by Jon Keller
Here’s Virgil all dressed up. See what he says.
You know what he’ll say, Jonah. Same as you and same as me.
Virgil parked on the wharf and rolled the window down. His fingers crept like spiders onto the edge of the door and his face stuck out above his fingers. His cheeks hung like paper sacks. He wore a suit coat and a loosely knotted tie. What in clamfuck’s the price dropped to now, Jonah?
Two-fifty.
Two-fifty. Virgil turned his gaze to Bill. His head moved slowly. What’re you planning on doing, Captain?
Bill shifted on his feet and stood straight. I’m planning on fishing same as you and same as Jonah.
Captain Bill’s planning on fishing, Virgil muttered. He leaned back in his seat and looked at the water. He ran his windshield wipers. He had a small dog in the cab with him and the dog climbed onto his lap and licked at its own nose. Virgil said, You boys best get going before you get them fancy suit coats ate by this weather.
Jonah didn’t listen. He sat back on a stack of storm-beaten yellow traps and he pulled his collar up and looked out at the end of the harbor where the barren island called Ram’s Head rose as if to plug the harbor mouth. He felt a shiver run up his arms and into his shoulders and neck. He looked at the harbor where his father’s empty mooring ball leaned with the ebbing tide. Don’t look the same, he said.
Ain’t nothing the same ever, Virgil said.
Bill leaned against the fuel pump with his back to the water. The wind blew south against the tide and small whitecaps rolled and broke in the harbor. That’s so, he said and clenched his jaw in thought. But I got me some plans for the pound.
The Captain’s always got plans, Jonah said. That’s why he’s the Captain of this here coast of America. Me, I got plans too. I might just take myself clamming.
He might take his own self clamming.
Might.
Now that the old man’s dead and gone the Downcoast Highliner gives up fishing.
I just might.
That there, Virgil said, is why Nicolas had the good sense to die on us. The world ain’t much on spinning the right direction.
Jonah pinched a dead barnacle from the yellow trap wire and crushed it between his fingers and let the powder fall to the wharf plank. He reached through the trap head and pulled a dried starfish out and turned its brittle mass in his wet hands. Erma Lee spins any direction the Captain beckons, he said. Ain’t that so, Bill?
Virgil lifted his glass and sipped his drink. Ice clinked and left a smatter of brandy and milk on his mustache. His eyes landed like lead on Bill.
Bill looked at his own big wet hands. We’re done late now, he said. He lit a cigarette and shook his wet head and the drops of water beaded on his glasses. For a heartbeat his eyes connected with Virgil’s then broke away. Bill walked down the wharf and past the stinking rotting bait house and the rusted thousand-gallon fuel tanks and the clamshell bank.
Jonah heard the truck start and saw Bill drive up the dirt hill to the road.
Guess he’s off, Virgil said. You taking your rig up?
I aim to.
Good. I got the mutt here.
Jonah looked around and felt the cold rain on the backs of his hands and he told himself that it was only the chill that made him feel childish. You fishing in the morning, Virgil? he said.
Virgil put his truck in gear. Guess you don’t need to go talking dumbshit now, Jonah. Virgil ran his hand down the dog’s head and looked back to Jonah. You thinking we should take a day of rest for Nicolas?
I don’t know what I’m thinking. Just with the price gone and the old man gone, things ain’t right.
That’s right, Jonah. Things ain’t right. The only thing that is right is that you and me and the Captain are fishing in the morning, same as each man on this coast.
Virgil backed up and turned around the back of the bait house and drove up the hill. Jonah walked to the edge of the wharf and reached overhead to the winchhead gallows and stretched his arms and hung out over the tidewater. Seaweed rushed in the cold salt currents and wrapped around the barnacled hackmatack pilings. Mussel shells and crab shells and clamshells covered the rock bottom. Jonah hung down low and whispered, Guess you’re in there somewhere.
• • •
He drove slowly and bounced north up the peninsula through granite ledges and stunted and tangled maple and alder. The road climbed and rain spattered. At the summit of the hill he turned into the brown dead-grass field which held a dozen trucks and freshly made ruts. A few men stood by their trucks and smoked and drank. Jonah sat for a moment in the warm truck wishing everyone would go home and then got out and nodded to the men. He felt their eyes track him as he crossed the field.
He saw Virgil in his truck with the dog named Chowder in his lap and the wipers flicking. He continued to the pathway and stood alone with rain running down his neck. He lit a cigarette. Some of the women with their black umbrellas and black stockings and black heels covered in wet grass came over and hugged him and stood silent for a moment with their hands on his sleeve and their eyes on his. Then they moved on.
Erma Lee rushed to him and wrapped her skinny arms around his waist and set her head to his chest. He felt her sob and when she looked up at him her chin was red and wrinkled and soft. Tears ran along her nose. I’m so sorry, Jonah, she said.
Fine, Erma Lee. Thanks.
Is Bill okay, Jonah? He don’t speak often of his feelings.
He’s good.
Oh the Lord, she said.
Oh the Lord, Jonah repeated but he was watching Virgil’s wife Celeste and their daughter Charlotte. Celeste smiled at Jonah. The two women waited for Erma Lee to release him and when she was gone Celeste hugged him for a long time. Her hair was gray and her skin was warm. He saw Charlotte over Celeste’s shoulder. She watched him but he closed his eyes. Celeste’s touch was like climbing under a blanket and he pinched his tears away as Celeste stepped back.
Charlotte slid her arms around him. She was taller and thinner than her mother but smelled the same like salt and sage and he held her tight until she pulled away.
I’m sorry he won’t get out of the truck, Jonah, Celeste said. She nodded toward Virgil.
Jonah smiled and shook his head. I’d think he’d be crawling into that grave himself if he come in here.
Your father would have wanted Osmond to minister this, Celeste said. She reached out and squeezed Jonah’s forearm.
I know it. But ministering or not ministering, I ain’t got to like him any more’n Virgil does.
He gives me the chills, Charlotte said then looked around as if the man named Osmond Randolph had snuck up behind her.
Come to the house afterward, Jonah, Celeste said. I don’t want you going home alone. We have lobster and crab and mincemeat pies and all sorts of things, and there’s the extra bedroom if you want.
Charlotte stuck the tip of her tongue out. A bead of water slid down the line of black hair that had fallen from beneath her hood. She raised her eyebrows at him and her eyes were red and somber and Jonah felt them in the pit of his stomach. Celeste grabbed Jonah’s arm and the three of them followed the short pathway to the cemetery where Osmond Randolph stood guarding the wrought iron gate. He nodded to Jonah but did not speak. His black hair hung over his shoulders and his black robe clung to his chest and clung to his arms in the ripping wind. His two granddaughters stood at his side.
Once through the gates Celeste leaned close to Jonah and whispered, Charlotte made clam fritters. I’ll be damned if she wasn’t up early digging clams in the rain. You’ll like them, Jonah. Please come over.
Jonah nodded. He noticed Bill making his way around the parked vehicles with a gang of fishermen following him. Bill smoked a cigarette and flicked the butt away and let the smoke ease from his nostrils and the other fishermen took that as a signal and tossed their own cigarettes into the grass. Bill nodded to Osmond and stopped next to Jonah and all of the fishermen found their wives or girlfriends and stood silen
t and awkward beside them. When the two dozen or more people were in the cemetery Osmond pulled the gate closed.
Strange being orphans, Jonah whispered to Bill.
Bill didn’t move and after a pause he said, Guess we are that.
Osmond approached Jonah and Bill. He took them both by the hands and he held tight. Jonah’s hand felt small and fragile within Osmond’s grip and he fought the need to pull away. Osmond’s two granddaughters flanked Osmond as if leashed. Osmond’s head hung low and he raised his eyes to Jonah and then to Bill and each eye was a tarn and he said, Virgil will not come inside?
You know that well as we do, Osmond, Jonah said.
Yes. I hoped that this might be different.
Jonah pulled his hand free and his heart rushed. I’m guessing if the situation was reversed you’d be sitting out there too, ain’t that so?
Bill glared at Jonah. Bill’s hand was still within Osmond’s.
Osmond licked his lips. His face was pocked and clean-shaven save for a black mustache. Your father will be missed here on earth, he said. He released Bill’s hand and took the two girls with him to the center of the small circle which had formed around the grave hole and the casket.
Celeste and Charlotte moved in beside Jonah and Bill. Erma Lee made her way to Bill’s side. Osmond lifted his hands into the rain and the group silenced but as the silence fell a pickup truck slowed on the road and pulled into the field. The truck was glasspack loud and drove fast over the ruts and parked. Osmond pointed a finger like a sword at his grandson Julius and motioned him into the cemetery. Julius slid out of the truck and moved past Virgil without a glance and entered the cemetery. He left the gate open behind him.
Osmond’s arms were still in the air and his long fingers were outstretched like feathers and his robe and hair blew in the wind and the rain. Jonah felt his brother shift. Charlotte gripped with two hands the umbrella that she and her mother stood beneath. The rain slashed through the gravestones and rapped on the empty casket with thuds like a distant knocking.
Osmond lowered his arms and bowed his head.
We stand here in the rain, the sons and daughters of this earth, and try to understand what has happened and why it is that our friend and father and partner, Nicolas Alexander Graves, was called from us. We look to the heavens for answer and we look to the earth for reason. We seek redemption, and we find redemption, but we find it within our own private persecution. We blame ourselves—we think this is atonement. But it is not. What could you have done? What could I have done? We must each understand, we do not choose salvation, salvation chooses us, and those choices were made long before this world began.
Jonah turned toward Virgil and saw the glow of Virgil’s cigarette and the swipe of the windshield wipers and the small dog on Virgil’s lap. Osmond began again but Jonah looked down the hill at the snaking brown river where the falling tide emptied the mud shoals. The south wind hurled against the water and lifted the river into standing breaking waves. He heard Osmond’s voice but paid no attention until Osmond silenced.
Wind filled the void. Jonah felt the cold rain pelt his face. He saw Osmond’s eyes shift as if the man had forgotten what he’d intended to say. Then as Jonah watched Osmond exhaled long and lifted his arms high and tucked his voice low as if to utter a secret meant for Jonah alone.
I hold no scripture in my hands. I bear no cross about my neck, for I have come here as a man. I have come because Nicolas Graves was called. Nicolas was not a man of the church, and if asked he would have said he worshipped no god. Nicolas Graves was a man of the sea and what he believed in was blood. And I ask you, what is faith but each man’s belief in his own blood? Man is of sea and cloud, and like sea and cloud we are not long separated from the Lord. Each death falls like a raindrop into His great palm. Nicolas Graves worked the sea and he loved the sea and at sea he shall remain. So be it. He has rejoined the only eternity he ever believed in, the only eternity he ever sought, for he was blood and blood alone.
• • •
When people lined up at the casket to whisper their goodbyes Jonah slipped through the gate and the wet grass and sat in the truck with Virgil. Virgil handed him the bottle and Jonah drank. As he lowered the bottle he saw Osmond standing beside the casket with one hand where Nicolas’s head would have been. Osmond watched Jonah.
The sonofawhore, Virgil said.
Osmond?
Who do you think?
Guess I don’t see why the old man was friends with him and you ain’t.
I don’t trust the sonofawhore is why, Jonah. Same as ever.
Yeah, Jonah said and lit a cigarette. It was humid in the truck and the humidity smelled like nicotine. He rolled the window down.
Forget Osmond. This day’s been coming a long time, Jonah. I’m sorry for you to go through this.
Coming ever since Ma died I figure.
That’s right. That changed Nicolas something. That’d change any man.
I been thinking about her.
I know it. We all been thinking about her.
Not the Captain.
Captain Bill’s been thinking on your mother more than all of us together only he’s too chickenbeaked to admit it. That’s why he’s the Captain because he’s a chickenbeak. Look at him with Osmond. Christ Almighty and hally fucking looya. Now the Captain’s at Osmond Randolph’s beckon. That ain’t good.
Jonah nodded and watched the dark sky and felt suddenly that the sky was motionless as the hilltop graveyard spun.
And he done knocked up that little slush Erma Lee now, Virgil said.
Yeah, he done that.
Nicolas wouldn’t take to that notion any more than I, Virgil said.
They watched in silence as Bill and Osmond lowered the empty casket into the ground. What’d he say up there, old Osmond?
He didn’t say nothing that I know of, Jonah said. Said we’re stuck between the flesh and the Lord and the ocean’s a big puddle of blood.
Guess I agree with him on that.
The old man didn’t love God no matter.
Nicolas didn’t love much.
Guess he didn’t, Jonah said.
Just lobster fishing.
Like loving a heartrot whore he always said.
Virgil grinned and nodded his head in slow agreement.
Bill came to the window and Jonah rolled it down the rest of the way and handed the brandy bottle to him. Rain blew over the cab and onto Bill’s head and pushed his hair down like a bald spot. Bill took a drink and held the bottle on the windowsill. His jaw was square and clean-shaven and his glasses were wet. You didn’t have no last respects to pay our old man, Jonah?
Jonah didn’t answer.
Christ, Jonah, said Bill.
That’s just an empty box up there with Osmond Randolph standing next to it. You know as well as I do.
It still means something.
That what little Erma Lee been telling you? This means something?
She don’t matter. It means something to me.
That’s fine, Bill. That’s good. It don’t to me.
Well something better mean something sometime, Jonah.
You ain’t my Pa last I checked.
I’m what you got, Jonah. Me and Virgil here. Bill put his hand on Jonah’s shoulder for a second then took it back. Ride on down to the pound with me, Jonah. I’ll drop you back here later.
I’ll take my rig.
Suit yourself.
I aim to do just that.
Erma Lee crossed the grass and took Bill by the arm. Bill nodded to Jonah and Virgil and walked away. Jonah and Virgil sat in the truck as the rest of the people left the cemetery. Celeste and Charlotte came to the truck and Virgil rolled his window down.
You two will be along soon? Celeste said.
We will, Virgil said.
Celeste looked to Jonah then back to her husband. I don’t know which one of you to worry about more.
Him, Virgil said.
Celeste nodded.
> Osmond and his three grandchildren came through the cemetery gate last. Osmond closed the gate. He waited until Celeste and Charlotte left then stepped to Virgil’s window. His grandchildren stood in a row behind him.
Virgil, he said.
Osmond.
We will miss Nicolas, Osmond said.
Yes we will. Virgil lifted the bottle from the seat and handed it to Osmond. Osmond twisted the cap off and tipped his head back and took a long drink. He handed the bottle back to Virgil and their eyes connected through the wind and rain. A piece of Osmond’s wet hair blew across his cheek. Osmond nodded and left.
Rain hammered on the roof. After a moment Virgil said, The Captain is fucked, Jonah.
I know it. What’ll Osmond do to him?
He’ll take over the pound is what he’ll do.
Jonah shifted in the seat and said, The Captain’s tough.
But he ain’t smart like Osmond, you know as well as I do.
That night the wind swung around to the east and the sea piled into corkscrews that surged against the outside islands. The spruce and birch trees that surrounded Virgil and Celeste’s house creaked and tossed their heads and lifted their root wads and each throw of air carried the smell of salt spray and rockweed and rainwater.
Jonah stood on the porch and smoked a cigarette and passed a bottle of whiskey with the other fishermen. He watched the trees lean and fight and he wondered which would fall first. He felt like an intruder in this house that was nearly his home and in the wake of this death that was his father’s. He stood by his brother’s side but found no comfort there.
The wind pushed the rain sideways and the eddy of porch air was a swirl laden with moisture and tobacco. A single light hung from the door trim. The food Jonah had eaten churned in his gut. He wondered where Charlotte had gone. He paid little attention to the other fishermen as they argued about lobster prices and diesel engines and reduction gears and after another hour he left without saying goodbye to anyone.
He stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and pulled his hood down to his eyes as he walked the long driveway toward the harbor. Rain drilled against him and soaked into his sweatshirt and dripped down his neckline. When he came to the road he stopped and looked around the dark village. There were only two dozen farmhouses and twenty of those farmhouses stood empty for the cold months of the year so the only lights Jonah could now see were the lights of his father’s final celebration flickering and faltering through the rain and through the trees.
