by Tom Kealey
Look at my head, signed the man. There is nothing small about it.
This set the boy and the girl to laughing, and the man smiled a little, went back to his clock. They filled the plates and set them on the table. The boy moved the pieces of clock to the side in sets of two and in the same order, and the old man watched him carefully. The bank had foreclosed on his trawler, and he believed it dishonest. He believed many things dishonest, and he’d been bitter and short with his children of late. He looked at the plate of food. He was a fisherman, and here he was, tired of fish.
What is with you two? he signed. Why do we eat early tonight?
The traps, the boy signed. You worry over the traps all day. We go to check the traps so you will not worry. Now eat. The boy put his fingers to his mouth. Eat now.
The man pushed his plate away. I don’t want to eat. I am not your child.
Yes you are, signed the boy.
Papa, the girl signed. She placed her hand at the old man’s elbow and looked at him. Your heart.
They will wash out to sea, signed the man.
The boy rolled his eyes. He put an asparagus in his mouth. Shh, he said. Listen to your mother. Eat.
The old man looked at his plate. He was very tired. He thought, as he often did, that if he went to sleep he would not wake up again. He had built the crab traps himself, and they were tied smartly, and with enough slack, to the buoys. He hoped they would be all right. They had survived storms worse than this one. He worried that they would be carried to the other side of the sound.
The boy put his fork down, as if reading his father’s thoughts. They will not get the traps, he signed. Those people. They take everything from us. But they will not get the traps.
The old man looked at his son. He took a long breath. What people? signed the old man. Who takes what from us?
You know, the boy signed. He tapped his fingers angrily at his forehead. He pointed out the window, across the sound. They have everything and we have nothing.
The old man shook his head. He was sad for the boy, though he did not say this. He cut off a piece of cobia, then ate it.
Their children are worse, the boy continued. He signed very quickly. We hear them in school. What they own. What they do not. What they will own.
The old man looked out the window at the rain. It was slow now, and the storm was coming to an end. The man thought of the way his son had pointed across the sound. The motion frightened him. He could see his own anger in the anger of the boy. It was something that had arisen recently and fully. The man tapped his knife at his plate.
This is very good, he signed. They cannot get cobia like this across the sound.
They buy the best fish, signed the boy. He was still very angry, and he was looking out the window.
The old man touched the boy’s chin. It was unusual for him to do this. Listen to me, he signed. You will come to market with me again. You forget. We sell them only the bad fish. The man made a funny face, as if he’d swallowed something distasteful.
The boy said nothing. He continued eating. The sacks for the crabs were set by the door, next to the long raincoats that the boy and girl wore out on the boat.
What will you two do tonight? the man signed.
We have told you, signed the boy. He signed lazily, as if they were half-words. We check the traps.
After, said the man. I think you are up to something.
We are up to nothing, signed the boy.
The man looked at his daughter, and the girl looked down at her plate. She was quiet, that one, when she chose to be, and she was not yet filled with anger.
I know my own children, the man signed.
They settled their father in front of the television after dinner. They placed a beer in his hands, though he was only allowed the one. Merrill placed a blanket over him and tucked it into the cushions of the chair. There was a special on the television about coyotes. They watched for a while, and Merrill could hear Nate rummaging around in the back room. She signed for her father, for what the woman was saying on television.
They are two times the size of foxes, she signed.
I can see this, the man signed. Does she think we are stupid?
There might be a blind person listening, the girl signed, and the man said nothing to that. He looked irritated, but he was happy. She still had a kindness that ran deep in her.
They hunt in pairs, signed the girl. Half die before they are adults.
Why? signed the man.
Merrill smiled. I did not hear, she signed. The woman talks too fast. Their territory grows. It grows now. They howl to speak to other coyotes. There was not a sign she knew for coyotes, so she spelled it out, quickly.
Who else would they speak with? the man signed. This woman has no sense in her head.
Nate came into the room and stood watching the television with them. He had his raincoat in his hand and a small paper bag that he stuffed into one of the pockets. Those are nasty creatures, he signed.
They are very smart, signed the old man.
The boy spelled a word out. Scavengers, he signed. They eat children.
No they don’t, signed the man. They eat rats and rabbits.
I have heard them at night, signed the boy. Here. Out in the woods.
No you haven’t, signed the man.
The boy looked at his father. How would you know? he signed.
The man looked again at the television. He took a swig from his beer. His feelings were hurt, though he would not show the boy this. You have heard dogs, he signed.
I know things, signed the boy.
I know you do, signed the old man.
The girl pointed at the television. She struggled for a moment, trying to find the right sign. Then she pointed again. They eat frogs, she signed. This is what was just said.
The boy and the girl took the old rowboat out into the sound. The patches in the boat were poor, and Merrill bailed with an old milk jug while Nate pulled at the oars. The sky had begun to clear, and the water seemed a dark and strange blue. There was old trash and netting out on the water, things that had blown out with the wind, and the clouds and stars reflected on the choppy surface of the water as if they were slowly moving in toward shore. The moon was low and crescent, a half, though a large one, and Nate rowed with it over his shoulder. They headed out toward the traps and shared a beer on the way, their feet cold and wet with the water leaked through.
When they came to the buoys, they pulled the traps up, and some were empty and some were filled with one or three or half a dozen crabs, but they did not empty the traps and instead dropped them back into the water. Two of the lines were broken, and they would come back tomorrow, dive down into the cold water, pull back to the surface what was theirs. They headed now across the sound, toward the large houses, toward the lanterns strung all across the docks there like a long line of spider eyes in the distance, not menacing but watching. Nate had his hood up over his head, and Merrill watched the tip of his nose, the moustache below that he’d been trying to grow. They were best friends and didn’t have many others in school.
“I got it,” the boy said.
“You got what?”
“The job on the ferry. Permanent now. It’s twenty hours. I’ll start on Tuesday.”
She was happy for him, but also sad. He’d no longer be working at the grocery store with her. “Can you get me a job there?”
He shook his head, leaned into the oars. “You’re too young.”
“I’m mature for my age though,” she said.
He watched her bail the water. “No you’re not,” he said. “You’re not mature at all.”
“Example,” she said.
He thought about that. They were past the halfway point in the sound. He looked back at the houses across the way. “You couldn’t watch me shoot William,” he said.
Merrill frowned at that. She didn’t like to think much about that. “I was right there when you shot William.”
“You close
d your eyes though.”
“I closed his eyes first,” she said.
William had been their mule. They’d used him when they went apple picking, a job they’d had since they were very young. He’d follow them along in the orchard, two baskets tied across his back. He’d gotten too old, and his legs had begun to go. They’d shot him at the edge of the orchard, at the end of last season. They’d shot him first, then dug the hole for him, and it upset her, Merrill, to think of it. Though, it would’ve been worse the other way. The farmer had told them it was past time, that it was long past time, that there was no sense in these sentimental ideas. Still, he brought the mule a pear that morning, offering it silently and rubbing down the animal’s coat.
They moved along on the water, dipping and rolling with the tide. The ferryboat ran across in place of a bridge. They could see it now, off in the distance, a ten-minute ride that people across the sound seemed to like.
“I’m happy for you,” said Merrill.
“Thanks.”
“That is the big-time,” she said.
The boy said nothing. He watched her, suspiciously.
“Now will you take people’s money, or will you wave the cars on and off ?”
He was still suspicious. “I’ll do both.”
“Both?” she said. “But someone’s got to tie the line. Will you do that too?”
He splashed her with one of the oars, though she didn’t blink.
“Do they have a knot that you’re supposed to tie, or will you get to use your own?”
“I use my own,” he said.
“Impressive. Is it complicated?”
“No,” he said. “Any fool can do it. We call it the Merrill knot.”
She ignored that. “Will you make change for people?”
“Why are you being all stupid?” he said.
“It’s a dollar fifty now,” she said. “Will you have one of those little tube things for the quarters, or will you just carry them loose in your pocket?”
“I’m going to carry them in a little bag and knock you upside the head when I get home.”
Merrill said nothing to that. She looked up at the houses. They were almost there now. Nate also turned and looked. They could see the dock where they would land. There seemed to be no one about.
“Can I come visit with you?” Merrill said.
“On the ferry?”
“Yes.”
“No,” he said.
She smiled at that, looked forward to it. She set the bailer aside and picked up the sacks. There was one light on at the house up ahead. A kitchen light, the sort people leave on when they are away at night. It was a house that Merrill had studied for many Saturdays now.
“Did you bring the gun?” she said.
Nate looked back, pulled at the oars. He judged the distance, looked for any movement on shore.
“No,” he said. “Why would I bring the gun?”
The girl said nothing, and the boy shook his head. He watched the kitchen light.
“There’s no reason to bring the gun,” he said.
They pulled the boat up, not to the dock, but into the tall reeds and under the darkness of a sycamore that was growing crooked over the water. There was a tire and rope—a swing—tied to the tree, and it was wrapped and wrapped around the thick branch. By human hand or wind they did not know. They tied the boat up, then waited there and watched the house. There were a dozen windows at the back, but only the one light on in the kitchen, and there was a long deck made of wood and a large garden filled with bright plants and flowers. Some of the planters had been knocked over by the storm, and the birdbath was nestled sideways against a rosebush.
There was a thick line of trees on either side of the yard, so that they could not see the neighbor’s houses or even any light from there. He’d worked some Saturdays on the ferry, Nate had, and he knew the couple that lived here. They went across the water each Saturday and did not return till late. Each night he’d seen them they were dressed up, and he’d often imagined the parties they went to. Candles and a ballroom, men smoking and women drinking from tiny glasses. Foolish thoughts of his, he knew. He’d only seen movies. But that was how he thought of these people. He watched for a dog or for any sign of movement. The driveway was long and winding, and they could barely hear the cars up on the road. They listened to the wind, and to a howling down the shoreline. One coyote howled, and then another. The sound—shrill and curious—carried along the water, and when they’d gone silent again Nate picked up the sacks from the bottom of the boat and stepped up onto the grass.
They walked up the yard slowly and silently. They found the garage unlocked with three spaces inside. No cars there. They climbed over the fence to the yard, as if this was the most normal thing to do, and they made their way up the deck and to the back door. Here Nate knelt on one knee and took the picks out from the paper bag. He was good with mechanical things. Merrill stood watch, looking out across the backyard. The view was not unlike the view from the other side. The moonlight stretched across the sound, and the water seemed blue and dark, the waves rippling across the way. The lights on the Coast Guard buoys ticked red and then disappeared, and then red again, and she could make out the ferry, way off in the distance: the white running lights and its slow push toward the mainland.
The lock popped open, and they went inside and closed the door. The air smelled of coffee and a strange perfume, and Nate flipped on the light and they squinted in the brightness.
The room was long and the ceilings high, and there were two couches and many chairs, all of white leather, and a long staircase led upstairs. A dining room was set off in an alcove, and there were plates and silverware set out, as if a meal was about to be served. There were two fireplaces, one on either side of the long room, and the brickwork had been painted black and it led up in a funnel all the way to the ceiling. Merrill picked up a book from the coffee table, a photo book about Europe, and there was an ashtray there, in the shape of a swan, and a decanter filled with whiskey or scotch. Nate walked about the kitchen, running his hand along the marble countertop and touching the toaster, which was small and made of aluminum, and it seemed the same as the one they had at home.
“Do you want a drink?” said Merrill.
“All right,” he said.
She poured the scotch into two glasses and they toasted but said nothing. They sipped their drinks slowly and each made a face as they swallowed.
They took their sacks and went upstairs. They’d agreed beforehand to look for jewelry and money. They went into a room that was obviously an office, and there was a big oaken desk set in the center of the room and photographs, black-and-white, set on blue backgrounds, no glass, on the walls. The photographs were of landscapes: rivers and tobacco fields and a strange, distant shot of the ocean with two figures standing out in the water. Nate took his pocketknife out and cut through the picture of the river. He tore it diagonally, and the paper flapped back like a wave.
“Stop that,” the girl said.
“Fuck them,” he said. “They don’t own the water.”
“Use your head,” she said.
He ripped his knife through the tobacco fields, then the ocean. He kicked the chair over, then knocked the pens and notebooks off the desk. There was a half-bottle of red wine sitting on a cabinet, and he took the cork out and poured the wine on the carpet. He tossed the bottle out into the hallway. It knocked against the banister and then rolled away.
“You are such a boy,” Merrill said.
He wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Yes, I am a boy,” he said.
“Aim high,” she said. “Become something better.”
They went into the largest room, a bedroom, and they opened the drawers and found the jewelry: necklaces and rings, and a little pendant ringed with diamonds. Two bracelets with a stone they didn’t know. They stuffed these into one of the sacks, and they opened one of the closets.
They searched slowly. The closet was filled with dresses an
d sweaters, and they searched through pockets and hems. They reached up to the boxes on the shelves. Shoes inside this one, papers in another.
The smallest box was filled with money: fives and twenties and fifties, crisp and new, and Nate dropped the box whole into the sack.
“Idiots,” he said. “They deserve what they get.” He looked at the dresses. He pointed at them. “Take them.”
“I don’t want dresses,” said Merrill.
“Yes you do,” the boy said.
They opened the other closet, and it was empty. There were square patches of dust on the shelves, as if something had been there recently, and the bar was filled with hangers, set for shirts on one side and cardboard slats for pants on the other. A single sock—black with blue stripes at the top—lay in the corner. They picked it up and studied it, as if it might contain some value.
“We’ll have another drink,” said Merrill. “Then we’ll go.”
“Take the dresses,” said Nate.
The girl looked at them. They were mostly dark—blues, blacks, and reds—but there was one, gray with red stitching at the collar, that she admired. She took it from the hanger and held it up against her shoulders. She could smell the perfume of the woman upon it.
“Will it fit?” she said.
“Take it,” said Nate.
“I’ll put it on,” she said.
He shrugged, looked into the sack. “Live it up.”
She went into the bathroom and put the dress on over her clothes. There was a man she had in mind, a man who she’d guessed was twenty-eight. He’d often shop at the grocery store where she worked on weekends. He had a beard and would often talk with her when she put his beer, his vegetables, into paper sacks. There was something formal about him, perhaps something friendly behind it, and she wondered what he would think of this dress. She looked in the mirror and patted it down along her stomach. She turned off the light and stood in the dark for a moment, then she went out into the room.
“Movie star,” said Nate. “That is all you.”
“I don’t care for the movies,” she said.
“Don’t you?”
“Amateurs, all of them,” she said. “I have a beautiful voice. They don’t let you sing in the movies anymore.”