by Don Berry
In the end it all revolved around the Ship; every life in the Bay, brown or white, was in some way tied to the Ship. Everything else was insubstantial; the swirling mystery of Sam's mind, invisible, a woman—was she real? I could not even remember her face—gone, Somewhere. Cockshaten dangling above a pool of vomit and blood, but out of sight. The anger that was to come from somewhere I could not place. It was all invisible, all unreal. The only thing to cling towas the solidity and reality of the Ship. You could see her, you could touch her. And above all, you could work. Your days could be made meaningful and real, with tools in your hands. Your life could have some significance. As long as the Ship held, as long as you could lose yourself in the image we were bringing to life. Without that, none of what had happened had any meaning; it was insanity and chaos and waste. And so I was afraid to see her again at that moment. I was afraid she would be only shaped lumber after all, a cargo vessel under construction. If the image did not hold, we were all insane, our lives were futility.
When I topped the little rise of the beach, I deliberately did not look, not right away. I let my eyes scan the forest inland, and only gradually slip down toward the Ship. It made my breath catch in my throat when I finally let myself look at her fully, squarely. She was beautiful. There is no other word, and it is not enough.
She drowsed in the warmth of the morning sun. The raw wood of her framing glowed in the early light like the flesh of a sleeping woman, flushed with joy. The sweet curve of her cut—water was a throat proudly raised and her flanks were firm and strong.
I swallowed my excitement, and went down to her. Close, she was even more beautiful. I rested my hand against a frame, running my palm down the softly curving bevel that changed so imperceptibly I could not be sure at any point it was different from before. It swelled gently under my moving hand like the firm swell of a woman's thigh, and faired smoothly into the keel. The join was soft as skin, as perfect as the hollow between the soft curve of groin and thigh.
I rested my face against the frame, and it had been warmed by the sun like a living thing. I stood there for a moment with my eyes closed, simply letting the form of her possess me, allowing myself to sink into a sweet and oceanic sensation of fulfillment, repose. It was all right. She was there, and all the rest of it faded from my vision until it was no more than an annoying barb in the back of my mind. She was there, and nothing else mattered. She was perfect. The rest of them couldn't understand her the way I did, they couldn't sez. I didn't care about it one way or the other. As long as I had her, it was enough. She was the only perfect thing I'd ever seen in the world.
* * *
As soon. as I came in sight of Sam's cabin I saw Vaughn sitting at the door with his feet stretched out and almost hanging over the edge of the tiny bluff. The door was open, and Vaughn was leaning back against the frame with his hands in his pockets and his head down.
"How is he?" I said. I peered into the cabin and saw Sam on the cot near the back corner. Or rather, I saw a bundle on the cot which I took to be Sam. He wasn't moving. The light from the little window made a square on the blankets, that was twisted out of shape by the lump that was Sam.
"Is he all right?" I asked Vaughn, sitting down beside him.
"Damned if I really know, Ben," he said. "Damned if I do." He shook his head and stared down at the toes of his shoes. "He—he's real queer, like. He scares me, to tell you the whole truth."
"He say anything?"
"I ain't asked him anything," Vaughn said. "I brung him back and put him to bed, but I ain't asked him anything?
"But at least he ain't stiff like he was down at the village."
"He got stiff again just after I put him on the cot, maybe ten minutes. He just laid there stiff, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't know what to do, Ben. Then after a while he loosened up. He goes from limp to stiff, it seems like. I never saw anything like it."
"Me neither."
"I guess he must've took quite a shock to his system or something, when he did that with Cock Hat."
"I suppose," I said. I didn't really know. "I don't understand any of it, Vaughn, I'll tell you plain. I don't even know why he done that."
"I figure he didn't want to see the poor bastard tortured any more. That's what I figure," Vaughn said.
"That Wallace, he's a real mean sonofabitch."
"You know, Cock Hat's woman is gone. Kilchis made him sell her to the Nestucca. She ain't even in the Bay."
Vaughn looked up in surprise. "You mean—you mean what Sam—it was all for nothing? For nothing?"
"Looks like it. Anyway, he won't have her."
Vaughn thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "My god, Ben, this is all like some nightmare.
What's Kilchis say?"
"He says—he says he'll defend us."
"Defend us? After this?"
"Listen Vaughn, let me tell you. Kilchis figures we did what we could to save Cock Hat. He figures we're his people, and he's got to take care of us like all the rest."
"But it was Sam—"
Kilchis says Sam ain't to blame, because he's sullics, he's not like other men."
Vaughn looked at me, then back at the ground. "Ben," he said quietly, "I'll say this just one time and there's an end to it. Sam or no Sam, if you'd of spoke up, Cock Hat wouldn't of been hung. That military even said so."
"Jesus Christ, Vaughn, you think I don't know that?"
"I don't see how Kilchis could—"
"He doesn't know. He doesn't understand that part at all. He saw them Yam Hill boys treating us just like the Indians, pointing their rifles at us and laughing and all. That's all he knows. He says we tried our best."
"And you didn't tell him."
"Vaughn, just for once try to put yourself in somebody else's skin. Sam told me straight out, Cock Hat or the Ship. What would you have done? Just tell me honest, Vaughn, I want to know."
Vaughn glanced absently in the direction of the ways. The Ship was far out of sight, but he stared intently as though he could see her.
Finally he sighed and turned away. "I don't know. Maybe the same as you, I guess."
A I was surprised at the enormous feeling of relief that rolled up out of my belly. I hadn't known it was so important. "And—would you have told Kilchis? Ain't we got enough trouble without asking for more?"
"Ben, listen. Don't try to make me say you done right. It's done now, and we got to make the best of it. Maybe I would have done the same, I don't know. But that don't make it right."
"What I done, I done for the Ship. That's all. That makes it right."
"Ben, honest to god, I don't know what to think. I don't want to talk about it any more, all right?"
"All right, all right," I said. "l didn't want to talk about it in the first place. I want to forget it."
"I hope you can," Vaughn said.
We said nothing for a while. I heard a rustle inside as Sam shifted under the blankets.
"He's awake," I said.
"I don't think he's been asleep," Vaughn said. "He's just been—someplace else."
"`What are we going to do about Sam, Vaughn? What are we going to do?"
Vaughn shook his head. "I'm fresh out of ideas, Ben," he said discouragedly. "Can we do anything? It's up to him."
"He can't stay like this."
Vaughn laughed shortly. "Tell him."
"I'll tell him," I said, standing up.
"What makes you think he'll listen?"
"He'll listen, maybe not to be, but he'll listen to her. He'll listen to the Ship. He's got to do it, for her."
"Ben, there's a limit to how far you can drive a man. I think Sam's past it. I don't think he's eaten for days, nor slept neither."
"I don't give a damn if he eats or sleeps. I want him to work. He's got to work."
"You ask too much."
"I ain't asking nothing. It's her that's asking. A man can always work. Even when the can't do nothing else, not eat or sleep, he can work. That's what a man's
made for, that's what he can do."
I turned and went into the dimness of the cabin. Slowly Vaughn got up and followed me. There was a chair at the head of the cot, and I sat down. Vaughn stood behind me. I looked down at Sam's face, in the darkest corner. His light hair was spread out on the straw mattress like a cloud. His little pointed face was motionless, and the skin was a funny color, though it may have been the darkness that made it seem so. His eyes were wide open and unblinking and seemed to take up half the face. He had absolutely no expression that I could tell, he was perfectly neutral.
"Sam?" I said. "Sam, can you hear me?"
After a moment he said, "Yus. I can hear you." I was shocked. His voice was perfectly normal. It had lost the terrible edge of tension that had strained it before, at the hanging. It was soft, and a little shy. If I closed my eyes I could see him as he had been before we started building, with his hands clasped tightly, looking embarrassed at the floor. But his eyes remained up, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Well, Sam, how you feeling?"
"I'm feeling all right."
"You look pretty tired, Sam."
He said nothing.
"I guess it's been pretty tough for you lately. But it's all over now, Sam."
He remained silent.
"Sam, listen. Did you, did you hear what I was saying to Vaughn?"
"No."
I rubbed the back of my neck, where it was getting stiff from bending over toward him. I glanced up at Vaughn, but he was no help.
"Well, Sam, listen. I ought to tell you that—you know, that woman, you know who I mean. She's gone, Sam."
Vaughn poked me suddenly on the shoulder, but I didn't pay any attention. I wanted to get it over with, I wanted it over and finished and forgotten so we could go back to work.
"Sam, look at me, will you?"
He turned his head to look at me. "She's` gone, Sam. It's all over. Is it all right?"
For a moment he was silent, and I was afraid he had quit hearing. But Enally he said, "Yus, it's all right." He turned back to gaze at the ceiling again. In a little bit there were tears in his eyes and they spilled over in a little rivulet that trickled down his temple into the light hair in front of his ears. For the first time he spoke of his own volition, without a direct question to answer. He didn't seem to be talking to me. Just thinking.
"It was—terrible," he said. "Terrible, terrible." Suddenly he clenched his eyes shut.
I looked up at Vaughn, but he looked blank. "What was terrible, Sam?"
"All of it. All of it. Everything?
"You did right, Sam. It was the best thing, what you did."
He opened his eyes again and turned his head slowly toward me. "What I did? What did I do?"
I looked at Vaughn again. He clenched his lower lip in his teeth and frowned at the floor.
"Ben?" Sam said. "Where is she, Ben? Where did she go?"
"She's—dead, Sam. I'm sorry. She was—drowned, I guess she was drowned down the coast is what I heard. I'm sorry."
"Drowned. No, she ain't drowned. Where is she, Ben?"
"That' s it, Sam. I'm sorry, it's all over. There's no use thinking about it any more. You got to forget it, like it never happened."
He closed his eyes again and turned his head back.
After the first tears he had not cried any.
"Sam, did you hear me?"
"Yus."
"What did I say?"
"She's dead. It's all over."
"That's right, Sam. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. It's better that way, you'll see."
After a minute he said, "I want to sleep now. I'm tired."
"Wait; Sam—"
"For· christ's sake, Ben, let him sleep!" Vaughn broke in.
"In a minute. In just a minute. Sam, listen, there's one other thing. Are you listening?"
"Yus."
"The Ship, Sam. She's wailing for us. We got to get back to her."
"Yus, the Ship."
"She's there, Sam, I just saw her, just now. We're up to Number Twenty-two. She's waiting for us."
I leaned over closer to him. "Number Twenty-two, Sam. Can you see it in your mind? Try, Sam. Number Twenty-two, back toward the stern."
"Twenty-two's a cant-timber," Sam said. "Twenty-two's the first of the cant-timbers at the stern."
"That's right, Sam, you got it. Think, Sam. Get her in your mind. We're damn near to the transom, Sam, how about that?" I was getting excited, because I knew I had found the answer. If I could get the image of the Ship clear enough in Sam's mind, he would do it, he would work. The goddess would give him strength. He would get up and work because She wanted it, She demanded it.
"Sam, remember the nick I took out of Number Fourteen by accident with the adze? You remember when I dropped the adze on Fourteen?"
For the first time his forehead wrinkled, he frowned slightly. "Yus, I remember."
"We'll take it out, Sam. We'll take the whole damn thing out and made a new frame, if you want. Would you want that, Sam?"
"Listen, Ben-" Vaughn said.
"Shut up. Just be quiet!" I was getting to him, I could see it in his face and eyes, I was getting to him and I was winning. "Sam, how about it? We'l1 yank the whole damn frame and make a new one. She'll be perfect, Sam. Do you understand? She'll be' damned god-awful absolutely perfect!"
"Yus. That nick—that was bad, that bothered me. I wanted to fix it right, but you all laughed at me."
"I didn't understand then, Sam. But we'll do it. We'll make her perfect. I understand about her now, I can see now."
He looked at me and slowly brought one hand out from under the blanket. He gripped my elbow lightly.
"Ben," he said, "listen. There's a trunnel split on Number Twelve. It's the upper trunnel on the right hand side of the floor futtock on Number Twelve."
"We'll drill it out," I said. "We'll take that goddam auger of Thomas's and drill it straight out and put in a new one. All right?"
"They weren't dry enough. It checked on the end after it was drove in. It's been worryin' me."
"We'll drill the sonofabitch right out of there, Sam, by god we will. There won't be a piece in her that ain't perfect. Not one piece."
"Yus," Sam said. His eyes were bright now, as he thought about it. I leaned over until I was practically whispering in his ear. "She's waiting for us down there, Sam, she's beautiful. I just saw her. The sun's on her now, you know how it sneaks between the frames? And stripes the keel with gold? That's the way it is now, Sam, right now. She's made a gold and blood, Sam, she's beautiful. You got to see her. We got to get back to work. Can you work?"
"Yus. Yus, I can work."
"Can you work tomorrow, Sam? Can we get back to work tomorrow?"
"Yus. We can work, can't we?"
"We can work, Sam. There's no men ever made can work like us. We can work like God himself, Sam."
"Yus. We'll do it. I'd forgot how beautiful she was. I'd forgot her somehow."
"She's there, Sam, just waitin' for us. I'll stay here and get you stuff to eat today and you sleep and tomorrow we'll go back to work."
"No," Sam said. "You go on. I can take care of it all right. You go on. I got to think, Ben, I got to plan. I ain't made the angle boards for the cant-timbers, yet."
"We looked for 'em, but we couldn't find 'em. You sure you'll be all right, Sam?"
"Yus, sure. You go on. I got to think."
He was staring at the ceiling again, but it was all different now. There was a light in his eyes, and his face shifted constantly in tiny changes of mood. He was puzzling Her out in his mind, he was going over every inch of Her body in his mind. I'd given him back the image.
I stood up. "All right, Sam," I said, casual as I could. "See you at the ways in the morning."
He didn't answer, he was thinking, he had Her in his belly again.
Vaughn and I left and went out front. He was looking at me strangely.
"Ben," he said hesitantly, "You're a hard man, Ben. You're a cr
uel man."
"Cruel? Me?"
Vaughn shook his head. "You'll kill that man, Ben. You can't drive him like that, you can't set him on fire and leave him to burn. He'll work himself to death over her, Ben, you know he's not fit."
"Let him die," I said.
"Ben!"
I turned to him. He couldn't see, he was one of the blind ones. He thought he knew it all, but he just couldn't see. "I'll kill him," I said. "I'll kill myself. And I'll kill you, too, Vaughn. But we'll get her done. That's why we're here. You stay out of my way if you don't want to die working. You blind—you terrible blind bastard!"
He stopped suddenly and I went on alone. I had too much energy pouring through me to go home. I went and got the auger and bored out the split treenail in Number Twelve and put a new one in to surprise Sam when he came in the morning.
TEN
1
I was burning high and bright that day. The flame of the goddess roared through me, making me exultant and ten feet tall. Getting my hands on a tool again was an enormous fierce joy. But the triumphant sense I felt also made me unfair in what I had said to Vaughn. He was willing to work, they were all willing; there was never any question. But it was impossible for me to believe that anyone else—except possibly Sam—really understood her, as I did. I could not believe that anyone else was as hopelessly drowned in her beauty as I. And as with all men who have a Vision, the others seemed half-blind to me.
Every time someone addressed a word to me I was afraid he was going to diminish the image. Afraid he would not be sufficiently enthusiastic, sufficiently powerful in his conviction. Afraid, in short, that She had not possessed him. Certain as I was in myself, I still did not want to hear anything that would make Her less important. Not even a minor complaint from some butt-head like Eb Thomas. I could not have tolerated it.
The whole crew was there in the morning before Sam, and that was enough to put me on Edge. Everyone was nervous, a little jumpy. Our rhythm had been broken. We had been forced against our will to think of something other than the Ship, and it made us uncertain. For the time we were just a bunch of men again. We didn't know what to do, what was going to happen, where we were. Once back into it, we would be all right. It was the transition that made us wobble; all transitions are hard.