by L. Langdon
She was quickly sorry that she had spoken. The kid clearly had no idea what she meant. He hardly seemed like a legitimate fisherman. She kept her expression neutral as she studied the kid more carefully. He was short and androgynous in appearance, and he wore an anxious look. Maxine was secretly delighted to be able to use the word ‘androgynous’—she had seen it in a book the previous evening and had had to look it up.
Her good mood probably influenced her. Why should I disappoint the kid? Sven will figure it out and send him on his way. She explained. “Sven Halvorsen is the man’s name and ’Glacier Gal’ is the name of his boat. Do you know your way around the boat harbor?”
“No, Ma’am.”
Of course not. Maxine mentally shrugged. If Sven complained about her sending this kid, she could apologize to him then. She quickly described the location of Glacier Gal, and even drew a small map of the boat harbor for him. He thanked her and left eagerly. Polite youngster, she thought, too bad he doesn’t know anything about boats.
Gerri followed the woman’s directions carefully. She smiled to herself at the name, Glacier Gal: so she would be seeing a glacier—just not a real one. Yet. She was beginning to allow herself to hope. She’d have to be alert, though. There was much that she didn’t know. She could tell that the woman was disappointed at having to give her such detailed directions. She had no idea what a finger float was, but she had instructions for finding the correct one.
She walked out onto a pier, as instructed, and started down a long, gently sloped ramp. When she got to the bottom, she stopped to look at it more closely. The top of the ramp had been attached to the pier, but at the bottom, the ramp had heavy metal rollers resting on a metal track. Why do they need such an elaborate mechanism? She shelved that question—it was just one more thing that she didn’t know, and there were more important things to think about.
She walked along the float. OK, that was one mystery solved. They were called floats because they floated. They consisted of sturdy, wooden planks nailed over some extremely large logs. There was a rich combination of smells in the air: salt, a hint of tar or some other preservative, and something that she could only describe as marine life. It was a pleasant mix.
There were hundreds of boats in the boat harbor. Their masts, and in some cases the ropes hanging from them, looked like a strange forest. She scanned the boats as she walked. The woman at Northern Marine had explained that the name of each of the boats was painted on each side of the bow—that was the front—as well as on the stern—that was the back. Armed with this knowledge, Gerri hoped to avoid looking like a total know-nothing.
Finally, she saw it. The boat was large—much larger than Gerri had imagined that it would be. It had at least half a dozen masts. No, she decided. Most of them were poles—maybe for fishing. Only one of them looked like Gerri’s conception of a mast. It had lights and some sort of electronic apparatus at the top. There was a large area of open deck in the rear, and a hatch which, she supposed, opened to the fish storage area. She felt daunted—there was much that she would have to learn.
As she eyed the boat, a man stepped out of its forward cabin. He had several paint brushes in his hand. He was a concrete block of a man about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a stocky torso. He looked immensely strong and well built in his faded blue tee shirt. His dark hair was short—barely longer than a crew cut—but trying to curl. He wore no jacket: this in weather that had to be in the fifties. Gerri had her jacket well zipped.
Gerri’s heart was in her mouth. Her adventure depended on what she did now. She crossed her fingers in her pockets. Remembering to keep her voice as deep as possible, she spoke. “Excuse me, Sir.”
The man—she assumed that he was Sven Halvorsen—turned toward her and scowled.
“What?”
Chapter 7
Gerri’s steps faltered. The man had a long scar running down the side of his face and the scowl made him look fierce, and downright scary. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. She forced herself to be calm, and hoped that he couldn’t hear her beating heart.
“I’m looking for work on a fishing boat.”
Sven was in a bad mood. He had delayed the painting as long as he could. And then the latest stretch of rainy weather delayed it even more. He had a lot to do in the next two days if he was going to be able to go out on time for his first trip.
He had seen the kid walking up the float. Obviously not a local kid—maybe off the tourist boat that was in port. He didn’t see any parents in sight. That was slightly strange, but Juneau was the kind of town where you could let your kid wander around on his own without worrying too much. But a job? The kid looked too young for that. Still, Sven hadn’t meant to snap at him. It was Sven’s own fault that he had delayed his painting—he could at least be polite to the kid.
“Come aboard and we’ll talk.”
Close up, the kid looked even younger. Sven wasn’t about to hire a kid, even with the parents’ permission. Hell, it probably isn’t even legal. “How old are you, boy?”
Gerri fought to hide her alarm. Were southern attitudes present, even here in the far north? She forced herself to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I just turned 22. Don’t call me ‘boy,’ Sir.”
Sven belatedly recalled reading that the term of address, ‘boy,’ was used to show disrespect to black males of all ages in the South. Terrific! I’ve managed to go from brusquely rude to outright offensive. Still, he wondered, wasn’t it OK to use it on an obvious child? And 22 years old? That was hard to believe. He tried again.
“All right, son. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t call you ‘boy’ if you don’t call me ‘sir.’ What’s your name? My name is Sven.”
Gerri felt a wave of relief wash over her—she had to work to suppress a grin. “It’s a deal. My name is Gerri.”
Sven eyed her skeptically. “I still don’t believe you’re 22, Jerry. You look about 13.” He brushed the back of his knuckle across Gerri’s cheek. “I’ll bet you’ve never even shaved, have you?”
Sven had to fight to hide his reaction—he felt an almost electric jolt from the touch. This kid, Jerry, had the smoothest, softest skin Sven had ever touched. He could tell that Jerry had been shaken by the touch as well. Is there any other way that I can offend this kid? I hope he doesn’t think that I’m…
Gerri had trouble controlling her breathing. She couldn’t get the feel of Sven’s finger out of her mind. His hand was rough, but his brush had been distractingly gentle. She forced herself to think.
Of course, he was right about the shaving. She wouldn’t lie, but she had to say something—he was clearly not going to hire a 13 year old on a fishing boat. She thought briefly of showing him her South Carolina driver’s license, but it gave her name as ‘Geraldine,’ which would end her deception—and end her chances for a job as well.
“I’m not lying, Sir—uh, Sven. I can’t help the way my body is. But I’m a hard worker; I learn quickly; and I’m strong. If you give me a chance, you won’t be sorry.”
“Hmmm.” Sven tried to decide how to politely reject the kid. Strong, eh? He’s small as well as young. That gave Sven an idea for a test. He pointed to a pair of large, lead sinkers. “Would you mind bringing those over here?”
Gerri followed his gesture. There was a pair of grey spheres, about six inches in diameter, with some sort of braided wires sticking out of them. Were they floats? No, they looked metallic. Whatever they were, she wanted to look responsive—he hadn’t turned her down yet, after all. She grabbed the wires, one in each hand and lifted. She grunted in surprise—the spheres hardly budged. He tricked me! She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of complaining. She squared her shoulders, bent her knees and held her breath as she strained. Slowly she lifted them. Once she was standing up straight, she carefully carried them to his feet, where she laid them down gently. Then she covertly rubbed her hands where the wires had cut into them.
“Thank you,” he said. She did her best to look ca
sual about it, although she thought she saw a flicker of a smile on his face.
When he remained silent, she finally couldn’t stand it anymore. “That was a test, wasn’t it? Did I pass?”
He couldn’t help but smile. “You passed. You’re stronger than you look.”
Emboldened by his praise, she asked: “What are those? They’re heavy.”
“They are heavy. They’re solid lead—about 50 pounds apiece—and they’re used as sinkers, to hold the lines below the surface while I’m trolling.” The kid was strong, considering his small size, and, Sven had to admit, spunky as well. He figured out that Sven had fooled him, but he didn’t get angry. Sven admired that, but it just made it harder to get rid of him politely. And Sven didn’t want to waste a lot of time on him; he had a long day of painting ahead of him.
That gave Sven an idea. “I don’t know about a job on the boat, but if you know how to paint without making a mess, I’ll pay you to help me today.” If the kid was a good worker, he could make the painting go a lot faster, and it would put some money in the kid’s pocket, which should satisfy him.
“Sure, I can paint. I helped paint stuff on my father’s farm.” Sven arched his eyebrow at that, and Gerri hastily added, “That was when I was younger—before I went to college.” She didn’t want him bringing up the ’13 years old’ thing again.
Within five minutes, she was sitting on the float painting the hull of his boat. He loaned her an old shirt to protect her clothes. It was way too big, but she appreciated the gesture. She applied herself industriously—not only was she still being tested, but hard work was in her upbringing.
It was late afternoon by the time they finished. Gerri was stiff and sore, but very satisfied with herself. Sven had been eyeing her intermittently, and she could tell that he was pleased with her work.
After they cleaned up, he handed her some money. She quickly counted it and couldn’t hide her pleasure. This is over twice as much as I would get for this job in South Carolina. “Thank you,” she said, and then tried again. ”About that job…”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Sven scratched his head. “But I could use your help again tomorrow—and I’ll pay you at a higher rate.” The kid was a willing and productive worker; he had to give him that. Sven could tell from the limited amount of conversation that took place that he didn’t know much about fishing, but Sven would love to have help with the copper painting.
Gerri was disappointed that she hadn’t completely won Sven over, but neither had he refused her. “Sure, I’ll help. What time do you want me here?”
Now Sven’s conscience bothered him. “Don’t be too quick to say yes before you see what’s involved. Tomorrow I’m copper painting, and that’s miserable work.” He saw Jerry look blank. “Walk back up the dock with me as you leave and I’ll show you.”
They walked back along the float in silence. When they got near the base of the ramp, Gerri stopped in shock. Everything looked different. The ramp was now steeply angled and the pier was high above them. To the side, between them and the land, where there had previously been open water, there was now solid land, stretching well above the float. She looked more closely at the ramp. I can see that they need the rollers…but what’s going on?
Sven was watching her quizzically. “What’s the matter?”
There was only one thing that she could think of, and it excited her because it was so utterly different from South Carolina—it was yet another facet of her adventure. “You must have enormous tides here. When I came down here…” She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious for revealing her ignorance.
Sven grinned. He enjoyed seeing the wheels turning in Jerry’s head. The kid was sharp—and Sven was gradually being convinced that he was telling the truth. He didn’t act like a 13 year old. “You’re right,” he said. “They’re not as big as in the Bay of Fundy—or even as big as in Anchorage—but there’s a big swing. And today, with the full moon, the difference between high and low tide is over twenty feet.”
Gerri was silent; trying to memorize this all to think about later. The slope of that ramp…I could make some wonderful trigonometry problems from that!
“Anyway,” Sven said, bringing her back to the present, “Glacier Gal goes up there on the grid.” He pointed to the newly exposed area, which had a row of monstrous beams raised above the mud. “And we paint the hull. It’s nasty work; you’ll be crawling around underneath the hull in the mud. That’s why I’ll pay you more, but that’s also why I wanted you to see what you’re getting into.”
Gerri didn’t need to hesitate. If she said no, then her hopes of getting a job would clearly be gone. Besides, she rationalized, in a weird way, this would add to her adventure. Sometimes the most distasteful tasks made the most interesting stories later. There was just one thing…
“How do you get the boat up there? Isn’t it awfully heavy?”
“Remember the tide? I come down to the harbor at high tide—around midnight—and move it over there and tie it up. Then, when the tide goes back out, it’ll be sitting there waiting for us.”
“May I come and help you tonight?” She was determined to ingratiate herself with him. And, of course, if he didn’t give her a job, it might be her only chance to ride on the boat.
“Thanks anyway, but I don’t really need the help.”
“I didn’t mean for money. I just want to see what it’s like.”
“Sure. Can you be here just before midnight?” Sven hid his amusement. He added another item to the list that he was making of Jerry’s attributes: he was tenacious as well as spunky and smart. Sven was starting to realize that refusing him a job might be hard.
___
The night was magic under the soft light of the full moon. Even with the lights of the harbor, Gerri could see stars. She could also see the faint outline of the mountain behind the town in the deep indigo of the sky. She knew that she would miss the sleep later, but now she was too excited to feel it.
When she arrived at the harbor, Sven was talking to a short, older man. Sven watched her approach and when she got close, he spoke. “Here he is now, Wally.”
Wally looked at her skeptically. “This is your ace painter?”
“Don’t knock it. You complimented me on the job before you realized that I had had help. Now, come on. I know you have some old boots and rain gear that you can loan me. The kid’s not dressed for copper painting and all of my clothes are too big.”
Wally shot her a skeptical look and disappeared into a nearby boat. Gerri felt a sinking sense of disappointment. This was the first time that she had seen a negative reaction—at least what seemed to be—while in Juneau. Who am I kidding? Juneau may be better than South Carolina, but it’s still on the same planet.
Sven looked acutely uncomfortable. “I apologize for Wally. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He may not be the friendliest guy in the world, but that was downright rude.”
“That’s all right, Sir. I’ve seen plenty of people like that back home—and some worse.”
So we’re back to ‘Sir.’ “That doesn’t make it right. I’ll speak to him about it later.”
Gerri didn’t know how to respond, but she was saved by Wally’s reappearance. He ignored Gerri and handed a bundle of clothes to Sven. “There. Make sure I get them back.”
“I always do.”
Wally turned and left, and Sven gestured toward his boat. He explained to Jerry how to untie the lines. He couldn’t help but notice that Jerry looked somber; his earlier enthusiasm was more muted. He didn’t know why Wally had gotten so cranky. Damn Wally, anyway. Was it racial prejudice? Obviously Jerry thought so, and he made it clear that he’d seen plenty of that. In fact, Sven realized, Jerry might be running away from just that kind of treatment.
Gerri tried to put Wally’s behavior out of her mind, and to regain the sense of magic. Sven was a patient teacher. It was surely evident by now that she didn’t know much about boats, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by
that. He showed where the boat was tied to the float, and how: the lines (don’t call them ropes, he said) were wrapped around a metal object that he called a cleat. The wrapping was done in a clever figure-eight pattern which kept the lines secure by maximizing friction. When he had started the engine, he signaled to her to untie them and climb aboard.
They proceeded slowly around the harbor toward the grid area that he had pointed out before. In fact, so slowly that Gerri couldn’t resist asking, “Is this as fast as you can go?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Nowhere near. If I went fast, I’d throw up a big wake, and that would annoy everyone. A lot of people live on their boats.” He paused, as that reminded him of Wally. “Wally lives on his boat, for example.”
“Oh.” Gerri didn’t want to think about Wally.
___
The painting was, as advertised, not exactly fun. Glacier Gal looked enormous as it rested with its keel across the giant beams. Gerri was thankful for Wally’s boots as she stood in the mud painting. They had to work fast; the tide would come in and float the boat, hiding the hull they were painting. And work fast they did, but by the time they were done, the water was still up to her ankles.
After they had cleaned up—Gerri made sure that she left no mess on Wally’s clothes—Sven paid her. Once again, she was pleasantly surprised at how much money she’d earned. But she was apprehensive: he hadn’t said anything about a job on the boat. As long as he hadn’t said anything, she could cling to her hopes, but she had no excuse to hang around. It was now or never. Finally, she worked up her nerve.
