Of Sea and Cloud

by Jon Keller

  He nodded but stood transfixed.

  Are you sure? Where’s Jonah? Is he okay?

  Fine. He went back out to camp.

  She reached out and wiped his cheeks with her two thumbs. Her skin blanched and shadows formed on her face as if cast from within. She thought for a moment. Whatever you’ve done, don’t tell me yet, Virgil. Not yet. She pulled him into her grasp and as she held him she felt him begin to quake and soon his entire body shook.

  He sobbed and said, I was wrong, I was wrong.

  She gripped the back of his head in her palm and pressed her chin against the back of his neck. She closed her eyes and told herself that this was her husband.

  When he settled she stepped back and lifted his chin and his big cheeks sagged red and white. She wiped his face with her cuff. She led him up the stairs and turned the shower on and helped him out of his clothes. She took her own clothes off then pulled him into the heat of the shower and lathered soap over both of their bodies.

  When they reached the bed Virgil said, I was wrong about everything, Celeste. I’m sorry for you to go through this.

  I know you are, she said. She pulled the covers over the two of them. Tell me what you did.

  It starts with Nicolas, he said and he stopped and did not continue.

  She clenched the sheet in her fist and she remembered the night he’d come home with the smell of death like rot upon him and she said, Just tell me, Virgil.

  Virgil’s voice came distant and methodic and each word was forced. When he was finished speaking Celeste crimped her eyes closed and said, Why? Why would you?

  They couldn’t of done a autopsy on him. I barely knew it was him myself.

  That’s not what I asked you, Virgil.

  Virgil hesitated then spoke. I thought he would break. Osmond. I thought I could do that, and I was wrong.

  Celeste didn’t say a word. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked.

  Virgil spoke again. I’m so scared, he whispered. Julius is just a kid and I near took his hand off. I don’t know who I am anymore. I need help. I need your help.

  • • •

  One hour later Celeste still held the sheet in her fist when she spoke. Tomorrow morning I am going to get up and make coffee and eat breakfast like I have done every single morning for as long as I can remember. But I am not going to remember what you told me tonight. I am not going to remember what you did because if I think of it for one single more second I am going to take my daughter and bring her as far away from her father as I can get and we are going to stay there. Do you understand that? Maybe you’re right about Osmond. Maybe he murdered your best friend. I don’t know, but what I do know is that the way you’re going about this ends right now.

  Virgil choked once. His pillow was soaked with tears and he squeezed his eyes shut as if a sledgehammer were slowly descending upon him and he wished for such a simple pain. He nodded to himself over and over but Celeste’s back was still to him and he wished for one more thing and that one thing was to join his wife and daughter as they left him behind.

  Osmond awoke to the rumble of the diesel engine. He lay motionless with his eyes open as the boat came closer and for a split second he thought of Julius’s grandmother as if she would return from the heavens and would do so by diesel power across the sea. She’d had long black hair and white skin and a voice like tumbling beach rock.

  He cast off his sheet and wool blanket and rose naked in the blackness. He could taste Laura as if she’d been standing above him as he slept. He thought of gills. He shook the strange image from his mind and it was replaced with the image of her smooth pregnant shape. Never for a second had he regretted his time with her even though it had reordered his life. He’d lost his brother and fallen from the church and his fall had been hard and had shattered his ideas but not his faith as if a gale had burst the windows but not broken the frames.

  He moved silently across the room. The wood floor was cold and he stood at the window edge as the boat slid into the inlet. Osmond could not see his boat on its mooring but he could see the end of his wharf and the easterly chop cresting against the pylons and rocks and he could see the sheerness of the firmament.

  He thought of switching on the wharf lights but he wanted to allow whatever was to happen to happen. He had nothing in this world to lose because all that mattered was either lost or in this house with him.

  Except Julius.

  Osmond did not know about Julius.

  He held one hand against the window sash and listened. He pictured the boat approaching his own. He heard it shift into neutral and idle.

  Virgil, he whispered as if he’d been awaiting this coming. In his mind rose Virgil’s face burning amid the cold dark sea crests. He ran his fingers over his own broken nose but Bill did not enter his mind. Only Virgil whom Osmond could not help but think of as some judge sent to condemn him and he understood that the stabs of fear he felt were regret although he told himself over and over that regret was only distrust and distrust was only lack of faith.

  He squeezed his fist tight around his own forearm. He’d done things in this lifetime that no man should and he’d been victim to things that no man should endure but one did not justify the other despite the fact that the two existed as parallels. He had not looked back at Nicolas as Nicolas drowned any more than he’d shown his brother mercy over Laura. Sin was only sin when allowed to manifest as such.

  Now his grandson. Julius acted out of fear and out of conceit and out of vanity because Julius had no faith. Nicolas Graves’s death was part of an alignment set into motion before the world began and its ramifications existed beyond any of them but nevertheless Osmond sensed that without his old system of beliefs Nicolas’s memory would rise and break his faith in a single great wave.

  He waited until Virgil’s boat eased into gear then pulled away. He listened as the diesel engine grumbled and roared and disappeared into the gulf.

  Osmond dressed. He turned on the wharf lights and was surprised to see his boat still afloat and still lashed to its mooring. Waves came like razors flashing in the flood. He stepped into the night and pushed his skiff overboard and rowed through the bucking chop that sprayed and froze to his back and neck and head. He pulled alongside his boat. He stood in the skiff and saw first a heap of blankets and oilgear then saw that this heap was his grandson.

  Osmond tied the skiff off to the pot hauler and climbed aboard. He uncovered the boy. The skiff banged against the boat’s hull. Julius’s hands were tied to his feet and blood froze to his face. Julius glared at Osmond with hatred and loathing as if Osmond’s hands had bound him there and the look struck Osmond like a cleaver.

  Here was his bloodline. His grandson. His failure.

  He cut the rope that held Julius and the boy rolled over and slowly straightened his limbs. His face was beaten and his lips crusted and swollen.

  Osmond stepped forward and reached a hand out to the boy. Julius flinched but steadied himself as Osmond lifted him to his feet then held him tight to his chest as if saying goodbye. He was surprised at the thinness of the boy and the smell of the boy like the skin of a newborn. Osmond held him tighter.

  Julius kept his hands at his sides and made no move to embrace his grandfather.

  I see you had a long day yesterday, Osmond said.

  Julius pushed away and kneeled over the open stern. He dipped his head into the frigid water and came up and wiped at his stinging broken lips. He dipped his head again then stood and ran both hands through his black freezing hair.

  Osmond noticed the mangled hand.

  Weren’t bad, Julius said. He tried a grin but his lips refused. He shivered.

  You finally pissed off Virgil and the boys.

  Appears. Him and Jonah.

  Not Bill?

  I guess he knows me.

  You sank Jonah’s boat. Osmond’s voice was tired. Why, Julius?

  The wharf lights rocked and shimmered over the breaking ocean chop.

  Ju
lius wiped at his lips again. He didn’t answer.

  You must have a reason. Traps? Charlotte? Tell me.

  Julius shifted himself so he could see his grandfather better. Don’t worry, he said. I didn’t tell them.

  Julius’s eyes held something like hope within them but Osmond was unable to see it. He felt his knees flex as if readying himself to kneel before Julius. His jaw locked tight. He did not want to ask but he did. Tell them what, Julius?

  Julius’s voice was almost playful. They think it was me.

  Again Osmond did not want to ask but again he did. They think what was you, Julius?

  Julius ran a hand over his frozen hair. He breathed in and out and the hope that had sparked in his eyes faded and left the familiar void. What happened to your nose?

  Osmond covered his nose with a gloved hand. I had a run-in.

  A run-in?

  Yes, Julius. A run-in.

  With who?

  That is neither here nor there. What do they think you’ve done? I cannot protect you unless I know what is happening.

  Seems you’re the one needs protected, Julius said.

  • • •

  Back in the house Julius eased into Rhonda and Dolly’s room and sat in the darkness on the bed beside Dolly and shook her shoulder until she awoke. She blinked her eyes until they focused on him then she sprung up and wrapped her small arms around his neck.

  Get up, he said. Grandfather’s making waffles.

  Waffles, Dolly said. I’ll awake Rhonda.

  Let her sleep awhile. We’ll get her up when breakfast is ready. Julius stood. You get dressed.

  Dolly came out wearing pink overalls and a short sleeve shirt and she sat in a chair at the table. Osmond wore a red striped apron and he mixed waffle batter at the counter. Wind pelted the windows. The air had warmed enough that a few flakes of snow came.

  What happened to you, Julius? Dolly said. Did you get hurt like Grandfather?

  I got beat up, he said.

  You got beat up?

  Yeah. Can you imagine?

  I can’t, said Dolly. Why’d you get beat up, Julius?

  I fell in love with the wrong girl and she already had a boyfriend.

  Osmond stopped what he was doing and looked at Julius with his mouth open as if hearing for the first time something that he did not already know. He held the whisk in the air and let the egg whites flop back into the bowl and a light that had not been in him for a long time suddenly turned on and he allowed himself a brief moment of hope.

  You fell in love with a girl? Dolly said.

  I sure did.

  Who is it?

  Her name is Charlotte. Isn’t that a pretty name?

  It’s beautiful, Dolly said and she said the word slowly. Are you going to marry her?

  I hope so.

  Enough, Osmond said.

  Why, Grandfather? Dolly said.

  Enough now. The Lord will decide those things.

  Can’t Julius decide who he loves?

  The Lord has already decided. Long, long ago. Now awaken Rhonda and she will help cook these waffles.

  I’ll get her, Julius said and he went into the room and came out with Rhonda in his arms. Her arms were tight around his neck. White drool crusted along the edges of her mouth. He sat her at the table but she refused to let go of his neck. He tried gently to unwrap her handhold but she clung to him with locked fingers and from deep within her came a whining sound as he tried to free himself. He stood and she dangled like a drapery from his neck and she bucked and writhed and would not let go.

  Osmond lifted Rhonda by her armpits and Julius slid from her grasp. Her whine increased and Osmond turned her in his arms and hugged her tight to his chest as the whine turned to a cry and a scream.

  Dolly took a pencil from a jar of pencils and wrote her name over and over on a piece of scrap paper. Julius looked out the window and wished he had a magnet that could lift the water from the sea so he could see each lobster hidden there. Osmond danced the screaming girl around the room and whispered to her and she screamed and he danced and he whispered as her body shook as if gripped by seizure. He hummed to her and sang to her and danced her around and around and around the room and he cupped the back of her small head in his hand and touched his cheek to hers and he danced and he danced and she finally calmed. She held his neck in her arms. He wet a cloth and wiped her face. He pushed two chairs over to the wood cookstove and sat her in one. Dolly climbed on the other and Osmond poured batter into the cast-iron waffle iron and the girls watched.

  They were all silent as Osmond drove Julius home. He watched Julius’s bloodied face out of the corner of his eye. He felt silence heavy as chain. When they reached Julius’s house they sat for a moment in the truck.

  Osmond said, Please let this battle end before it is a war, Julius. We have the pound to worry about. The price won’t get any better. I am old but you will need that pound to survive. Fishing alone will not last, Julius, and we will need to insulate ourselves. You will need the pound and you will need the market that Jason can organize. We don’t need more problems with Virgil and the boys.

  They ain’t got the guts.

  They nearly killed you, Julius. I don’t believe guts are an issue for them.

  Well, these things are up to the Lord aren’t they?

  The Lord is speaking.

  Ain’t He always.

  Yes, Julius, yes He is. Always.

  Does He always speak through you?

  Osmond sighed. He speaks through you as well, only you do not listen. He speaks through everything. He is everything, Julius.

  I thought He was a old guy on a cloud with a lightning bolt in His hand, Julius said. He put his fingers on the door latch but he didn’t open the door.

  This is the Lord, Julius. You and me and everything around. The Lord is not man nor woman, good nor evil. The Lord is what allows your chest to beat and the wind to blow. The Lord is the tides, Julius. You only need to be quiet long enough to listen and once you hear you will believe. You will have faith, Julius. You will be free.

  Huh, Julius said. He opened the door and stepped onto the driveway. I suppose if He’s diesel power then I’ll start believing but till then the god I believe in is Mister John Deere and he’s a lean mean diesel-sucking sonofawhore.

  Jonah stood beside a birch tree. He leaned his head against the white flaking bark and he watched Virgil’s taillights disappear in two red streams. A breeze fitted itself between the trees. He lit a cigarette but it tasted bad and he dropped it into the snow and watched the ember sizzle dead. He stepped onto the road and turned toward the wharf with the intention of walking to his camp but after a dozen steps he stopped. Through a break in the trees he could see Bill’s house across the harbor. The lights shone over the snow and onto the water.

  All was quiet as he walked through the village. The old farmhouses with barns attached by breezeways looked like vacant relics and Jonah had the feeling that time had ended.

  He knocked once and opened Bill’s door.

  Bill stood halfway then sat back down. Jonah, he said. He shut the television off and dropped the remote on the coffee table. What’re you doing? You seen a ghost? You get your highliner ass kicked?

  Jonah touched a finger to his swollen ear. Near it. I seen Julius. And I seen Virgil.

  Bill went to the kitchen and returned with two cans of beer. He handed one to Jonah. Jonah pulled his boots off and crossed the carpet and stood with his back to the wood stove. He knocked the stove damper open with his toe and the heat beat the shots of fresh air into flame.

  What about it?

  Jonah drank down half the beer and wiped his face although he didn’t feel capable of tears. Fucking Virgil, Bill. He done it. This whole time it was him who done it.

  Him what? Done what?

  • • •

  Bill didn’t speak for a long time. His jaw muscles worked. He lit a cigarette and smoked half of it and the smoke lingered about his head. He said, Virgi
l’s fucking nuts, Jonah, but I keep thinking maybe he’s right about Osmond. Don’t you think? What if he is? Jonah?

  • • •

  That night Jonah slept on Bill’s couch. He dreamed of his father floating in a flat calm sea with his arms at his sides. Nicolas was emaciated but pumped with small and tight muscles the size of scallops. His veins rose into blue swollen tracks. A blanket of water spread over him. Their mother was in the dream and she floated beside her husband and she turned her eyes on Jonah and cried, What have you done, Jonah? What have you done? He awoke on the couch and he was glazed in sweat and the blanket was on the floor and flames piled against the glass door on the wood stove. He sat up and wiped his face and body down with his T-shirt then held the shirt on his knee. He heard his brother’s snores come tumbling down the hallway.

  • • •

  The next morning. Wind blasted the house and sea smoke swirled and rushed in legions over the water. A bank of clouds like a mountain range stood at the other end of the sea. Jonah lay on the couch watching the flames in the stove. His face was sore from the hits Julius had dealt him. He felt a stabbing pain in his ribs. His head pounded and he was exhausted. He wanted to sleep the day through but he knew he couldn’t sleep another minute.

  He could hear the squawking and honking of eiders in the harbor and he hoped Julius wasn’t frozen solid aboard Osmond’s boat. He rolled to his good side and ran a hand over the couch cushion and looked out at the snow surrounding the harbor. It was high water and the tide was slack. The water was gold in the sunlight and rimmed with sheets of salt ice. A fox stepped out of the woods and ran across the ice and rounded a small spit of land. A flock of whistlers burst from the cove and flew overhead and even inside the house Jonah could hear the noise of their flight.

  Jonah pictured Virgil dumping the body. He pictured the skull he’d found. He pictured swarms of lobsters like troops racing across the seafloor to join the frenzy of feeding on his father and his stomach turned and he tried to force the image away but still his mind filled with the silent and dark movement of lobsters.