by L. Langdon
“There is a large—embarrassingly large—amount of color prejudice in the black community. There’s an old saying: ‘If you’re black, get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white, all right.’”
Mindy couldn’t contain herself. “Black people think that way? Why? They ought to know better.”
“I agree. But I suppose when you’ve had it drummed into you for generations that white skin is more valuable, you tend to internalize those values. And it’s especially prevalent in judging women. The stereotype is that black men want to chase white women. Those fears caused many lynchings, even though they’re greatly exaggerated.
“There is a residue to this attitude, however. It teaches black men to value women who look white—who have light skin and more, umm, European features. Dark skinned women are frequently undervalued by the men of their own race.
“I think what bothers John the most is not the reaction of the whites—although that can be unpleasant and downright dangerous—but the reaction of the black people, particularly women, who would see him as betraying them.”
There was a brief silence. Suddenly, Mindy put her hand on top of Gerri’s. Gerri looked up to see an expression of pity on her face. “I’m so sorry,” Mindy said. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”
Gerri shook her head violently. “No, no, no. I’ve never been in that situation myself. And I have no romantic interest in John.”
Mindy frowned thoughtfully. “What about that ex-boyfriend of yours? Did he…?”
Gerri gave a brief snort. “I don’t even know. I never saw the girl. And I didn’t care in the least what she looked like.” That was mostly true, she told herself. “The issue for me was the fact that he lied. And I wasn’t really sorry to have that relationship end. I’ve realized since then that it’s possible to have much stronger feelings for somebody.”
Gerri could see a light go on over Mindy’s head. Why the heck did I have to say that? I don’t want to talk about Sven. “Anyway,” she added hastily, “We’re trying to fix your crappy love life, not mine.”
Fortunately, Mindy was more than willing to return to the subject of John. “Do you think he’ll say anything?”
“I don’t know. The only advice I can give you is to be receptive, and be understanding if he wants to be, umm, circumspect at first.”
Later, as she slipped into bed, she thought about Mindy and John. She hoped that they could find happiness. And she couldn’t help the ironic thought: Would that my ‘crappy love life’ could be resolved so easily…
She fell asleep vowing to call Sven the next day. It had simply been too long since she had seen him. Surely, she could talk to him without making a fool of herself. Couldn’t she?
She slept well, dreaming about Sven and the time they had shared on the Glacier Gal last summer, when life had seemed so simple.
When she awoke, she called his home right away. But there was no answer.
___
Sven had left Juneau about two hours ago. The weather was placid, and they were making good time. He glanced back toward the galley. His two clients seemed energetic, even with their early start. The big boss, as Sven was already privately calling him, was sitting and the other guy was fixing breakfast—they had been told that cooking was not part of the service. Sven was bored with this trip already. He would rather watch or paint wild animals than shoot them. These hunting charters were uncommon for him—this was the first time he had consented to two in one year. But the trip to South Carolina had eaten up quite a chunk of his savings. And—as if he could forget—he wanted to be able to buy a ring for Gerri.
Thinking of her turned his mind to his dilemma. He had been tempted to call her before leaving to say goodbye, but he couldn’t. He had no idea how late that dinner party had lasted, and he might have awakened her out of a sound sleep. And awakened Mindy too, spoiling any good will that was developing. And that was assuming that Gerri stayed at Mindy’s last night. No! He wouldn’t even let himself consider the alternative.
He looked around. Ahead, down Stephens Passage, the winter sun was making its slow way over the mountains, announcing its approach with gorgeous magenta streaks on the undersides of the clouds. Lost in his reverie, Sven almost called to Gerri to share the view. When he realized his mistake, he shook his head. This is going to be a long trip…
Chapter 36
By the start of her second week, Gerri had fallen into a comfortable, albeit hectic, routine. Mindy would give her a ride to school in the morning. After school, Gerri would talk with Mrs.Kallek—if she had come to school that day—and then walk home. She knew that walking home wouldn’t always be possible. Even dressed warmly, she could feel the cold, and her co-workers were fond of telling her ‘wait until we get this year’s first two-foot snowstorm.’
She had not heard from Sven since that phone call when she had rebuffed his attempt to see her. She had tried calling him twice more, but he didn’t answer. Surely he would be back by now. She was evidently not a priority for him just now—and she knew that it was her own fault. She told herself that it was for the best—that she would heal faster if she didn’t see him. But she missed him terribly.
At first, she brought a bagged lunch so that she could work on her lessons as she ate, but on her second day a woman poked her head into Gerri’s classroom with an invitation. “Hey, come and join us for lunch. You’ll go crazy if you stay in this room all day.”
Gerri considered that briefly. “You’re right. I need a break.” As she stood up, the woman extended her hand.
“I’m Sharon Ingram. I teach English.”
As they walked to the cafeteria, Gerri made conversation. “So, do you teach English literature? American literature?”
Sharon laughed. “Yes, both. But I’m even worse: I have a fondness for grammar. One which my students generally don’t share, I might add.”
“I can empathize.”
Sharon cast her a sidelong look and asked with a half smile, “With me or with my students?”
Gerri decided to go with honesty. “With both, actually. I appreciate its importance now, but I remember suffering through some of the subtleties at times. My high school teachers always seemed to find the weird examples.”
“I try to. And there are plenty of them around. You were probably one of those logical math whizzes who hated the inconsistencies.”
“Guilty—on the hating of inconsistencies, not on the whiz part.”
Once in the cafeteria, Sharon led Gerri to a table. There was a man already eating there. He seemed to be in his thirties. When he saw them, he raised his hand in greeting and worked to swallow the large bite he had just taken. “Hi, I’m Jake Devlin. I teach science.” He cast a look at Sharon. “And my other job is to make Sharon’s lunch periods miserable.”
“Watch yourself or I’ll tell my students to start correcting your grammar in class.”
Gerri soon came to look forward to those lunches, not only as a break in her workload, but as a source of news and gossip. She found herself an amused spectator to the good-natured bickering between the other two. On Friday of her second week, she decided to jump into the fray. “It’s a good thing I’m here, or y’all would be having a real food fight.”
Jake laughed, but Sharon looked thoughtful. “You know,” she said, “I’m starting to hear students saying that in the hallways.”
Jake managed to look both skeptical and puzzled. “What? Food fight?”
Sharon shook her head. “No. ‘Y’all.’”
“And that’s bad?” Now he looked genuinely amused.
“No.” She looked at Gerri reassuringly. “I know there are regional dialects. It would be bad only if I thought that they were making fun of Gerri.”
Jake leaned back with a smug expression. “You’re my witness,” he said to Gerri. Then he turned to Sharon. “Leaving aside the issue of possibly mocking Gerri, on which I totally agree with you, this may be the only time I ever get to teach you something about grammar.”
Sharon had a dubious expression, but he ignored that and continued. “You can do better in defending that usage than by appealing to a dialect. It actually tries to solve a defect in the English language.” He paused and took a drink, obviously trying to milk the moment.
“Go on,” said Sharon impatiently.
“There’s no distinction in standard English between the second person singular and plural pronouns. It’s just ‘you’ and the listener has to figure out what’s meant.”
“But the context…”
“Not always. And not always easily. If I’m telling my class about a test they took, and I say: ‘You did badly on this test,’ then they can’t tell what I mean without watching my eyes. Are my eyes locked on one kid? Or are they moving around the room? Using ‘y’all’ for the plural is just a way to disambiguate that pronoun.” He grinned with mischief. “See? And you didn’t think I knew any big words.”
Sharon cocked her head and looked at Gerri. “Is that how you use it?”
Gerri shrugged and nodded. She didn’t want to say of course, since that seemed impolite.
Now Sharon looked thoughtful. “Hmmm, I never thought of it that way.”
“Furthermore,” Jake was more than willing to press his advantage. “Some people in New Jersey use ‘youse’ to solve the same language problem. It’s considered bad grammar by the purists, but it does serve a purpose.”
“It’s considered bad grammar by everybody,” Sharon interrupted testily. “So… How did you come up with this?”
Jake turned to Gerri for sympathy. “Notice the emphasis on the ‘you.’ I tell you, I get no respect.”
“Yes, Rodney Dangerfield,” Sharon said with a smile. “But seriously, I’m interested.”
“As Sharon knows,” he said to Gerri, “English is not my first language. My family moved from Ireland to New Jersey when I was five. I picked up ‘youse’ from the other kids—we weren’t in the best of neighborhoods—and found out in school that it wasn’t considered proper. To me it always seemed reasonable, so later, when I heard ‘y’all’ the similarity was obvious.”
Sharon nodded thoughtfully. Gerri chimed in, “I’m surprised that you don’t have an accent.”
Jake made a sour face. “I worked hard to get rid of it. My neighborhood was predominately Italian. Too much of an Irish accent would get a kid teased or even beaten up. Later on,” he paused and flashed a roguish smile, “a bit of a brogue could be very useful with the girls, but now that I’m married…” He shrugged and heaved a fake sigh of regret.
Gerri laughed. She thought briefly of correcting ‘girls’ to ‘women’ out of loyalty to Mindy, but held her tongue. Thinking of Mindy did remind her… “My roommate argues for another defect in the language. There’s no gender-neutral third person singular pronoun corresponding to the plural ‘they.’ So you have to specify a person’s sex even when it’s not known or not appropriate.”
Jake made a face. “Who cares?”
Gerri was considering whether to start an argument by defending Mindy when Sharon jumped in. “You should care. When you have to specify a person’s sex but you don’t know it, the tendency is to use the male—he or him—and that tends to make women more invisible.”
Jake threw up his hands in surrender. “If I dispute that, Sharon will tell my wife, and then I’ll hear about it forever. Let’s change the subject.”
In the ensuing silence, they heard the howl of a particularly strong gust of wind. Jake was relieved at the distraction. “It’s bitter out there today. You walk home, don’t you, Gerri?”
“Yes, but I dress warmly.”
Jake gave an exaggerated shudder. “Still, nobody should be out in this kind of weather if he doesn’t have to.”
“Aha!” Sharon said triumphantly. “You just illustrated Gerri’s point. You don’t mean that only men should stay inside, so technically you should have said ‘he or she,’ and that sounds awkward.”
But Gerri wasn’t listening anymore. ‘Nobody should be out in this kind of weather…’ Sven! What if he didn’t get back from that hunting trip? What if something had happened to him in this awful weather? That would mean that he hadn’t failed to call out of indifference. She found herself irrationally relieved by that prospect—for about a second, until she realized what that would mean. Then she felt terrible for her self-centered, selfish thoughts.
She had to know—but how? I can see if the Glacier Gal is in the harbor… She was over her moment of selfishness—she desperately hoped that the boat was there.
“Earth to Gerri. Are you still with us? Do you want that ride?”
“I’m sorry, Jake. I just remembered an errand I have to run before I go home. Thank you anyway, but I’ll pass on that ride.”
“Are you sure? Can’t it be put off until a nicer day?”
She shook her head. “I can’t put it off. It’s very important.” Life or death, in fact.
___
Gerri trudged toward the boat harbor, thankful once again that Sven had been so insistent about her clothing purchases. The wind was behind her, which helped, but the down parka was, once again, proving to be her favorite article of apparel. Not that the coat would save her if she was wearing the skirt and blouse that she had taught in. She stopped by the teachers’ bathroom at the end of each day and changed into insulated pants—also specified by Sven. The outfit was so toasty that she had to get outside as soon as she had changed, lest she start sweating.
Even so, she wasn’t eager to have Sven see her like this. The protective clothing made her—in her opinion—look like the Michelin Man. She smiled as she thought about the gender/grammar arguments at lunch. Was there a Michelin Woman?
As she turned onto the boat harbor dock, the wind hit her in the face. She gasped and paused for a moment. The wind was bringing tears to her eyes and she could hardly see. To make matters worse, its strength was almost enough to blow her over. She crept down the ramp to the floats, holding on the railing for dear life.
She walked toward Sven’s slip. To add insult to injury, there were a few icy spots, even though it hadn’t snowed for days. Not long, now… She vowed that once she saw the Glacier Gal, she would turn around immediately and go home. It was Sven’s own business if he chose not to call her. After all, he had made his disinterest clear. She refused to look clingy. A clingy Michelin Woman? No thank you!
___
She stood, unmoving and shocked. His slip was empty—the Glacier Gal was not there. Turning, she scanned the other slips, heedless of the sting of the wind. Somehow, without conscious effort, she had convinced herself that the Glacier Gal would be safely sitting there—that everything would be all right. Then she could slink away quietly, knowing that she’d been foolish but comforted that Sven was OK.
After her initial shock wore off, she considered her next steps. Call the Coast Guard? That would make her a laughing-stock. She had no idea of Sven’s route or schedule. Maybe that was it: maybe she had misunderstood his time of return. But that didn’t comfort her. She had the awful feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.
What could she do? Nothing. But if she simply went home, she would be worthless until there was a resolution. Wally! Maybe he would know something. Sven had remarked once that Wally lived on his boat year-round. Gerri set off towards his slip, walking faster and faster in her impatience until she almost lost her traction and forced herself to slow down. She could tolerate looking a bit foolish in front of Wally, but falling flat on her back in her haste—that would be just too much.
After she stepped onto the deck of Wally’s boat, she paused to compose herself. She wanted to project a friendly concern—but in a calm way. He would, she hoped, have some reasonable, reassuring explanation. Then she could nod sagely and move on.
She was startled when the cabin door opened suddenly and Wally said gruffly, “Come on in before we both freeze.”
“How did you know…” She hadn’t even knocked.
He looked amused
. “I felt the boat move.”
As she entered his cabin, Gerri shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Oh. Of course.” Even the Glacier Gal—a larger boat—rocked very slightly when someone stepped aboard. She tried to regroup after that inauspicious start, but Wally spoke first.
“Welcome back. I expect you’re giving the high school kids all they can handle, aren’t you?”
She had to force herself to concentrate. Have I forgotten all of my manners? “I, I hope so. Teaching is hard work.”
Wally could see that she was flustered and he took pity on her. “You’re here to see about Sven?”
“Yes.” She tried to be casual, but her words came out in a rush. “His boat isn’t there. I suppose that there’s some reasonable…” She stopped upon seeing Wally shake his head.
He waved her to a bench in his tiny galley and watched her assessingly as she took off her heavy parka. It was sorely tempting to give her a facile, sugar-coated explanation. If he got her all upset, then he’d have to comfort her—and he wasn’t good at that sort of thing.
On the other hand, this was the girl who started out knowing nothing and ended up capable of navigating the Glacier Gal by herself when Sven got appendicitis. She deserved to be treated like a professional, even if that was more uncomfortable for both of them in the current situation.
“You know he’s out with a hunting party, right?” Gerri nodded. “He radioed in a few days ago that he was going to wait out the weather in Gambier Bay.” He looked at Gerri inquiringly.
She frowned as she frantically tried to visualize the charts that she had spent so much time poring over last summer.
“It’s south of here,” Wally prompted. “You did most of your fishing further west; towards Pelican and the ocean.”
“Yes, but I…” After a few seconds, that area snapped into focus. “I remember it. We never went down there, but it’s about…seven or eight hours out, I think.”
Wally couldn’t hide a small smile. “That’s about right—in decent weather, anyway.”
Gerri was irrationally pleased at his obvious approval. I guess I redeemed myself… Then she shook her head imperceptibly. Stay on topic. “And he’s still there?”