Cape Grace

by Nathan Lowell

  “Are you going to be doing this worst-case thing much? It’s not helping.”

  Otto chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s just not as bad as you think. You’ll see.”

  Sarah looked back at the dock. “How far are we going?”

  “Not far. I want to get out of the harbor and run up the engines in the open water a bit.”

  Sarah gulped. “Are you serious? In this little boat?”

  “Yep. This little boat was built for doing exactly what we’re going to do with it.”

  “Catch crabs?”

  “Yep.” He looked at her death grip and her locked knees. “Loosen up. Let the boat rock under you but keep your body balanced on your knees. When the bow comes up, lean into it a little. When it drops, just lean back on your heels. Don’t hold on so tight that you have to move with the boat.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Try it.”

  She cast him a look that could have melted steel, but she tried. She stood in a kind of crouch, letting her knees take some of the movement of the boat. Her knuckles regained a bit of normal color but she didn’t let go. After a few ticks, she seemed a bit more steady on her pins.

  “Look. The cottage.” Otto pointed to starboard where their cottage rested against the headland. Its red shutters and grassy roof showed clearly in the midmorning sun.

  Sarah straightened her knees and stretched her neck to see around Otto. She stepped toward the stern and away from the console. She grinned at him. “It looks kinda pretty out there.”

  Otto grinned back at her and pointed to where she wasn’t holding the seat any longer. “Long as you don’t think about it, your body will cope.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm and she grabbed for the back of the seat again.

  Otto laughed and watched as she pulled her hand away, hovering it over the seat back while she experimented with keeping her balance. By the time they cleared the harbor, she was leaning on the seat with a hip and shading her eyes with a hand.

  Once they cleared the headland, Otto turned to starboard and ran up the throttles.

  Sarah grabbed on with both hands as the small craft came up to plane, skimming across the surface and bounding along the rollers coming in from the south.

  The rush of wind subsumed the engine noise as they raced along.

  Otto pointed to the sandy shoreline. “Our beach.” He had to almost shout.

  “Looks small from here.”

  He nodded and kept them on course for a few ticks, letting the wind and the sun and noise remind him of a time long gone. He put the wheel over in a gentle turn to take them back toward the headland and the harbor beyond. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah grinning into the wind, her face flushed and reddened from the wind and sun. “What do you think now?” he asked.

  She pointed to her knees. “I’m listening with my legs.”

  Otto nodded and continued on his course back to the dock.

  At the outer marker, he pulled the throttle back to about half and let the boat come down off its plane. It settled into the water and began lumbering along. The engine noise and wind-roar subsided to the point where they could talk easily again.

  “Wanna take the wheel a bit?” he asked.

  “Can I?” Sarah’s voice squeaked with excitement.

  Otto stepped aside and Sarah stepped into his place, grabbing the wheel with both hands. The boat started shifting from side to side.

  “Keep it between the buoys,” Otto said. “Red ones on that side, green over there.”

  “How do I know which side to go on?”

  “Red, right, returning. Your grandmother used to say that all the time.”

  “Oh. So we’re going back to dock. The red buoys stay on the right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Now how do I keep it straight?”

  “Stop steering.”

  “What?”

  “You’re oversteering. Loosen up on the wheel a little. Let the boat find its way.”

  She stared at her hands. Each finger released its grip and then clamped back down. “How?” she asked.

  “Give me your hand.” Otto held out a hand to her.

  She grabbed the hand and held on, squeezing it hard enough to make Otto wince.

  “Now the other one.”

  “What?”

  “Let go of the wheel, then just rest a couple of fingers on the top and feel the boat.”

  “Listen with my fingers?”

  Otto nodded. “Good idea.”

  After a few moments she asked, “How’m I doing?”

  “Look back at the wake.”

  It lay arrow straight behind them and then started curving.

  “Now look back at the bow and stop turning the wheel when you turn your head,” Otto said with a short laugh.

  Sarah overcorrected but soon had the boat back on course.

  “Pull the throttle back to about a quarter.” He held his finger on the throttle housing to point out where it should be.

  She grabbed the throttle handle and tugged it back to where he’d indicated. The boat seemed to settle a little more and the engine noise dropped to a mere murmur.

  “When we get close to the dock, I’ll take the wheel again. You go get the lines ready.”

  “I’m not going to have to jump onto the dock, am I?”

  “Not this time.” Otto nodded at their slip. A man in a blue Pirano windbreaker stood on the dock.

  “Is that Mr. Comstock?”

  “Unless somebody else has a windbreaker like that.” Otto sidled in beside Sarah and she relinquished her place to him. “Grab that spring line and get ready to toss it to him.”

  She pulled the line up from the deck and leaned a thigh against the gunwale for support while her hands worked the rope.

  Otto grinned at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothin’.”

  Otto angled the boat into the pier and popped the throttles to neutral and then reverse for a few moments before returning them to neutral. “Toss him the line,” he said.

  Sarah gave a respectable toss to the coil of line. Comstock caught it on the fly and lashed it down with a few practiced turns.

  In a matter of moments the boat rested beside the dock with lines out fore and aft. Otto killed the engine and looked up to where Comstock crouched on the dock.

  “For a shaman, you handle a boat pretty good there, Otto.”

  “It’s like riding a bicycle.”

  Comstock laughed. “How’s she go?”

  Otto nodded. “She’ll do.”

  “Good thing. The traps will be here on the next shipment from the Inlet. Around midday on the eighteenth.”

  “Bait?”

  “They’re bringing a few containers. We should be catching our own soon.”

  “Good.”

  Comstock turned to Sarah. “What did you think?”

  Sarah beamed. “I was scared at first, but that was kinda fun.”

  “Excellent. Let’s hope it lasts.” He cast a meaningful look at Otto.

  Otto shrugged. “One day at a time. Best we can do.”

  Comstock stood up and grunted. “Can’t argue that.” With a wave, he strolled away and disappeared in the direction of his office.

  “What should we call her?” Otto asked.

  “Call who?”

  “The boat. She needs a name.”

  “I don’t know. What would be good?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “Bobber?” Sarah asked.

  “Descriptive but not very flattering.”

  “Sea Trapper?”

  “Not bad. What else you got? What does the boat say her name is?”

  Sarah looked at him like he’d sprouted another head.

  He shrugged.

  She closed her eyes for several moments. “Sea Mist,” she said without opening her eyes.

  “We have a Sea Mist.”

  “Hm.” Several more moments passed. “Harbor Fa
iry.” She opened her eyes and they sparkled in the sun. “Like a fairy with wings.” She made a butterfly gesture by hooking her thumbs together and flipping her fingers.

  “Is that her name?”

  Sarah laid her hand on the gunwale and looked down at the deck. “Yes. I think so.”

  “Works for me, then.” Otto smiled. “I’ll get somebody from the chandlery to paint it on the stern.”

  Sarah’s fingertips made small circles on the gunwale and she stared off into the middle distance for so long Otto almost began to worry. “Yes, that’s her name. I think she likes it.” She turned to him. “So how is it you know so much about driving a boat?”

  Otto grunted and climbed up onto the dock. “Let’s get moving and I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Sarah clambered up beside him and they strolled toward home.

  “All right. Give,” she said.

  “Well, when I was a bit younger than you, the Piranos needed to meet some huge quotas ...”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Cape Grace: June 16, 2346

  OTTO KNOCKED ON THE door of 1432 East Shell Drive. The smallish house looked like every other company-built house on the block. The drab green paint set it apart from the drab blue on one side and the drab gray on the other. The composite siding would probably last another century but the bonded pigment in it couldn’t stand up to the weather. A pleasant enough house and neighborhood, it still gave Otto a frisson of fear. In another life, he could have been living there instead of his cozy stone cottage.

  A woman opened the door a crack and peered out, one eye and mouse-brown hair showing around the door. “Yes?”

  “Hi. I’m Otto Krugg? The shaman?”

  “I know who you are. Why are you here?”

  “You’re Bobby Tatum’s mother?”

  She opened the door wider to stare at him, her expression still guarded. “What’s he done this time?”

  Otto offered her a smile. “Nothing that I know of. I just wanted to chat with you for a few minutes about what I’d like him to do. Get your opinion on it.”

  She frowned and opened the door even more. Her flowered blouse had seen better days and hung on her like a trash bag on a fence post. Her dark blue slacks had darker stains on the thighs. The shadow of a bruise lurked just under her left ear.

  “You another Pirano man?”

  “Just the shaman. I’m also the newest crabber in town and I need somebody to get me the bait I need.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “You think you’re gonna force Bobby to do it?”

  “I’m hoping the company will hire Bobby, and maybe one or two of his friends, to do it.” He smiled. “Could we maybe sit and talk about this for a bit?”

  “My husband’s not here,” she said, pressing the door partly closed again.

  “I just want to chat with you, if I can?”

  She eyed him up and down for a moment and then swung the door open. “Sure. All right.”

  He stepped into the house and followed her to the kitchen.

  “Cuppa tea ... um ... Your shamanship?” Her fingers twined the hair over her ear. “Sorry. Never talked to a shaman before.”

  “I’m Otto. You can call me that.”

  She nodded, dropping the hair but tugging the collar on her blouse, not looking in his direction. “Otto.”

  “Cuppa would be lovely.” Otto settled at the table and folded his fingers together in front of him.

  She filled a kettle and set it to boil while her hands fluttered like birds across the cupboards, finding the pot, cups, tea. Setting things just so. Adjusting everything over and over.

  Otto picked out bruising on her forearms when she pushed her sleeves up to work in the sink. “Tell me about Bobby? He gets into a lot of trouble?”

  She turned to him, leaning back against the counter, fingers in her hair again. “He’s a good boy. Just has trouble following rules, you know?”

  Otto smiled. “Been there myself.”

  “So what is it you want him to do exactly?” She talked to him without actually looking at him. Her head turned this way and that.

  “I’ve convinced Ed Comstock to set up a bait line here. I need bait for my crab traps. With only two boats, it wasn’t cost effective. With three, it makes more sense. I think more people will do it once they see what it involves and that means we’ll need a lot more bait.”

  “And you want Bobby to do what?”

  “I want him to run a trawl line to catch bait fish.”

  “One of them long lines with a lot of hooks on it?”

  “Yep. He’ll need a buddy to help him. I assume he’s got some?”

  Her lips twisted. “He does. Nobody I’d trust, but he does.”

  “What about Bobby? We’re bringing in a boat and the setup. It’ll be a big commitment for him because he’ll have to make it work.”

  The kettle whistled and the woman poured boiling water onto the leaves. “What’ll he have to do?”

  “He’ll be responsible for the boat and gear. He’ll have to deliver bait to us. He’ll have to manage his budget. Normal things for a fishing boat.”

  “You’ll pay him?”

  Otto shook his head. “Not exactly. I’ll buy his bait from him. Or the company will. It’s up to him to figure out how to make that work. He’ll need to buy fuel and pay for the maintenance to the boat.”

  She crossed her arms and bit her lower lip as she looked at the scarred flooring. “Might be just what he needs.”

  “Why d’ya say that?”

  “He’s got too much time on his hands. He’s almost eighteen and the company’ll deport him if he don’t find a job. It’s hard when you’re looking at the packing plant or some service job that barely pays a living wage.”

  “He like to fish?”

  She shrugged and poured the tea. “I don’t know that he gave it much thought. Was a time it was all he cared about. Pestered all the skippers on the waterfront to let him crew.”

  “What happened?”

  “They all got kids of their own to bring along. Nobody got room for a stray.” Her words sounded flat, almost bitter. “Once Art came ashore and started working on the line, Bobby’s been kinda cut off from the waterfront. No excuse to go down there. Nobody willin’ to help him even if he did.”

  “He looking forward to moving away?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really know. Every time I try to talk about it, he’s got something else to do. Somewhere else to be.”

  “Where is he now?”

  She shrugged and stared into her cup. “Left around midafternoon. Just before Art went to work. He’ll be back eventually. He’ll want his supper.”

  Otto nodded and sipped the tea. “What do you want, Mrs. Tatum?”

  She looked up, her eyes wide. “What’d ya mean?”

  “What do you want for Bobby? You want him to leave? Stay? What?”

  She stared back into her mug and pressed her lips together in a tight line. “I’d like him to find somebody, find somethin’. Make a go of it.” She looked up at him, something in her eyes that Otto couldn’t read. “What else is there?”

  “Think he’d like fishing?”

  Her lips turned up at the corners in the tiniest of smiles. “I think he might.”

  Otto tipped his mug up and drained most of it. “Thank you. That’s all I needed.” He stood and he thought the woman flinched. “I should be getting home myself. Thanks for the tea and chat.”

  “You’re welcome. Otto.” She said the name like she was trying it on for size.

  Otto reached into his pocket and pulled out a few wooden figures. He picked one out and held it up. A fish hawk perched on a broken branch, its eyes staring straight ahead and its heavy bill half open as if to speak. The deep purple shell nearly blended out of sight against the dark wood.

  Mrs. Tatum’s eyes went wide and she gasped. “It’s lovely.”

  Otto extended his hand. “It’s yours.”

  She started to reach for it but pulled her
hand back as if afraid the bird might bite her. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.” She looked at Otto and then back at the bird in his palm. “You’re a shaman. That’s ...”

  Otto nodded. “A whelkie. I have lots of them. This one’s yours.”

  She put her hands behind her back. “No, that’s not possible.”

  Otto placed the hawk on the table beside his mug. “Yes. It’s quite possible.” He turned to go. “Thanks again, Mrs. Tatum. When you see Bobby, would you have him stop by Ed Comstock’s office about the fishing thing? If he wants the job, that is.”

  She stood staring at the bird, her mouth half open and her eyes wide. “Yes. I’ll do that. Sure.” Her reedy voice sounded as if she might be talking in her sleep.

  Otto smiled. “I’ll just let myself out.” He left her standing in her kitchen, her eyes fixed on the small carving on the table.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Cape Grace: October 28, 2346

  OTTO AND SARAH STOOD on the dock and watched the crane lift their boat from the water. The winterization crew guided it to a cradle and the yard tractor dragged it to its winter quarters along with the rest of the fleet. Otto smiled as it disappeared among the much larger draggers.

  “Well, that’s it until spring,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Sarah shook her head. “It was fun. Kinda. Once I got used to the bait.” She grimaced and shook her hands as if they still had dead fish slime on them.

  “We ate well.”

  “I love crab. I’m going to miss fresh crab over the winter.”

  “We can still fish for some, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Before your grandmother started the prototypes for Pirano, I caught crab off the rocks all the time.”

  They turned toward home and met Ed Comstock coming toward them.

  “Hello, Otto. Hi, Sarah.” He smiled. “Just the two I wanted to see.”

  “Hello, Mr. Comstock,” Sarah said.

  “I see they got your boat out of the water. How do you two think the season went?”