Authors: Elizabeth Gilbert
Tags: #Non-fiction
The Complete Elizabeth Gilbert: Eat, Pray, Love; Committed; The Last American Man; Stern Men & Pilgrims (140 page)
Am I correct? Is that what every man thinks over on your island?”
“I don’t know what every man on my island thinks,” Ruth said.
“You’re a bright young woman. I’m sure you know exactly what they think.”
Ruth chewed on the inside of her lip. “I think I should go help Mrs. Pommeroy now,” she said.
“Why do you waste your time with people like that?” Pastor Wishnell asked.
“Mrs. Pommeroy is my friend.”
“I’m not talking about Mrs. Pommeroy. I’m talking about Fort Niles lobstermen. I’m talking about Angus Addams, Simon Addams—”
“Senator Simon is not a lobsterman. He’s never even been in a boat.”
“I’m talking about men like Len Thomas, Don Pommeroy, Stan Thomas—”
“Stan Thomas is my father, sir.”
“I know perfectly well that Stan Thomas is your father.”
Ruth stood up.
“Sit down,” said Pastor Toby Wishnell.
She sat down. Her face was hot. She immediately regretted sitting down. She should have walked out of the room.
“You don’t belong on Fort Niles, Ruth. I’ve been asking around about you, and I understand that you have other options. You should take advantage of them. Not everyone is so fortunate. Owney, for instance, does not have your choices. I know you have some interest in my nephew’s life.”
Ruth’s face got hotter.
“Well, let’s consider Owney. What will become of him? That’s my worry, not yours, but let’s think about it together. You’re in a much better position than Owney is. The fact is, there is no future for you on your island. Every pigheaded fool who lives there ensures that. Fort Niles is doomed. There is no leadership over there. There is no moral core. My heavens, look at that rotted, rundown church! How was that allowed to happen?”
Because we fucking hate you,
Ruth thought.
“The whole island will be abandoned in two decades. Don’t look surprised, Ruth. That’s what may well happen. I sail up and down this coast year after year, and I see communities trying to survive. Who on Fort Niles even tries? Do you have any form of government, an elected official? Who is your leader? Angus Addams? That snake? Who’s coming down the pike in the next generation? Len Thomas? Your father? When has your father ever considered anyone else’s interests?”
Ruth was getting ambushed. “You don’t know anything about my father,” she said, trying to sound as measured as Pastor Wishnell, but sounding, in fact, somewhat shrill.
Pastor Wishnell smiled. “Ruth,” he said, “mark my words. I know a great deal about your father. And I’ll repeat my prediction. Twenty years from now, your island will be a ghost town. Your people will have brought it on themselves through stubbornness and isolation. Does twenty years seem far away? It isn’t.”
He leveled a cool gaze on Ruth. She tried to level one back.
“Don’t think that because there have always been people on Fort Niles, there always will be. These islands are fragile, Ruth. Did you ever hear of the Isles of Shoals, from the early nineteenth century? The population got smaller and more inbred, and the society fell to pieces. The citizens burned down the meeting house, copulated with their siblings, hanged their only pastor, practiced witchcraft. When the Reverend Jedidiah Morse visited in 1820, he found only a handful of people. He married everyone immediately, to prevent further sin. It was the best he could do. A generation later, the islands were deserted. That could happen to Fort Niles. You don’t think so?”
Ruth had no comment.
“One more thing,” Pastor Wishnell said, “that came to my attention the other day. A lobsterman on Frenchman’s Island told me that back when the state first introduced size limitations on lobsters, a certain lobsterman named Jim used to keep short lobsters and sell them to the summer people on his island. He had a nice little illegal business going, but word got around, because word always gets around, and someone notified the fishing warden. The fishing warden started following old Jim, trying to catch him with the shorts. He even inspected Jim’s boat a few times. But Jim kept his shorts in a sack, weighted with a rock, that hung down from the stern of his boat. So he never got caught.
“One day, though, the fishing warden was spying on Jim with binoculars and saw him filling the sack and dumping it over the stern. So the warden chased Jim in his police boat, and Jim, knowing he was about to be caught, throttled his boat as fast as it could go, and took off for home. He drove it right up on the beach, grabbed the sack, and made a run for it. The warden chased him, so Jim dropped the sack and climbed up a tree. When the warden opened the sack, guess what he found, Ruth?”
“A skunk.”
“A skunk. That’s right. You’ve heard this story before, I gather.”
“It happened to Angus Addams.”
“It didn’t happen to Angus Addams. It didn’t happen to anyone. It’s apocryphal.”
Ruth and the pastor stared each other down.
“Do you know what apocryphal means, Ruth?”
“Yes, I know what apocryphal means,” snapped Ruth, who, at just that moment, was wondering what apocryphal meant.
“They tell that story on all the islands in Maine. They tell it because it makes them feel good that an old lobsterman could outsmart the law. But that’s not why I told it to you, Ruth. I told it to you because it’s a good fable about what happens to anyone who snoops around too much. You haven’t been enjoying our conversation, have you?”
She was not about to answer that.
“But you could have saved yourself this unpleasant conversation by staying out of my house. You brought it on yourself, didn’t you, by poking around where you had no right to. And if you feel as though you’ve been sprayed by a skunk, you know where to lay the blame. Isn’t that correct, Ruth?”
“I’m going to help Mrs. Pommeroy now,” Ruth said. She stood up again.
“I think that’s an excellent idea. And enjoy the wedding, Ruth.”
Ruth wanted to run out of that room, but she didn’t want to show Pastor Wishnell how agitated she was by his “fable,” so she walked out with some dignity. Once outside the room, though, she took off down the hall and down the two flights of stairs, through the kitchen, through the living room, and out the parlor door. She sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the porch.
Fucking asshole,
she was thinking.
Unbelievable.
She should have beat it out of that room the moment he started his little oration. What the hell was that all about? He didn’t even know her.
I’ve been asking around about you, Ruth.
He had no business telling her who she should or shouldn’t hang around with, telling her to stay away from her own father. Ruth sat on the porch in a private, angry chill. It was embarrassing, more than anything, to be lectured to by this minister. And strange, too, to watch him put on his shirt, to sit on his bed. Strange to see his empty little monkish room and his pathetic little ironing board.
Freak.
She should have told him she was an atheist.
Across the garden, Mrs. Pommeroy and Kitty were still at work on the women’s hair. Dotty Wishnell and Candy were gone, probably getting dressed for the wedding. There was a small clutch of Courne Haven women still waiting for Mrs. Pommeroy’s attention. They all had damp hair. Mrs. Pommeroy had instructed the women to wash their hair at home so that she could devote her time to cutting and setting it. There were a few men in the rose garden, too, waiting for their wives or, perhaps, waiting to have their hair cut.
Kitty Pommeroy was combing out the long blond hair of a pretty young teenager, a girl who looked about thirteen. There were so many blonds on this island! All those Swedes from the granite industry. Pastor Wishnell had mentioned the granite industry, as if anyone still gave a shit about it. So what if the granite industry was finished? Who cared anymore? Nobody on Fort Niles was starving because the granite industry was gone. It was all gloom and doom from that guy. Fucking
asshole.
Poor Owney. Ruth tried to imagine a childhood spent with that uncle. Grim, mean, hard.
“Where you
been?
” Mrs. Pommeroy called over to Ruth.
“Bathroom.”
“You OK?”
“Fine,” Ruth said.
“Come over here, then.”
Ruth went over and sat on the low brick wall. She felt battered and slugged, and probably looked it. But nobody, not even Mrs. Pommeroy, took any notice. The group was too busy chatting. Ruth could see that she’d walked into the middle of a completely inane conversation.
“It’s gross,” said the teenage girl being tended to by Kitty. “He steps on all the urchins, and his whole boat gets covered with, like, guts.”
“There’s no need for that,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “My husband always threw urchins back in the water. Urchins don’t harm anyone.”
“Urchins eat bait!” said one of the Courne Haven men in the rose garden. “They get up on your bait bag, they eat the bait and the bag, too.”
“I got spikes in my fingers my whole life from goddamn urchins,” said another man.
“But why does Tuck have to
step
on them?” asked the pretty teenager. “It’s gross. And it takes time away from fishing. He gets all worked up about it; he has a really bad temper. He calls them whore’s eggs.” She giggled.
“Everyone calls them whore’s eggs,” said the fisherman with the spikes in his fingers.
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Pommeroy. “Having a bad temper takes time away from work. People should settle down.”
“I hate those bottom feeders you pull up sometimes, and they’re all bloated from coming up so fast,” the girl said. “Those fish? With the big eyes? Every time I go out to haul with my brother, we get a ton of those.”
“I haven’t been out on a lobster boat in years,” Mrs. Pommeroy said.
“They look like toads,” said the girl. “Tuck steps on them, too.”
“There’s no reason to be cruel to animals,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “No reason at all.”
“Tuck caught a shark once. He beat it up.”
“Who’s Tuck?” Mrs. Pommeroy asked.
“He’s my brother,” the teenage girl said. She looked at Ruth. “Who are you?”
“Ruth Thomas. Who are you?”
“Mandy Addams.”
“Are you related to Simon and Angus Addams? The brothers?”
“Probably. I don’t know. Do they live on Fort Niles?”
“Yeah.”
“Are they cute?”
Kitty Pommeroy laughed so hard, she fell to her knees.
“Yeah,” said Ruth. “They’re adorable.”
“They’re in their seventies, dear,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “And, actually, they
are
adorable.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Mandy asked, looking at Kitty, who was wiping her eyes and being helped to her feet by Mrs. Pommeroy.
“She’s drunk,” Ruth said. “She falls down all the time.”
“I am drunk!” Kitty shouted. “I
am
drunk, Ruth! But you don’t have to tell everyone.” Kitty got control of herself and went back to combing the teenager’s hair.
“Jeez, I think my hair is combed enough,” Mandy said, but Kitty kept combing, hard.
“Christ, Ruth,” Kitty said. “You’re such a blabbermouth. And I do
not
fall down all the time.”
“How old are you?” Mandy Addams asked Ruth. Her eyes were on Ruth, but her head was pulling against the tug of Kitty Pommeroy’s comb.
“Eighteen.”
“Are you from Fort Niles?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen you around.”
Ruth sighed. She didn’t feel like explaining her life to this dimwit. “I know. I went away to high school.”
“I’m going away to high school next year. Where’d you go?
Rockland?”
“Delaware.”
“Is that in Rockland?”
“Not really,” Ruth said, and as Kitty started to shake with laughter again, she added, “Take it easy, Kitty. It’s going to be a long day. It’s too early to start falling down every two minutes.”
“Is that in Rockland?” Kitty wailed, and wiped her eyes. The Courne Haven fishermen and their wives, gathered in the Wishnell gardens around the Pommeroy sisters, all laughed, too.
Well, that’s
good,
Ruth thought. At least they know the little blond girl is an idiot. Or maybe they were laughing at Kitty Pommeroy.
Ruth remembered what Pastor Wishnell had said about Fort Niles disappearing in twenty years. He was out of his mind. There’d be lobsters enough forever. Lobsters were prehistoric animals, survivors. The rest of the ocean might be exterminated, but the lobsters wouldn’t care. Lobsters can dig down into the mud and live there for months. They can eat rocks.
They don’t give a shit,
Ruth thought, admiringly. Lobsters would thrive if there was nothing left in the sea to eat except other lobsters. The last lobster in the world would probably eat himself, if he was the only food available. There was no need to get all concerned about lobsters.
Pastor Wishnell was out of his mind.
“Your brother really beat up a shark?” Mrs. Pommeroy asked Mandy.
“Sure. Jeez, I don’t think I ever had my hair combed so much in one day!”
“Everybody’s caught a shark sometime,” one of the fishermen said. “We all beat up a shark one time or another.”
“You just kill them?” Mrs. Pommeroy said.
“Sure.”
“There’s no call for that.”
“No call to kill a shark?” The fisherman sounded amused. Mrs. Pommeroy was a lady and a stranger (an attractive lady stranger), and all the men in the garden were in a good mood around her.
“There’s no reason to be cruel to animals,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. She spoke around a few bobby pins in the corner of her mouth. She was working on the head of a steel-haired old lady, who seemed utterly oblivious of the conversation. Ruth guessed she was the mother of the bride or the mother of the groom.
“That’s right,” said Kitty Pommeroy. “Me and Rhonda, we learned that from our father. He wasn’t a cruel man. He never laid a hand on any of us girls. He stepped out on us plenty, but he never hit nobody.”
“It’s plain cruelty to pick on animals,” Mrs. Pommeroy said. “All animals are God’s creatures as much as any of us. I think it shows that there’s something really wrong with you, if you have to be cruel to an animal for no reason.”