Burrard Inlet

by Tyler Keevil

  Then, without preamble, Rick began telling Liam about the Kraken. He said it was over a hundred years old and had been used to carry supplies across the Atlantic in the Allied convoys during the Second World War. He also said that it had survived three attacks by the Krauts when a lot of other boats hadn’t. Liam continued working and every so often made an affirmative or noncommital sound in the back of his throat.

  ‘What do you think of that?’ Rick asked.

  ‘That’s really something.’

  ‘Damn straight it’s something.’

  Liam hefted another piece of plank, this one riddled with nails, and lifted it carefully over Rick, telling him to mind his head, and Rick told him to mind his own. As Liam stepped up to starboard, he saw in the water a bulbous head that shone wetly and had the same blue-grey sheen as the waves, as if part of the sea had simply taken shape. It was his seal and she was looking at him curiously. Liam set down the plank and made a shooing motion with his hands, and when that didn’t work he picked up a crooked nail and tossed it in the water – not directly at the seal but near enough to startle her. The nail made a plopping sound and the animal dropped beneath the surface, leaving concentric ripples radiating in her absence.

  Liam looked back at Rick; he hadn’t noticed anything and was still rambling on about the boat. He was saying that the company didn’t build wooden boats anymore because they were too cheap, but everybody knew wooden boats were better quality and lasted longer and handled more easily in the water. Rick sat back on his knees and waved his rag at the boat moored opposite, which was a modern packer with an aluminum hull, bridge, and cabin.

  ‘Think that no-account tin can is gonna be around in a hundred years?’

  ‘No,’ Liam said.

  ‘Fucking rights it won’t.’

  After that Rick stopped telling him about the boat and they worked in silence again. Liam cleared the remaining pieces of planking, some of which had to be sawed in half or quartered to fit in the skip; then he gathered up the smaller chunks of wood and metal in a bucket, which he lowered down to the deck of the tug; lastly he got out a broom and swept the slivers and splinters and woodchips and sawdust into piles, and with a dustpan shovelled these piles into black garbage bags. When he said he was finished Rick stood up to check over the work and muttered about Liam’s uselessness without being able to find any faults.

  ‘Get rid of that shit and come right back.’

  ‘Bill might have some other jobs for me.’

  ‘I said you come right back – and I better not catch you feeding no fucking seal.’

  Liam undid his tie lines and tossed them onto the tug and then jumped down after them, his work boots ringing off the metal deck. The engine was warm now and in starting up did not cough or choke as it had that morning but rumbled smoothly to a full-throated roar. Liam put the throttle in reverse and spun the wheel as he glided away, pivoting the tug one hundred and eighty degrees, then threw it in gear and headed back towards the plant.

  Halfway there the seal appeared again. She surfaced off to starboard and kept pace, floating alongside him all the way to the wharf, and as he docked and tied up she hovered about ten feet away. Turning off the engine, he looked around to make sure he was alone, and then leaned over the side of the tug and spoke softly to the seal, as you might to a pet. He chastised her for turning up when Rick was around. He asked if she was hungry again, and also if she was lonely, and if that was why she acted so friendly towards him. The seal gave no indication that she understood any of these questions, but simply stared at him. There were no whites to her eyes, or irises or pupils – just twin orbs that were the colour of water in a well and almost as fathomless.

  ‘I’ll be right back, girl,’ Liam said. ‘Just sit tight for a sec.’

  He walked up the gangplank to the wharf. On this corner of it, just above where he had moored the tug, was the hydraulic crane they used to load supplies onto the boats. At the base of the crane was its control box; Liam positioned himself there and turned on the power and manipulated the controls to swivel the arm of the crane until it extended over his tug. He had to gauge it by sight, and when the angle looked about right he pressed the button that let out the cable. On the end of the cable was a steel hook and he lowered this to within two feet of the tug, then trotted down there to attach the hook to the lifting chains on either side of the skip. The seal was still waiting patiently and he spoke assurances to her before heading back up to the controls. He raised the crane until the cable tightened and the chains went taut and the skip left the ground, swinging in the air with a pendulous motion. Beside the crane was a wheeled cart onto which he lowered the skip. Detaching the lifting chains from the hook, he left it hanging there as he pushed the cart towards the dumpsters at the far end of the plant.

  In passing the gear locker he spotted Bill, who stood just inside the entrance, studying the shelves lining the walls and making annotations on an inventory sheet. Liam let his cart roll to a halt and went in. When Bill heard him coming he looked up, pen poised to write.

  ‘Problem, Liam?’

  ‘Just thought I’d check to see if you had any other jobs need doing.’

  ‘You and Rick done already?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Liam didn’t explain but stood with his hands on his hips, hoping.

  ‘Hmm.’ Bill tucked the pen behind his ear and scratched his jaw. ‘Tell you what – Frank left some scrap on the Seattle. After lunch I’ll send you over there to clean it up, eh?’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Give you a break from Rick, at least.’

  Liam was already walking off. He called back, ‘What I need is a clean break.’

  ‘You got to have thick skin around that guy.’

  ‘I know it.’

  Behind the gear locker and their lunch room were the garbage dumpsters. That was where Liam emptied the skip, tossing the larger pieces of wood in one at a time and dumping the smaller scraps out using the plastic bucket. When it was done he left the cart and skip there and carried the bucket with him as he walked back along the wharf.

  En route he stopped at the processing area. The stench was getting worse in the midday heat, and now had a physical, oppressive presence that made Liam retch, but the workers seemed oblivious: they continued to sort the passing roe with precise, repetitive motions, as if performing some important ritual. Just inside the entrance was a plastic tub filled with herring. After the roe was extricated, the gutted fish were sent to another part of the plant to be turned into feed and fertiliser, but the workers always kept a few here; on their breaks they liked to toss them to the seagulls and watch the ensuing fights and place bets on which bird would end up with the fish. He had never asked if it was okay for him to take a few fish, but they had never challenged him about it, either. He grabbed half a dozen herring, all sleek and shimmering and slippery, and dropped them in his bucket. When he walked out with his load several gulls descended on him, squawking and flapping, and he made fake kicking motions to keep them at bay as he carried the bucket away, back towards the crane and docks.

  At the bottom of the gangplank the seal was still waiting for him; she knew what he was bringing her and she rolled over once, slow and lazy as a dog, to show her appreciation.

  ‘Over here, girl,’ he said. ‘I got you a feast, today.’

  He stepped between the tug and the pilings, into the shadows of the wharf, where he would be shielded from the rest of the marina. Crouching down, he reached into the bucket and scooped out one of the herring, which he tossed in the water. It landed with a slap and hung there suspended, trailing smoke-like streaks of blood across the surface. The seal moved in to take it, snapping it up and tilting her head back to let the herring slip down her gullet. She had teeth like a dog’s and used her jaw the same way, but her snub nose and watery whiskers reminded him more of a cat. When she finished he tossed her t
he next fish, and the next. She was bold but not stupid and would only come within five or six feet, so he had to throw each one that far and then wait for her to finish it before giving her another.

  ‘Good girl,’ Liam said. ‘Tasty, eh?’

  Between portions she would weave back and forth in the water, and by studying the torpedo-shape of her body he had developed an understanding of the way she controlled it – using gentle movements of her fins, tilting and twisting them, elegant as the hands of a geisha. When she rotated the water rolled off her skin; it had a rubbery texture that looked thick and tough and impervious, and he wished he could touch it just to see what it felt like. It was grey like the sea on a cloudy day and glistened in the same way, as the sea glistens.

  As he tossed her the last fish he heard footsteps coming down the gangplank; he stood up abruptly, hurried to the tug, and hid the bucket behind the gunnel. Then he began to undo his tie lines, moving casually and with what he hoped looked like nonchalance. He did not check to see who it was right away but waited until the person reached the dock: then he saw that it was Elmore, lumbering along with his arms dangling at his sides like a Neanderthal. But he wasn’t looking in Liam’s direction and didn’t seem to have noticed Liam or the seal. She was still floating in the sheltered waters beneath the wharf and after Elmore had passed out of sight Liam told her that he had to get back to work, now. She twisted and rolled as if she understood, and continued showing off as he rinsed the blood from his gloves and fired up the tug and pushed off. Thinking she might follow him, he watched the water in his wake while navigating to the Kraken, but she seemed to have figured it out and did not reappear.

  Before he’d had the chance to tie up Rick stuck his head over the gunnel and shouted down, ‘Thought I told you to come right back.’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

  He heaved himself aboard and brushed by Rick and began tying off.

  ‘Where the hell you been?’

  ‘I stopped in to see Bill.’

  ‘If you been feeding that fucking seal...’

  ‘I ain’t been feeding it, all right?’

  ‘Told you what I’d do if I caught you feeding that pest again.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘I’ll catch it and kill it, like we do when we’re at sea. Skin the fucking thing.’ Rick chuckled, as if imagining it. ‘That’s right. Skin it and make me a pair of sealskin boots.’

  Liam had finished with the tie lines. He tugged on his gloves one at a time, twisting his wrists back and forth and flexing his fingers to fit them into the fingers of the gloves.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I want you to get to work instead of slacking off, scab.’

  ‘I’m not a scab, okay?’

  ‘What are you, then?’

  ‘Just a worker.’

  Rick bent to the toolbox he kept on deck, and began rooting through it. ‘If you work here and you’re not union you’re a scab.’

  ‘I tried to join the union and they wouldn’t let me. I told you.’

  ‘They probably thought you were too dumb.’

  ‘They said I’m only temporary so that’s why.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit what they said.’ Rick stood up. He had a sanding block in one hand and a sheaf of sandpaper in the other. He tossed these at Liam’s feet. ‘Now would you quit yapping about it and get to work? I want this deck sanded by lunch so I can oil it later.’

  ‘Aye aye, captain.’

  Liam sat cross-legged on deck and fiddled with the sanding block and thought of all the other things he could have said and wanted to say but hadn’t. He was sweating from heat and frustration and the sweat made his coveralls itch so he unzipped the top to his sternum, baring his chest. Taking a sheet of sandpaper, he folded it in thirds and tore off a strip along the first fold and fitted the strip into the sanding block. Rick watched him do this and also watched him as he knelt and began to sand, using both hands to pull the block up and down the first plank along the wood grain. The paper made a whispering sound and gave off small puffs of sawdust. Soon his gloves and forearms were sprinkled with it, like yellow powder.

  He could feel the sun on his back through the coveralls like the weight of a hot iron, and he could feel Rick’s eyes on him as he worked. Rick was drinking coffee and observing from beside the galley door, and as far as Liam could tell that was all he was doing. At one point he asked Rick if they could turn on the radio in the galley and Rick told him no because all they played these days was rap and nigger music and there was no point listening to that.

  ‘It’ll help pass the time.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the goddamn radio – worry about the goddamn decking. I want it smooth as a baby’s ass before I oil it up later.’

  Liam finished one plank and crawled on his knees up to the next. As he scrubbed at it Rick came to stand beside him and scrutinise what he was doing; every so often Rick would criticise some aspect of his sanding, telling him to go faster or slower or to go back and redo a particular patch. Eventually Liam straightened and sat on his knees and looked up at him. Rick loomed blimp-like above him and his shape was just a shadow with the sun behind it.

  ‘Don’t you have something to do?’

  ‘Yeah – I got to make sure you don’t fuck up my decking.’

  ‘I won’t fuck up your deck, all right? But I won’t get much done with you standing there looking at my ass.’

  ‘I ain’t looking at your ass, you little queer.’

  ‘Sure – I’m the queer.’

  The shadow stood motionless for a few seconds. Then Liam felt something wet sprinkle in his hair and he smelled the bitterness of coffee beans.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘An accident – like you.’

  Rick walked away snickering; Liam bent to the deck and sanded as if he were trying to erase something or scrub out a stain, and as he knelt and worked like that, lathered in his own sweat, he could see the long summer of slavery that stretched before him, and it seemed to be endless and indefinite and eternal, each day melting into the next and Rick the only constant.

  At noon the union men gathered in the lunchroom next to the gear locker. They sat together around a rectangular table and undid the top halves of their coveralls, which they allowed to hang down from the backs of the chairs so that the sleeves just brushed the floor. To Liam it looked as if they had sloughed off part of the skin that they worked in, making them more human, but he knew this was deceptive since below the table they still wore their uniforms.

  As the men ate their sandwiches and drank their coffee they talked about Elmore’s new Harley, and how to repair a broken compressor on a fridge, and the strip club near the shipyards they occasionally went to after work. Liam listened to all of this and said nothing. Originally he had tried to take part in these conversations, but anything he said had left him open to some barb or rebuttal from Rick, and he’d learned instead to sit and eat and wait for lunch to end. He’d grown so accustomed to doing this and tuning out their talk that it startled him when he heard his name mentioned; he looked up, still chewing a mouthful of macaroni. Elmore was telling them all how he’d seen Liam feeding the seal.

  Liam swallowed his food and said, ‘No I weren’t.’

  ‘What do you mean you weren’t?’ Elmore said. ‘I saw you.’

  Then he looked over at Rick, as if anticipating how he’d react.

  ‘You little liar,’ Rick said. ‘You little fucking liar.’

  ‘It was only a couple of herring.’

  ‘Those things are a goddamn pest. If you’d ever been on a real fishing boat you’d know that. Tear holes in nets and eat the catch. Just giant rats is all they are.’ He sat back and crossed his arms and chuckled. ‘Looks like I’m gonna go a-seal-hunting this afternoon, boys. Catch me a seal and do it in like them Eskimos �
�� bash in its little head.’

  Liam put down his fork, then picked it up again. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t think I would?’

  ‘You better not.’

  ‘Or what?’ Rick said. ‘What you gonna do, scab?’

  Liam didn’t answer and they stared at each other in silence. Then Bill burped, long and low, in a deliberate way meant to make all the guys laugh, which it did.

  ‘Take it easy, Rick,’ Bill said.

  ‘You on his side, boss?’

  ‘I’m not on anybody’s side – I’m just saying take it easy.’

  ‘I’ll take it easy when this scab starts doing his job, not feeding no fucking seal.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Bill said, scratching his jaw, ‘there’s a bit of a mess on the Seattle, from Frank’s rebuild. It needs clearing and I figured Liam could tackle it this afternoon.’

  ‘No problem,’ Liam said.

  ‘Like hell,’ Rick said. ‘You’re oiling up my deck this afternoon.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Sorry, Rick – the Seattle’s skipper is coming down tomorrow to check her out, so I want her looking slick. You might have to finish the deck on your own.’

  Rick looked from Bill to Liam as if he suspected the plot they’d concocted. Without saying anything, he stood up and went over to the sink and flicked his coffee into the basin. He rinsed the cup thoroughly and deliberately, using his fingers to wipe out the dregs, and placed it upside down on the counter next to the taps. The men all watched him do this. Then, still without saying anything, he went out, and Elmore went out after him.