Cape Grace

by Nathan Lowell

  “Can I ask you something?” Otto asked.

  Ward grinned. “I guess.”

  “You have any idea how many people leave St. Cloud rather than work for the company?”

  “Not many. Almost anything you can do somewhere else you can do here. Company has open job reqs for everything from fishermen to mechanics, from cooks to shopkeepers to accountants. They always need fishermen and crews. Power people. Transportation crews. Builders.”

  “My mother was a company product analyst.”

  “So you know.” Ward shrugged. “It might be as high as ten percent for each generation but that’s a guess. I don’t have data for it. Some people get stars in their eyes and go out to see them in person. A few like the atmosphere up on the orbital. Almost everybody stays. The population of St. Cloud has been growing by about one percent per stanyer for the last few decades.”

  “I wanted to be a fisherman when I was little,” Otto said.

  “What happened?”

  “I became a shaman.” Otto shrugged.

  “Can’t you be both?”

  Otto shrugged again. “Not easily. I did some crabbing with my mother when they opened up the deep-sea ridge. Gave up the slot to a local who needed a job more than I did.”

  Ward’s comm panel bipped and he turned to look. “Duty calls,” he said.

  Otto nodded. “I’ll get out of your hair.” He slipped out of the office and sauntered back down the path to the cottage. It was going to seem terribly quiet.

  Perhaps he’d hear the world again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cape Grace: May 30, 2334

  OTTO LEANED ON HIS staff and closed his eyes. The midday sun warmed him and the onshore breeze carried the funk of muddy bottom baking in the sun. A few other parents waited for school to let out. They murmured together but none approached Otto. He felt them glance at him, familiar with the odd stares. He’d been getting them most of his life.

  The doors slammed open and a flood of children raced out. Some arrowed for the street and, presumably, home. Some flew to waiting adults, chattering like a flock of gulls over a school of bait fish. Sarah appeared near the end of the flood. She seemed in no hurry as she approached. She took his hand and they left the community center without speaking.

  “What did you learn today?” he asked as they strolled toward the cottage.

  “I learned that Stacy Thomas is stupid.”

  Otto glanced down and saw her face screwed into a scowl. “Anything else?”

  “We did some arifmatic stuff. It was dumb.”

  “Arithmetic,” Otto said. “Ar-ith-meh-tic.”

  “Arithmetic,” Sarah repeated.

  “Did you play with the blocks?”

  She shook her head. “They’re just blocks of wood. They don’t have animals in ’em. No fish. No birds. Just blocks.”

  “You don’t like playing with them?”

  “They’re boring.” She dragged the word out and rolled her eyes.

  “Well, you’re certainly learning something in school.” Otto felt a smile tug his lips.

  “Do I have to go tomorrow?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  Otto shook his head. “Nope. You’ve got a couple days off now. It’s the weekend.”

  “What’s a weekend?”

  Otto thought about how to describe it. “Well, it’s days you don’t have to work. Almost everybody gets a couple days a week off. It’s not always the same days for everybody, but it’s called a weekend because it follows a work week. For you, it’s days you don’t have to go to school.”

  “Good,” she said. She looked up at him again. “When do I have to go back?”

  “Couple of days. Why? Don’t you like it?”

  She heaved a great sigh but didn’t speak immediately. “It’s fine.”

  “All right then.”

  They walked in silence for a time.

  “Did you have to go to school?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Only sometimes?”

  “I wanted to be a fisherman. I watched the boats come and go but I wasn’t allowed to go out.”

  “Why?”

  “I was too little and I had to spend time with my father to learn to be a shaman.”

  “What did he make you do?” She stared up at him, her eyes a pair of round bottle caps.

  “It was horrible,” Otto said. “He made me follow him around all the time.”

  “Grampa made you do that?”

  Otto nodded, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “Where did he make you go? Someplace scary?”

  “He made me walk ...” Otto lowered his voice and bent down toward her. “He made me walk on the beach!”

  She blinked several times and stopped walking. “On the beach?”

  Otto nodded. “Every day.”

  “But I like to walk on the beach,” she said. “Why was it so horrible?”

  “Because I wanted to go out in the fishing boats and be a fisherman.”

  “But you’re the shaman.”

  He nodded again and they resumed their stroll. “I am now. Back then I was just a little boy who wanted to be a fisherman.”

  Otto glanced down to see Sarah frown. After a few moments of cogitation she asked, “What did you do?”

  Otto pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment. “Well, first I finished school. I learned how to read and write and do my sums like a good boy.”

  Sarah giggled.

  “It did seem pretty boring,” he said, drawing out the word the way Sarah had. “But I got more stuff to read. Things I liked to read. I learned about maps and charts.”

  “But you didn’t be a fisherman,” she said.

  “Yes, actually, I did. Your gramma used to be a fisherman. She let me fish off the rocks, just like we do now. That’s fun, isn’t it?”

  She looked up at him with a small shrug. “Sometimes. When you catch fish, that’s fun. It’s a lot of waiting around for nothing to happen.”

  He laughed. “Yes, well. A lot of life is like that. Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad.”

  “I’d rather walk on the beach with you,” she said. “Findin’ sticks.”

  Otto bit the inside of his lip and glanced down at her.

  “Did you find sticks with Grampa when he made you walk on the beach?”

  “Sometimes,” he said. “Mostly I just walked and he found sticks.”

  “’Zat how you learned to be a shaman?”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “I suppose so.”

  “I’m gonna learn to be a shaman when I grow up.” She looked up at him, a proud smile on her lips. “Just like you, Papa.”

  Her words froze his brain and he couldn’t find the right response. “You’ve got time to figure out what you want to do, Sarah. No need to make up your mind now.”

  “You’ll see,” she said. “I’ll be the bes’ shaman of all shamans ever.”

  Otto swallowed hard to try to move the lump in his throat.

  “Will you be proud of me if I’m a shaman, Papa?”

  He crouched down and hugged her tightly. “I’m already proud of you, sweetie. Prouder than proud.”

  She gave him a quick hug around his neck and a peck on the cheek. “Can we get some lunch and then go out on the beach after?”

  “Tide’s not right just now. Soup and a nap? Then maybe before supper we can go.”

  “All right, then,” she said, squirming out of his hug. “I’m hungry. I could eat the north end of a southbound horse.”

  Otto blinked. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “Bobby Tatum. He says lots of funny stuff.”

  Otto nodded. “Well, I expected school would be an education for you. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Good. Can we go get lunch now?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” He stood and they continued toward
the cottage.

  “What’s a horse?” she asked.

  “It’s a big animal. They’re on farms and such.”

  “Like up north?”

  “Yes. They’ve probably got horses and cows and sheep. Like your picture books.”

  “Why do they go south?”

  Otto felt the laughter in his chest. “I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe they migrate for the winter?”

  She considered that for a few minutes. “I’ll ask Ms. Tandy tomorrow. Would she know?”

  Otto shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask, but you’ll have to wait until the weekend’s over. No school tomorrow.”

  Her face brightened. “Yay. We can walk on the beach and you can teach me how to be a shaman.”

  The pit of Otto’s stomach stabbed back at him but he nodded. “We can walk on the beach.”

  “Find sticks?”

  “Find sticks.”

  “What kinda soup?”

  “What?”

  “You said we’d have soup for lunch. What kinda soup?”

  “Fish.”

  “I like fish soup.”

  “Me, too, sweetie,” he said. “Me, too.” He swallowed the fear that rose up in his throat.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Cape Grace: June 8, 2334

  SARAH STORMED OUT OF the community center, her fists clenched and anger wafting from her small body in nearly palpable waves. “Bobby Tatum is an idiot.”

  Otto held his hand for her to take and they began their walk back to the cottage. “Was there something in particular?”

  “He said I don’t have a mother.”

  Otto’s stomach clenched. “What did you say?”

  “Everybody has a mother. You can’t get borneded without a mother.”

  “Good logic.”

  She looked around at the mothers with children leaving the school yard. Some of the kids stared at her and she scowled at them. The mothers pulled their offspring along, a few shooting Otto sympathetic glances. Probably most of them had known Carla.

  “So, I must have a mother. She’s just not here. Right?”

  “Your mother’s name was Carla. I loved her very much.”

  “Where is she?” Sarah asked looking up at him.

  “She got killed by a boxfish when you were born.”

  “Killed? Dead?” Her eyes filled. “Like when Manda’s puppy got sick and they buried him?”

  “Yes, sweetie. She’s gone. I miss her every day.”

  “I never got to see her.”

  “I’m afraid not. I know she’d be very proud of you now, but she had an accident and the autodoc couldn’t save her.”

  “Did you bury her like Manda’s puppy?”

  “Most people don’t get buried when they die here, sweetie.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Well, there’s a machine that burns the bodies up. It’s called cremation.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  Otto found himself smiling as he fought back the tears. “No, sweetie. The person who’s dead can’t feel a thing.”

  “What happens when people die?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Some believe their souls live on in some form or another. Some think that when you die, that’s it. Done. It kinda depends on your religion.”

  “What er-ligion are you?”

  “Religion. I’m a shaman. I believe in fish and driftwood.”

  “What about when you die?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody does, really. Anything beyond that is just what you personally think. What you believe in.”

  “And you believe in fish and driftwood?”

  Otto nodded.

  “Oh.”

  They walked along in silence until the cottage came into view.

  “What did she look like?” Sarah asked.

  “She was pretty. Just like you.”

  “No, silly. Was she tall? Short? What color was her hair?”

  “I have a picture of her. You can see for yourself.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “In the cottage. I’ll show you when we get home, but you’ve probably seen it already.”

  “’Zat the woman on the fishing boat picture in your closet?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s pretty. Why’s it in your closet?”

  “I miss her very much. I would rather look at you to remember her.”

  “Because I’m alive and she’s dead?”

  She surprised a short laugh out of him. “Not exactly, but close enough.”

  “Did you look for sticks this morning?”

  “I did. How did you guess?”

  She looked up at him like he might be a couple eggs shy of a dozen. “The tide. It’s almost in now. You had to go this morning because we can’t go now.”

  He grinned at her. “I’m impressed. Did you figure that out on your own?”

  “I just looked out the window. I can see how high the tide is by the docks.” She shook her head. “I’m five years old, you know. Not like I was borneded yesterday.”

  “Very true,” Otto said, struggling to keep from laughing again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She cast a sly glance at him. “Since we can’t go find sticks this afternoon, can I carve?”

  The thought of her soft fingers near sharp steel nearly sent Otto into a panic. “I think you might be a little young for that yet. You need strong hands and fingers to do it right.” He didn’t mention the sharp knife.

  “Really? It doesn’t look hard when you do it.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  “All your life?”

  “Your grampa gave me my first knife when I was about thirteen.”

  “He did?”

  “Yep.”

  “Think he’d give me one?” She looked up at him. “I’d be careful.”

  Otto thought of the blade waiting for her in his workshop. “He might. When you’re old enough.”

  Sarah sighed.

  “Patience, sweetie. You’ll get there.”

  When Otto opened the cottage door, Sarah raced into his room. He found her rummaging in the back of his closet. She emerged with the large photo of Carla from the funeral. Otto’s breath caught in the back of his throat as she examined it.

  “That’s my mother?” she asked.

  “That’s her.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “Yes.”

  Sarah sighed. “Why’d she have ta die?”

  “I ask myself that every day, sweetie.”

  “What do you answer?”

  “There really isn’t an answer, I’m afraid. When it comes to people and living and all. Asking why isn’t really the question.”

  “What is?”

  He laughed. “You sure you’re five?”

  She pondered that for a moment. “That’s what you tole me.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So what’s the question?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “’Zat why you b’lieve in fish and driftwood?”

  “Probably.”

  “Can I put her in my room?” She nodded at the photo.

  “Sure.”

  “It won’t make you sadder?”

  Otto shrugged. “Might make me happier to see you growing up to look like her more every day.”

  She smiled. “All right, then.” She trundled away, dragging the picture behind her like a stiff towel.

  Otto looked up at the brushed steel container resting on the top shelf in his closet. His eyes stung until he closed the door. He had to stand there for a moment, his forehead pressed against the door panel, before he felt strong enough to meet his daughter’s eyes again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cape Grace: May 12, 2339

  SARAH GRINNED INTO the wind that blew over the headland. The onshore breeze always felt stronger at the top of the hill than at the bottom, even though it wasn’t that high. The air smelled alive. “Ready, Papa?”

  Her father stepped up beside he
r, feathers on his staff flapping in the breeze as the shells tinkled against each other. He smiled back at her and nodded. “Feeling lucky today?”

  She shrugged. “No more than normal.”

  He laughed and led the way down the narrow path to the broad beach beyond.

  As she walked behind him, she could smell his distinctive smell and almost see his brain working as he left the rocky headland behind in favor of the hard-packed sand above the receding tide. Sunlight shattered on the waves as they rolled in, making her eyes water for a moment. She blinked the flashes away and focused on the piles of weed and wood.

  “We seem to have had a bounty left for us,” her father said, jutting his chin toward the far end of the beach.

  “Highest tide of the month,” Sarah said. “And an onshore wind last night.”

  Otto glanced over at her with that smile he had, teeth flashing against his sun-darkened skin. “You been studying?”

  She grinned up at him. “Last night. Wanted to get out and walk this morning. Didn’t want you tryin’ to tell me the tide was wrong.”

  He laughed. “Have I ever done that to you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I forgive you. I was little and a handful.”

  “Ah, so. So grown up for nine?”

  “Ten today, Papa.”

  “What?”

  “I’m ten stanyers old today.”

  “You can’t be,” he said, striking off down the beach, his staff stirring the piles of weed as he walked. “You were six just last week.”

  “Papa!” She laughed at his expression, his teasing warmed her. “Do I need to get Mr. Ward to remind you?”

  He crouched down and peered at a nest of sticks on the sand.

  She leaned over, hands on knees to see what he was looking at. “What’cha got?”

  He pulled a couple of sticks away, tossing them to the side, before lifting a gnarled chunk of wood. The water and sun had bleached it bone white. “This looks like it should have something in it.” He handed it to her.

  She took it and turned it around a couple of times. “You mean besides the sea lion?”

  He bit his lips together for a moment, staring at her and not the stick. “Yeah. Besides the sea lion.”

  She focused hard and flipped the stick around in her hands. She ran her fingertips along the hard, smooth wood. She shook her head. “Just the sea lion.” She handed the stick back and brushed her hands off on her pants. “That’s a keeper.”