Breakers

by William B. McCIoskey Jr.

  “I have Dawn and Henny so they don’t miss school, no trouble at all. Jody took little Pete. It all happened suddenly, the way those things do. Daddy! It’s very, very long distance. Japan”

  “Give me that thing, woman,” growled Jones Henry. “Hank!” He shouted into the phone as if he were calling boat to boat. “They brainwashed you yet?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “Listen, Hank. Give me your opinion. Got an offer to buy a Bristol Bay gillnetter and permit. Bay reds bring ten, twenty times Kodiak pinks. I figure with crab and shrimp gone, the one good investment these days is salmon. Biologist fellows predict a thirty-four million run in Bristol Bay this year. Five, six pounders they say brought over a buck a pound last year. One year like that pays the second mortgage I’d take to buy in, most of it. What’s your opinion?”

  Hank remembered the tides, and his grounding with the Orion. “Bristol Bay’s a different game, Jones.”

  “I know the game. I fished a Bay double-ender thirty years ago while you still sucked lollipops.”

  “Daddy!” came Adele’s voice. “It’s Japan. Hank’s paying money!”

  “Japs are paying, Mother, trust Hank to make ‘em. Now listen, Hank, quick other question. This fellow Ham Davis. Crewed for your buddy Tolly. What about him?”

  “Well, what about him?”

  “He’s on the beach. Mebbe I’ll take him. Can he work? Is he reliable?”

  “Yes to both, Jones. Good man. To the other—a Bristol Bay permit costs a lot.”

  “That’s for me to figure.”

  “Then go for it, I guess. Jones, this is long distance. And Adele hasn’t given me Jody’s number yet.”

  “She’s here. The woman’s fingers are in my face grabbing for the phone.”

  Adele gave him the numbers of the Sedwicks’ home and the hospital. “I have all kinds of questions I won’t ask till you’re home. But I’m sure those people aren’t as civilized as the French. Just tell me this, because I can’t believe I’m talking actually to Japan. What on earth time’s it there?”

  “Eight. Nine. Thereabouts. And the day’s yesterday, or maybe it’s tomorrow, I can’t keep it straight.”

  “They are strange people. Daddy’s got that right.” Her voice dropped. “Hank! He’s just left the room. Listen. This idea of Daddy’s is crazy. We don’t need another boat with second mortgage and new debts at our age. The boat welding business in San Pedro’s gone bad since the porpoise huggers started driving out the tuna fleet. That’s why Daddy thinks he’s got to do something new.”

  “Change keeps it all interesting, Adele. Bristol Bay’s hopping they say.”

  “But it’s our savings he’s fooling with. Oh, here he’s coming back. For heaven’s sake don’t encourage him. You take care!”

  Jones again. “Hank! Something I ought to read you about the Japs taking over in Alaska.”

  Hank turned restless. “Show me when I get back. Now, Jones, on this Bristol Bay thing. Maybe talk to Adele, think twice—”

  “I’ll worry about that. Hank! Remember Pearl Harbor!”

  Hank crushed a matchbook from the bedside table. “I’m . . . remembering.”

  Hank placed a call to Jody’s Colorado number. He waited in the small bedroom with elbows on knees. Had Jones ever cheated on Adele, maybe to get a breather from her pecking and her France-foolishness? And Adele? Long weeks alone while Jones fished?

  The home phone in Colorado didn’t answer, and the hospital passed him from person to person until the line clicked dead. When he called again the Tokyo operator couldn’t make a connection but told Hank he’d keep trying.

  He lay back, too depressed to think of sleeping. She wouldn’t cheat on him. Jody wouldn’t. The bedside phone rang. He picked it up eagerly, prepared to hear her voice.

  “Cousin Herbert. You are some scarce.”

  “Look, Helene. I. . .” Silence.

  “Oh my.”

  “I’ll. . . We’ll talk later, right?”

  Now he waited by the phone feeling even worse. Helene was a nice person, too nice to be hurt.

  The little room was oppressive. For some reason neither Mike Tsurifune nor John Gains had usurped his evening, just when he wanted their diversion. He cancelled the Colorado call and left quickly. On the street he took a back route that avoided both Kabuki-Za and the yakatori stalls. As he stood looking at the wide Ginza and its overblown neon signs, wondering what to do next, he heard noise and followed it to a side street packed with people. In the center surged a teak and gold palanquin shouldered by raucous young men. He didn’t know the meaning, but he gladly lost himself laughing and shouting with the Japanese. He rose nearly a head taller than most. Several around him looked up and started joking. He became a willing part of the entertainment. It cleared his head.

  Next morning he reached Jody at last. He did it from a hotel lobby phone rather than the bedroom with its trophies. Her dad had died. Funeral tomorrow. “Mother’s on a sedative. I didn’t think she cared about anything but herself, but maybe I was wrong. My God I never knew the work to bury somebody. And his papers! I thought they were organized. And Pete’s just a pest! Thank God for Adele keeping the others, but without his brother and sister he’s suddenly all over me. Clings! He’s never done that before. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m sorry Honey, about your dad. But listen. Stuff you won’t believe. Are you sitting?”

  “Sitting? You don’t know what it’s like here. Pete! Stop that! Okay buster, you asked for it!” Sound of wailing.

  He waited while money-seconds ticked. Wanted to hold her. Felt sick with shame. John Gains walked into the lobby from the street. He wore jeans and an open shirt, and carried an overnight bag. Gains? Didn’t know he owned such clothes since deckhand days. Still an hour before they’d meet for breakfast.

  Finally she returned. “This is terrible. I forgot you were on the phone. What is it?”

  “Honey, they’ve offered to pay off Jody Dawn, maybe promise of more later. Convert me to longline for black cod in the Gulf of Alaska.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “They know I can deliver.”

  “There’s got to be more to it than that.”

  Didn’t she ever concede anymore how good he was? “We fought for our two hundred miles. Now we own the fish, and they’ve got to kiss us. I’m American don’t forget. I can get quotas in my name that they can’t. It’s a deal. A trade. They’ll set me up with fifty-one percent ownership, and I’m their fish supply. The way it works, gradually I’ll buy back full control from my profits. And listen. They’ll give me an open line of credit with their Seattle bank. Honey, you wouldn’t believe the money these people have to throw around.”

  “What happens if you don’t catch fish?”

  “Are you kidding? Gulf of Alaska’s got more black cod than . . . ants in a hill.”

  “When did you ever longline for black cod?”

  “It’s fishing gear, honey, I can handle it. Just a bigger version of the halibut hooks I baited years ago with the Norway squareheads, remember? Take me a day, no, four hours to figure it.”

  “Oh Hank. There’s a hitch somewhere.”

  “No hitch I can’t handle. Listen. They didn’t tell me more than that, but I get their thinking. These guys see the writing on the wall. All their markets and plants back here? Committed for black cod—they call it sablefish—and in a year or two they’ll be down to zero quota. Enter an American who they know can catch whatever fish or crab’s out there. They need me, honey. We’ve got ‘em by the balls. Every day over here I’m learning more how to handle this.”

  “Pete! Get out of there! Damn it, Mommy said stop! Hank. There’s got to be a hitch. Who can advise us? Swede?”

  “He’s in their pocket. I didn’t know how much until I got over here.”

  “Pete! You sit in that chair and don’t move. Do it!” Sound of wailing. “If he’d only talk he wouldn’t be such a—Hank, what do you have to sign for all this?
Oh God, wait. Mother! Stop that! Stop it. Hank, she’s having hysterics again in her bedroom and throwing things. Hank, what about your father? Ask his advice.”

  “I’ve thought of that, honey, even though he doesn’t know anything about Japanese. But they’re on that damn world cruise they said for years they’d take.”

  “There’s the doorbell. Motherl Pete, if you don’t leave that—Hank, I’ve got to go.”

  “But you agree. Right?”

  “To what? To what? Petel”

  “It’s our opportunity.”

  “Sit on it for a while.” Prolonged loud buzz of a doorbell. “Comingl” Sound of a crash. “Petel”

  “They want an answer.”

  “Then do what you think’s best. Mother, for Christ’s sake!” She hung up.

  At breakfast Gains was as efficiently dark-suited as ever, smelling of his usual lotion strong enough to waft across the table. When Hank asked if he’d been out for a morning jog: “What makes you think that? Now Hank, it’s gone beyond my advising you. Frankly I thought they might offer you more. Your bluntness probably screwed that now until you’re proven. Hopefully that’s all. They’ve already talked to your Seattle bank, I’ve learned that much. But last night they said my job here’s done, go back to Seattle and make us some money. Flying late this afternoon. Bags upstairs packed. I’d planned at least a week over here.”

  “Leaving?” Suddenly he wanted Gains around. “Will they stick to what they promise?”

  “Japanese always honor their contracts. That needn’t worry you.”

  “I’ve had a sinkhole of crabs hit the pots and change things a little. But there’s no little about this. Too fast.”

  “They’ll honor whatever contract you sign, don’t let that worry you. It’s in the negotiation that you’ve got to hold your own.” Gains frowned, and for once the careful black hair and studious gravity didn’t seem superficial. Younger than Hank by a decade, he seemed older. “I think you know that I was the one who focused them on you. And I was kind of responsible for your conduct over here.”

  “Well, then. Sorry. Hope I didn’t screw you. But nobody jerks me around like that. You’re important enough to them to stay on top, aren’t you?”

  “I can only hope. It’s probably . . . Not many Kansas plumber’s sons make it to where this one is today at twenty-seven. Scholarships, night work. Made sure I got educated with the best I could. Step by step including your hell boat.”

  “You weren’t worth shit in an emergency, but you didn’t shirk any work I gave you.”

  “I do what’s needed.” The thin smile. “Incidentally, not that it matters anymore, but when you hired me I said I’d finished only two years of college. You wouldn’t have hired me if you’d known I’d just gotten my degree in business administration. You see, the fish business was what I’d planned to target, and I’d decided to start at the bottom.”

  Hank leaned back and enjoyed his laugh.

  The waiter came and respectfully leaned over Gains to point toward the lobby. A Japanese girl in street clothes, holding a small package, bowed directly to him. She appeared to have been crying. “Ah, God.” His voice softened. “I told her not—. Excuse me.”

  Gains put his arm around her gently. Nearly a head taller, he bent to talk as he led her out of sight.

  It seemed too serious for banter when Gains returned with a small box. His veneer dropped. “Well, I guess it’s no secret since you saw.” He gestured for more coffee, looked at Hank, then away. “I lecture you about Madama Butterfly because I’ve slipped into it myself. Started two years ago when they first invited me over. I made it clear from the start, just happy time. Now, whenever I show up in Tokyo, it’s all so nice. But then so sad when I go. Neither of us expected I’d leave as soon this time.” The thin smile, but this time wistful. “If you were going to make trouble, I kept hoping you’d make enough to keep me here.”

  “John, John, John. You’re human after all.”

  “I’d appreciate your not joking.”

  “I’m not. And it’s your business all the way. Your secret.”

  “Thanks.” Gains played with his filled cup rather than drinking it. “You’re a lucky devil. You know it?”

  “I guess we both work like hell for what we get.”

  “Hank, you’ve yet to see the measure of work-like-hell.”

  They provided a lawyer comfortable in English to explain the proposed contract and didn’t rush his signature, but they wanted his commitment before leaving Japan. Another banquet waited that evening, at a different club. Mike raised a playful eyebrow. “Girls, new choice.” Either father or son remembered his taste for Kabuki. “Tickets for the best seats await you at the box office, any day, just tell me.”

  Hank no longer wanted Kabuki. Wanted not to be near it.

  That evening at six, with conference over and John Gains now in the air (and missed, that was the strange part), he lay in his room while the hotel operator dialed Colorado. Seconds later, too soon for a connection, the phone rang. He left it unanswered, then called the desk at once for its message. Helene, indeed.

  In Colorado, Jody’s mother answered. He expressed his sympathy. “That’s nice, Hank. But at two in the morning?” Her voice was even more husky and cracked than he’d remembered, and with a whine to replace the old frank disinterest. “The funeral today drained me. Then an hour ago my pills finally kicked in to let me sleep. You might have considered—Never mind. Jody’ll be glad you’ve finally called. I’ll wake her.”

  “At least it’s quiet here now,” said Jody, awake at once. “It’s been a day. Not much of a funeral, I guess they didn’t have many friends. But plenty of hysterics and self-pity. And Pete. He’s been a brat.”

  “Guess he’s not talking yet?”

  “You’ll be glad to know he’s decided to say one word. Only one. It’s ‘daddy’. I suppose it’s the one thing he can’t get these days by pointing. Three and a half now, and if he has one word he can damn well say others. He’s not sick any more and I’ve had it. Let me settle this mess, and I’m going to stop buying his permanent terrible two’s.”

  “‘Daddy’? He says ‘daddy’?”

  “‘Daddy daddy daddy.’” Her voice softened. “All right dear. It was going to be a surprise but it just slipped out. I was thrilled too when he said it. But now I’m just so—”

  “Put him on. Let me hear it!”

  Jody complied and waited through his excitement. Then: “This is costing, Hank. Do you have news?”

  Hank pulled himself together. “Well. I’ve been pretty positive about what I want. But amazing, they come up with things before I ask. Gear breakdown? I just call my bank and these folks’ll guarantee what’s needed. Bad times and I miss a payment or two, which won’t happen? Up to three in fact, they’ll cover it, just put it on the bill. Insurance? They pay.”

  “Hank, there’s got to be strings.”

  “I’ll tell you, less strings than my original bank loan. The strings are: they expect a highliner who can catch what’s out there. That’s me. And access to the quota I’m entitled to claim as an American—that I own. Which translates to an automatic market for whatever I catch.”

  “What about Seth and the boys?”

  “They’ll go along if they want to stay with me. Probably have to get another couple of apes to do the baiting when we finally convert.”

  “Sounds like you’ve planned it for everybody.”

  “It’s my time, honey. It’s my place.”

  “Used to be ours together.”

  “Ours. Sure. Still is.”

  Jody lowered her voice. “Mother? Are you still on the line? Hank, it’s all I can do to get her hands off me. Literally hands. All that damn smoking, fingers yellow, they tremble all the time, and they clutch. The woman won’t let go. Little Pete? She hugged him so hard he wriggled like a fish to get free. Now he runs when those arms come at him. Then she whimpers that I’ve alienated her grandchild. Hell, he didn’t exist before
this. Now that the Colonel’s dead—that’s what even his daughter was expected to call him—she’s scared. We might be stuck with her. Not if I can help it, but. . .”

  Hank chilled. Whining mother-in-law in their home? “She’s never given you anything.”

  “Not that simple. I’m old enough now to realize it. I feel old.”

  “Not you, Honey, dear, Jody. Not you.” He wanted to hold her. How could he have even played with someone else? He asked to hear Pete say the magic word again, and praised the child until Jody, in good humor but firmly, ended the call.

  He lay in the bed and cast his glance around the small room, cleared now of Helene-trophies. Damned suit worn all day draped out to wear again in an hour. The phone rang. He let it, then checked the desk. Helene, indeed. An hour later the same, as he gingerly sniffed to separate used socks from clean and dressed for the banquet.

  When he returned late—banquet in a more subdued place with fewer people, different girl but as available as little what’s-her-name, Michico-Machiko—a saucy note waited at the desk. Midnight phone call, again ignored restlessly. Next day a more dignified note. Face her eventually and break it off, but for now there was enough to figure out without that. Didn’t even want to think her name.

  With a tentative agreement reached, Mike took him over. They went out one night with Mike’s friends (all men) to a place where they drank to a state of guffaw and staggered up to sing into a microphone. Everyone demanded encores of Hank’s “Love Me Tender,” until he was tired of singing it and stumbled over the words. Next night they visited a section of Tokyo called Rappongi. The place was an excess of lights, crowds, and glitz. At another time Hank might have liked it. They entered a place of chrome and purple neon guarded at the door, and sat drinking and playing roulette while Japanese girls in tight silk dresses visited. Mike knew them all. Hank had liked the Machikos better, thought of Helene despite himself, wished he were leaning unencumbered over a top rail of Kabuki-Za watching the chalk-painted actor float past.

  The toasts were many, as usual, and delicious seafood tucked in fronds came in volleys. Stuff of dreams in hamburger days to come, but now he longed for a hamburger and milkshake.