Hank brought his same zest for fishing to bear on work to assure adequate provisions for Alaskan fishermen in the 200-Mile Fishery Management Bill that was cooking in Washington. In the spring after the life-raft event he traveled with Jody to the capital to testify before the House Merchant Marine Committee. He became a goad to congressmen through letters and phone calls, working as part of the local fishermen’s association.
And then? Jody never left the boats altogether. But she was already pregnant when they went to Washington, and after delivering Hank a son, she bore him a daughter in the year following. Hank delighted in them both. For the short run, Hank’s mother flew in to help on both occasions, and of course so did Adele. In the longer run, Jody’s loss of independence was not as devastating as she had feared. But it was bad enough that Hank sometimes dragged in from days of hard fishing to find an angry wife who yelled that she’d had it with baby shit and baby jabber. He grew wise enough to take over so that she could storm from the house and then could return to find the dishes washed, the diapers changed, and the kids either nestled on his lap listening to a book (whether they understood it or not) or tucked away. Except during Adele’s winter periods in the south, she cared for the children more enthusiastically than probably she had her own. For the initial summers, Jody gladly left with her the first child, then both, and shipped with Hank for trips. But she began to return from a week or more at sea to find Henny, the oldest, a squalling stranger when she received him back. Worse, to find Adele full of instructions as to what was best for them. And what if something happened to both parents together at sea? Finally she announced to Hank: “I belong ashore for a while.”
“I’ll miss you,” he said sincerely.
“You know where the door is.” The would-be highliner began to find reasons to return to port that he once would have mocked.
Jody on the beach became increasingly a part of the community. Kodiak was, after all, a small town. Previously, she and Hank had run a narrower track—the bars and eateries, cannery row, the hospital, the laundromat, the supermarket near the harbor—which was crowded as much with bearded men stacking boat grub as with housewives—and the waterfront supply and service shops. Now she found that there was also a library, that schools had a purpose for more than refugee accommodation after a tidal wave, that there were car dealers and filling stations, lawyers, dentists, real estate agents, cops and firemen, gift stores, churches, a movie house. She acted in an annual summer outdoor pageant about the early Russian settlers. When some storekeepers proposed an ordinance to tax the fishing boats, she led other fishermen’s wives to become a tough antagonist at city council meetings. Her speech about where the storekeepers or the town itself would be without the fishing boats was quoted for long after.
No bits of civilization on a strip of northern land between mountains and sea can ever dispel the howling wilderness close by, as the tidal wave had proved, and as ninety-knot winds kicking waves over the breakwater reminded often. Every time Hank leaves for a fishing trip, his and Jody’s eyes hold each others for a moment, both putting from mind that something could always happen out there.
At Easter, Hank always remembers to light a candle for Steve in the appropriate church, and at Russian Easter for Ivan. Or, if he’s at sea, Jody does it for him.
Highiliners Page 45