by James Villas
“Sure I can’t talk you into a nightcap?” he coaxed, taking her elbow.
“Mercy me, no, but thank you ever so kindly. Goldie must be beside herself with worry, and, besides, I’m thinking about getting up bright and early and trying a little surf fishing since the weather’s so beautiful.” She turned to him as he pushed the button for the elevator. “Perhaps you’d like to fish with me one day. Shouldn’t be too many people on the beach this time of year to interfere.”
He smiled and squeezed her arm, which gave Ella a pleasant sensation. “I certainly would—so long as you don’t expect too much from me.”
After O’Conner got out on the second floor, Ella fumbled around for her room key, let herself in, and noticed immediately how Goldie had finished unpacking the bags and hanging dresses and other outfits in the closet. Then, as she was folding her sweater, there was a soft tap on the connecting door to Goldie’s room.
“Yes, Goldie,” she called just as the door opened, revealing the other woman in a rather crude brown and lavender shift that fell all the way to the floor.
“Just checking, Miss Ella.”
“Thank you, dear. I hope you sleep well.”
“Don’t forget your pill. I put the bottle on the bathroom sink.”
“You don’t have to remind me, dear. Remember, I take one every night at home without anybody reminding me. But thank you just the same. Now, get on to bed. We may do some fishing tomorrow, and oh, yes, Goldie, do remind me in the morning to call that man in Marion about the dog.”
Once Goldie had shut the door and Ella had put on her frilly nightgown, removed her makeup, brushed her teeth, and taken her pill, she decided to sit at the cracked-open window and smoke a cigarette before going to bed. As she listened to the pounding waves in the distance, she first reflected on the wonderful evening with Dr. O’Conner, which made her realize again how much she sometimes missed Earl and all the memorable times they shared together at this very location. Then, for no particular reason except maybe the mention of the dog or the pungent smell of the sea air, her thoughts shifted unchecked to a spring night back during the war on Sullivan’s Island when she and Jonathan Green slipped away from an oyster roast, found a remote spot on the beach, and spread out a rough blanket on the sand. There, on their backs and holding hands, they talked and gazed up at the stars, and she remembered that Jonathan recited a beautiful passage about loneliness from Wolfe’s Look Homeward, Angel. She also remembered the way they eventually cuddled and kissed gently, and how, despite the self-control that was expected, she yearned desperately for him to caress her more passionately and do whatever came naturally. Then, just as it seemed he might fondle her breast, there appeared out of nowhere a large white dog, a strapping, unruly Labrador eager to frolic and get as much attention as possible. At first, they looked about for the dog’s possible owner and tried to shoo the animal away, but soon the blanket was a mess, and they were covered with sand, and Jonathan was laughing and playing with the beast as if it were his own. Eventually, the dog romped on down the beach, but by then the romantic mood was broken, so they whisked the sand off their clothes and slowly headed back to the party. Ella remembered how she hated that dog.
Chapter 7
NOBODY ARGUES WITH A GUN
Before going down for breakfast, Ella picked up the phone and dialed the number the officer in Marion had jotted down on her pad. The man who answered the phone had a much deeper voice than Ella remembered, so she recounted the dog episode she was calling about and asked what had been done about the crime, adding “and I’m in no mood for a song and dance.” Of course, she couldn’t be certain whether the officer was telling the truth or not, but he did assure her very politely that he was familiar with the incident and that the license plate had been traced to a car over in Mullins. Ella again threatened to contact the ASPCA, but somehow the officer managed to convince her that the case was being investigated and that some action would be taken. Finally satisfied, she thanked him for being much more concerned and attentive than the other officer, asked his name, and said she planned to write a letter to the mayor of Marion complimenting at least part of his police force. No doubt the clever officer put down the phone and nonchalantly told his associates that he’d just pacified still another nut.
“They tell me the spots are biting,” Riley whispered to Ella while she and Goldie were finishing a hearty Southern breakfast of fried eggs, country ham with red-eye gravy, grits, and hot buttermilk biscuits that Ella proclaimed to be as fluffy as the ones she baked.
“Then that settles it,” she said excitedly. “It’s a beautiful day, and we’re going to do a little surf fishing. If I can’t manage, Goldie will cast for me, won’t you, Goldie?”
“I’ll do my best, ma’am, but I never fished in the ocean.”
“Well, I say it’s high time you learned, don’t you, Riley?”
“Yessum. Ain’t nothing like it. And not many people on the beach yet to mess around.”
Back in the room, Ella changed into a pair of khaki slacks, a blue and white striped shirt she didn’t tuck in, and espadrilles. Then, while Goldie drove a few blocks down the beach to a tackle shop the desk clerk told them about to buy bloodworms and cut bait, she began the tricky process of rigging and oiling the rods just as Big Earl had once taught her how to do. A couple of guests did stare at the elegant older lady wearing a wide-brimmed yellow hat and her hefty Indian companion in plaid shorts with her hair braided in a ponytail as they traipsed through the lobby with fishing poles and a bucket, but Ella couldn’t have cared less. Outside, next to their rented cabana, they sank two pole holders deep in the sand and baited the hooks with wiggly, slimy worms, and Ella, tossing her hat on a chair when she noticed the calm breeze, was relieved to see that the beach was still mostly empty. Wound up, she threw the canvas shoulder bag containing her personal items over one shoulder and, walking carefully in the sand, proceeded down to the water’s edge.
The feel of the rod and line in her fingers was so familiar to Ella that she might well have been fishing the day before instead of for the first time in almost twenty years, but when she reared back, cast with all her might, and the rig landed only in the rough breakers, she realized angrily that she just didn’t have the strength she once had. Goldie, on the other hand, who had not only grown up fly-fishing for trout in rivers on or around the reservation but also taken numerous weekend excursions with Bud when he was alive, sailed her line out maybe fifty yards like an old pro.
“Here, honey, cast mine out for me,” Ella directed impatiently after reeling in, taking Goldie’s rod to hold.
Goldie did as she was told, but no sooner had she landed the bait beyond the waves than Ella suddenly jerked Goldie’s line and yelled, “Whoooa, I think I got one! Yep, I got one. He’s on there.”
While she was reeling the fish in, Goldie also suddenly pulled back hard on her line, exclaiming, “Me, too, Miss Ella! Me, too! I think I got one, too!”
“Spots!” Ella said elatedly, grabbing her writhing fish with one hand and removing the hook from its mouth like a real veteran. “Yep, they’re biting. Nice size, too.”
Goldie unhooked her fish with equal ease, then filled the bucket with water while Ella combed through the seaweed in a small container for a fat bloodworm and threaded one on a hook.
“What are we gonna do with these fish, Miss Ella?”
“If we get at least two more, we’re going to take them to Riley and have him fry them up for breakfast, that’s what. And if we have plenty, he can have some for himself. Here, honey, cast this out again for me.”
By this time, a young couple walking on the beach stopped and looked with curiosity first at the fish in the bucket, then at the two strange women preparing to try their luck again. Within a few minutes, Ella pulled in another spot and Goldie followed suit, and, not long after, Goldie snagged a third, whooping with joy. Then, nothing. No more fish, not even a nibble on either line, as if the critters had all decided they were no longer hungry and simply swu
m away. Eventually, the women changed to cut bait, hoping to attract blues, or grouper, or anything, but, still, not a single bite.
“That’s the way it goes,” Ella remarked in frustration. “Maybe the tide’s changing. That’s what Mr. Earl used to think when they stopped biting.”
“Do you know what my people would say? They’d say the sacred Water Spirit had moved the fish away so there’d be enough left in time of need. Once, they say, man became greedy about the fish, and all the rivers dried up, and soon thousands died of starvation. Now my people respect the ways of the Sacred Spirit, and nobody goes hungry.”
“Makes sense,” Ella commented wryly, still hoping for one more bite.
It felt so good fishing again, and even with the fish no longer cooperating, Ella loved just standing on the sparsely populated strand next to Goldie with her line taut, and the water lapping over her espadrilles, and her eyes focused on the distant horizon as the tepid sea breeze blew across her face. From time to time, she would shift her stance instinctively to maintain a steady balance in the wet sand, a move that somehow could evoke the days when she and Earl were young and the two would stand together for hours waiting for bites and talking about things that were important to them.
“Sometimes I wonder if Tyler’s really enjoying himself,” she remembered Earl once worrying when their oldest son refused to play with his siblings on the beach and sat quietly alone near the cabana either reading or tracing intricate designs in the sand. “He’s not like the other two, you know. At times, I really don’t think the boy’s completely normal.”
When Earl made remarks like that, Ella would feel a knot in her stomach, praying that her husband would just let the subject drop and accept his son as the individual he was.
“Of course he’s normal, dear,” she’d insisted. “He’s just different from the other two, and you do forget that, after all, Tyler’s older and gets bored easily. Maybe he’d like to fish.”
At which point, she’d called to Tyler, who came running and anxiously took hold of his mother’s rod. Ella remembered thinking that the gods were with them when, just as she was showing the boy how to take up slack on the line by reeling slowly and steadily, a fish hit the bait while her hand was still on the rod.
“You’ve got one, Tyler! Pull!” she’d howled, still helping him hold the rod. “Pull hard! You’ve got to hook him. Now, reel fast and keep the line tight. Keep reeling, honey. That’s the boy. Don’t stop. Keep reeling and watch your slack. You’ve got him, Tyler. Don’t let him off.”
“Keep reeling, Son,” Earl had chimed in, placing his rod in the holder and stepping over closer as the two other children came rushing down to share the excitement. “Thatta boy, Tyler. Just keep up the slack and reel hard. Don’t lose him.”
When the fish came flopping through the sand, Earl had peered down anxiously. “A whiting! Son, you got a whiting—and he’s a nice size. First one today. Can you beat that? Looks like we have a real fisherman in the family.”
As Ella unhooked the fish and tossed him in the bucket, she hadn’t known who was more thrilled, Tyler or his father. And now, still gazing over the sea at the horizon, she could still hear Earl’s strong, approving voice and see him put his arm proudly around his son’s small shoulders. At least for the moment, Tyler was indeed a normal boy.
No doubt the spell would have continued had Ella, all of a sudden, not become aware of how weak her knees were feeling and of the hot sun. When she mentioned this to Goldie, the Indian quickly reeled in her line and asked if Ella was sure she was all right.
“Oh, of course I am. These old knees are not what they used to be, and I’m just getting a little bit tired. Maybe, dear, if you could bring me one of those chairs from the cabana, I could get the weight off my feet and we could fish some more. I’m determined to get at least one more bite. “And, oh, yes, Goldie, also please bring me my hat. It’ll ruin my hair, but it’s better than getting blistered.”
Goldie did as she was asked, and when Ella got settled, Goldie again cast for her, then resumed her own fishing.
The sight of a nicely dressed elderly lady in a big yellow hat perched in a chair at the water’s edge with a fishing pole in her hands was enough to attract the attention of anybody strolling along the strand, not least a small group of ratty-looking young men and two skimpily clad girls, one carrying an enormous boom box and all guzzling beer from cans and using foul language that could be heard everywhere. At first, they simply meandered tipsily over to gawk in the bucket, then one of them poked a fish to see if it was still alive and yelled “Shit, man!” when it flopped about.
For a while, Ella refused to let the intrusion bother her, but when the rock music blasting on the radio began to shatter her nerves and one of the oafs hurled his empty beer can into the water, she reeled around in her chair, removed her large sunglasses, and lost all patience.
“Why did you have to do that? There’re beach ordinances against littering, or don’t you care? And would you please tell your friend to cut down that infernal radio so we can have a little peace?”
The man, who may have been twenty-five and wore a reversed baseball cap over his bushy hair, reached into an insulated bag slung over one of the girl’s shoulders and popped open another can of beer. “This here’s a public beach, old lady, and we got the right to play whatever music we want to.”
“You don’t have the right to get drunk and disturb others,” she belted out angrily, “and you certainly don’t have the right to throw cans into the ocean and fool around with our fish. Y’all have this entire beach to roam around, so we’d appreciate it if you and your friends would just move away and stop bothering us.”
“We’d appreciate it…” He imitated her mockingly.
“What’s wrong with looking at your goddamn fish, lady?” one of the man’s pals bellowed crudely, picking a dead spot from the bucket by the tail and waving it back and forth in the air as if trying to impress the girls.
“Put that fish back down this instant!” Ella raved, laying the rod on the sand and reaching for her canvas bag hanging on the back of the chair. “And if you kids don’t leave us alone, I’ll have my friend there go up to the inn and call the police.”
“…and call the police,” the same man mocked again, trying to mimic Ella’s refined accent as his friends laughed.
All this time, Goldie had been ignored as she stood some feet away with her line still out, but when it became clear that this bunch of vulgar idiots had nothing better to do than harass an elderly lady, she reeled in and glanced about to see if there were any people close by on the strand. Normally, there would have been an attendant near the cabanas back near the dunes, but since only two others were yet occupied by older guests reading books or dozing, he was nowhere to be seen.
“Should I go up and get somebody at the inn?” Goldie asked Ella.
“No, not yet. I can handle this for the time being,” she said confidently, clutching her bag tightly.
“Well, well, well, just looka there,” one of the tipsy girls in a scanty gold bikini and lots of frizzy hair blared, noticing the large turquoise medallion around Goldie’s neck and her braided ponytail. “Just looka there. If it’s not Pocahontas herself. Hi, Pocahontas, baby. Why aren’t you in your teepee with the other squaws instead of down here at that fancy hotel with the rich palefaces?”
The man who’d picked up the fish suddenly began dancing in a circle and, patting his hand against his open mouth, whooping crazily. Then another man repeated the mockery, and everybody howled in laughter.
“Leave this lady alone,” Goldie commanded of no one in particular, standing defiantly with her hands on her hips. “You don’t have the right to talk to her like this.”
“What’s Pocahontas gonna do, scalp us if we don’t behave ourselves?” one of the men now yelled sarcastically before slugging his beer.
“I can tell you one thing she ain’t gonna do,” another slurred. “She ain’t gonna get very sunburned ’cause
she’s already got red skin.”
The whole group howled again as Goldie simply maintained her stance and glared at them helplessly.
“I’m warning you kids for the last time,” Ella declared with unusual fury. “You’ll not ridicule and insult me and my friend like that, and you’ll get out of here this very minute or there’s going to be serious trouble.”
The man wearing the baseball cap now testily poured some of his beer into the fish bucket, then garbled, “And what’s Miss Gotrocks with the big fancy hat and Pocahontas gonna do to us bad ole boys? Is Miss Gotrocks gonna call the police and have us thrown in the clink?” He reared back again and pitched the can high into the ocean, the others cheering him on.
Turning around further in her chair, Ella reached into her bag, pulled out the small pistol, and waved it threateningly in the air. “I’ve had just about enough of this impudence,” she announced slowly and dauntlessly, releasing the safety on the gun like a real expert.
The youngsters gawked incredulously at the weapon, and even Goldie appeared shaken.
“Whoa, lady,” the lug in the cap muttered in disbelief, stepping back quickly with the others. “That’s heavy duty, lady. That thing ain’t loaded, is it?”
Her hand steady as a rock, Ella aimed the pistol at the sand not far from their feet and fired, the crack mostly muffled by the sound of the crashing waves. Instantly, one of the girls screamed and grabbed a man’s arm.
“Is that real enough for you hoodlums?” she yelled at the top of her voice.
“Are you crazy, lady?” another man almost gasped, stepping back even farther. “Just cool it, lady. Cool it.”
“Next time it’ll be a foot or a leg,” Ella warned, still waving the shiny weapon. “And I’ve got a permit for this, in case you’re wondering.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said the girl who’d screamed, grasping the man’s arm even tighter. “She’s fucking crazy, Buck. Come on, let’s go.”