelve hundred. His split, maybe four hundred. And marlin steaks twice a week for the family for six weeks.

It beat inshore lobstering and tonging. And he might have guessed light on the swordfish, maybe another thirty, forty bucks for his share. And Parker owed him a hundred for the stuffing box.

He took another swallow of beer. Parker swung the boat toward the sun, homeward bound. Dick felt good. He saw that, as he was getting closer to his boat, there seemed to be more ifs and maybes,
more cross-currents. He saw all that, but he was up for it. He’d fought clear of how bad things had been. He was pulling toward his boat in August. He felt strong, and he felt lucky.

Dick took the wheel after supper. The other three sacked out. He throttled back to save fuel, rode easy across the long waves. By the time he saw land, the sun was down, the Matunuck Hills black against the sky. The water glistened jet and violet as he picked up the lights on the breakwater.

D
ick slept twelve hours. At noon he picked up the engine in Providence. Got it onto its bed by suppertime. The next morning he borrowed Eddie Wormsley’s flatbed and picked up another load of lumber. Worked from mid-morning till sunset. Eddie Wormsley and Charlie helped during the afternoon.

He put in another full day, and then it was time to see Parker about going out again.

If they had good runs every week, he’d have the boat finished by Labor Day. He’d have put in another ten thousand dollars. After that he needed another six or seven thousand for some more fittings, paint, RDF, loran. He decided to wait a bit before he got Joxer over and made his pitch to him.

Dick took ten bucks and headed for the Neptune.

The Sox were in the second half of a twi-night doubleheader at Fenway. Parker was at the bar.

Dick had a beer with him at the bar and then got him to sit
down when a table opened up back in the corner. Dick talked to Parker about his plans for his boat. Parker kept an eye on the game, but said enough so that Dick knew he was listening. During the seventh-inning stretch Parker said, “I may be around for the summer, I may not. If I’m around, we may make a few runs. But don’t count on it to be regular. Right now it looks good—we’ll go out tomorrow night. I’m not going to put out a lot of money for more pots. Maybe you should see if Joxer Goode will make us a deal—lend us some, rent us some. We’ll promise him we’ll go all the way to the edge of the shelf. I’m not so sure about a spotter plane. Six hours at fifty bucks. Maybe you want to split it?”

Dick said he couldn’t.

Parker said, “Maybe you’ll throw in your skiff. You’re right about that dory.”

“Then Charlie couldn’t haul my pots.”

“Forget your pots. Or better yet, bring them out with us.”

“If I lend you the skiff, will that do for my half of the spotter?”

“Lend?” Parker said. “I meant a sale. I’ll spring for two thousand dollars of spotter over the next month, you throw in the skiff.”

Dick said, “Hell no.” He was so mad he couldn’t say any more.

“Get you another beer? Don’t get all huffy, Dick. I been meaning to say something to you. You want that beer?”

Dick said no. Parker got up and went to the bar, brought back two beers anyway.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” Parker said. “You got laid off Texeira’s boat ’cause you kept letting the mate and the crew know you’re saltier than them. You didn’t do too good in the Coast Guard for more or less the same play. You got fired from the boatyard for some miscues with a couple of owners. And one of your big days last year was when a big yacht pulled up on you in a fog and asked you how to find the harbor. You led his fifty-footer in your diddly-squat skiff with you rowing. Kept him putt-putting behind you,
just to make him feel like an asshole. You laughed in his face when he tried to give you a tip.

“There’s more, but that’s the pattern. You spend a lot of time dividing up the world into the idle rich and the true-blue salts. The unworthy and the worthy. And what you do get out of all this? You get to feel pissed off. Am I leaving something out? You get to feel salty as hell, but mainly pissed off. You also get to be poor. Tonging quahogs in your eighteen-foot skiff.”

Dick was mad as hell, but for some reason this anger made him cold and numb. Dick said, “Yeah, my skiff you just tried to cheat me out of.”

Parker laughed. “I make you an offer. Instead of coming back and saying, ‘No, but I’ll take four thousand,’ you get all indignant. You make everything a moral issue.”

Dick said, “You want to make an offer on my kids?”

“There you go again,” Parker said. “At least I got your attention. There are times I divide the world the way you do, the bad guys and good guys. And other times other ways, depending. Sexy, not sexy, tight and loose. But one way, one important way is this—players and nonplayers.

“What gets me is you could be a player. What you end up doing is what nonplayers do. Nonplayers drudge, and then bitch and moan about it, how bad it is, how unfair it is, and they drudge some more to make it even badder and even more unfair.”