Glacier Gal

by L. Langdon

  “Have you, um, decided about that job?”

  Sven had, indeed, thought about it—more than a little. Jerry was a good worker and learned quickly. Sven still had his reservations, but he had half decided even before Wally’s outburst, and after that—well, he didn’t want to disappoint the kid further. But there was one issue on which Sven would not compromise. “Do you drink?”

  “Alcohol? No, sir. Not at all. I wasn’t brought up that way.”

  He seemed to like that answer, but he still frowned at her. “Remember our deal?”

  Gerri nodded. “I remember, Sven.” It took all of her effort not to smile back. This man had such an interesting face. His scar was like an amplifier—when he scowled, it amplified the menace, but when he smiled, it gave him a rakish air which was very appealing.

  “I’ll give you a chance,” he finally said. “I’ll hire you for one trip and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “Great. You won’t be sorry.”

  He outlined the pay package that he would offer. Gerri wasn’t sure that she completely understood it; there was a combination of wages and a small percentage of the boat’s income. It sounded fair though, and Sven had proven himself to be generous so far. And anyway, she would jump at this chance just for the adventure.”

  “Can you be ready tomorrow morning? We’ll head out around 7 a.m.”

  “I’ll be here.” Gerri was scarcely able to contain her excitement. “And by the time we come back at the end of the day, I’ll try to have convinced you to keep me on.”

  Sven gave her a bemused look. “End of the day? This trip will take a week or two.”

  Gerri’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected this; would her disguise hold up for several days? What about the sleeping arrangements? How would she dress and undress? “So I sleep on board?”

  Sven smiled indulgently. Yes, he’d have a lot of education to do, but it might be interesting. “Yes. There are some bunks in the front. I’ll show you. You’ll have them all to yourself, since I have my own cabin.”

  Gerri nodded in relief. That would help, and she’d just have to play the rest by ear. “I’ll go pack. Is there anything special that I should bring?”

  “I’ll give you a list.”

  Back at Mindy’s apartment, Gerri finally gave free rein to her excitement. “I got a job. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

  “It worked? They’re convinced that you’re a guy?”

  Gerri grinned and nodded.

  “Cool. A win for Women’s Lib over the male chauvinist pigs.”

  Gerri nodded, and then sat down as the smile left her face. Shopping. She had to get supplies. The salt air would kill her hair. Did they even have the proper hair care products here? Sven’s list was a start, but of course he wouldn’t know about the all personal supplies that she would need.

  Mindy interrupted before she had much time to worry. “I have exciting news, too. I took that petition that you helped me rewrite and passed it around at work. Way more people are signing it now; I’ve got almost a hundred names.” She went on, eagerly outlining her plans to get more names.

  Gerri’s mind drifted a bit. She supported Mindy and she admired her enthusiasm, but her thoughts were on the shopping. She was jerked back to the conversation by Mindy’s next words.

  “I’m glad for you, but I’m sorry in a way. I was hoping that you’d be able to help me go around and get more signatures.”

  Gerri could think of nothing that she would less rather do. She was struck anew by their personality differences and the incongruousness of their friendship. She settled for an all-purpose (and insincere) murmur of disappointment, and quickly turned the subject.

  “Do you know where I can get some of the things on this list?”

  “Hah!” Mindy took the list and glanced at it. “Now you’ve found my other favorite thing. Let’s go shopping. I’ll drive you.”

  Chapter 8

  “Good morning, Sven.”

  Sven turned around at the sound of Jerry’s voice and immediately started laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Jerry was bent under the weight of two giant duffel bags. “It looks like you’ve packed enough for a whole season, not just a week or two.”

  Gerri didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t afford to enumerate everything that she had brought—it would look awfully suspicious for a male to pack hair care products and lotion. In fact, she thought with alarm, she might not even be given a private storage place. She said cautiously, “Well, I didn’t know and, um, better safe than sorry. I hope there’s enough space to put it all.”

  Sven reminded himself again not to make fun of Jerry’s ignorance. “There’s plenty of space. Hand the bags to me and come aboard. I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking.”

  It wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She was to be in what Sven described as the fo’c’s’le. It was a tiny room with two bunks (and a door that closed!) and a miniscule, built-in chest of drawers. His only admonishment was that her gear must be stored so that it couldn’t fly around, even if the boat were tossing in a storm.

  That sounded alarming—maybe more of an adventure than she had bargained for. She didn’t want to sound like a coward, so she chose a more mundane question. “What was it that you called this room? And how do you spell it?”

  He pronounced it again, and then elaborated. “It’s short for ‘forecastle,’ I think. And it’s usually spelled phonetically, with apostrophes—I’m not sure exactly how.” He paused and grinned disarmingly. “See? You’re not the only one that doesn’t know everything.”

  He left her with that and she put her stuff away as best she could. Some of it would just have to stay in the duffel bags. The first drawer she tried seemed stuck. After some prodding, she discovered that one had to lift it to open it. Indeed, it turned out that all of the drawers had notches on the sliders to prevent accidental openings—they were really serious about this ‘tossing in a storm’ business.

  After she had finished, Sven gave her a brief tour of the boat, explaining some terminology as he went. The upper cabin was dominated by the pilot house, which had a large wheel for steering and some mysterious electronic equipment. Aft of it (that is, toward the stern), and a couple of steps down, was the galley, an open area for cooking and eating. Next to that was Sven’s quarters, also tiny. He wanted, he said, to be near the pilot house if anything went wrong in the middle of the night. At the rear of the galley was the door to the main deck.

  Also there were some small, steep steps (more like a ladder, really) to the belowdecks area where Gerri’s quarters were. Also in this area was a cramped bathroom—the ‘head,’ as Sven instructed her to call it. To her dismay, it consisted of just a toilet and a sink, with barely enough room to stand.

  “No shower?”

  “It would take too much room and use too much water. We wash at the sink, and at the end of the trip.”

  That reminded her. “Where does your water come from?”

  “There are tanks for water and for diesel fuel. We fill them up at the beginning of each trip.”

  Lastly was the engine room. Sven opened the door and let her peer in. It reminded her of an unfinished basement—one could see the boat’s ribs—with a very large engine taking up most of the space.

  At this point, Gerri thought that they were done, but he led her back up on deck and lifted a large hatch. “This is the most important part,” he said with a sly grin. “This is where we keep the fish that pay for all of the rest of it.”

  Gerri peered down into a cavernous chamber partially filled with crushed ice. There must have been tons of it. Sven anticipated her next question. “I loaded up with ice, water, and fuel yesterday afternoon. The ice keeps the fish fresh until we can sell it.”

  There was considerable equipment fastened around the deck. Sven waved at it. “You’ll learn how to use this later. Don’t worry; it won’t happen all at once. Now let’s get underway. Do you remember how to cast off the lines?”

  She remembered
. Soon they were headed down the channel. When they had left the harbor, he sped the boat up. Now there was a vibration that suffused everything, and the boat had a substantial wake. Gerri was beside herself with excitement. She didn’t know where to look first. Then she remembered that she was getting paid for this.

  “Is there anything that you’d like me to do now?”

  That distracting grin again. “No, you can relax for a while.”

  ___

  Sven didn’t know what to make of Jerry. From those first moments, he had tried to be helpful. Even though Sven had told him to relax, the bow and stern lines were soon neatly coiled. The kid’s eyes were wide—Sven was sure that he was having a good time. But he never smiled. Even one of Sven’s more outrageous puns barely elicited a twitch of Jerry’s lips. Finally, Sven gave up trying to make him laugh. Who knows what motivated him?

  But Sven had no complaints. The kid was a sponge. He asked a lot of questions, but Sven never had to tell him anything twice. Over the next few days Sven let him do more and more—and needed to watch him less and less.

  To be sure, there were a few glitches. Jerry spent a lot of time in the head each night before turning in. Sven didn’t really mind—he generally took care of his business earlier—but he thought it odd. He had asked him casually about it once and Jerry had said that he liked to clean up carefully. He seemed uncomfortable about the question, so Sven just shrugged. So maybe Jerry was a bit effeminate; so what? Sven would still take Jerry and his eccentricities any day over Mike and the bottles he used to hide in his cabin.

  Jerry proved to be a picky eater as well. After Sven cooked their first meal, he asked if Sven would like him to help cook. He was trying to be polite, but he was unable to conceal his disapproval. Sven wasn’t the best of cooks, but what knowledge he did have was hard-won, and he was unwilling to trust his stomach to a young, inexperienced male.

  He tried to let Jerry down easily. “No, I’ll take care of it. I’m used to it.” He paused, amused. “You don’t like my cooking?”

  No, Gerri didn’t like it at all. “It’s OK. I just thought…”

  Sven shook his head emphatically. “I’d rather not have you learn on my time. I’ll bet that in your family, the females did all of the cooking. Am I right?”

  Gerri sighed. Trapped! “You’re right.” Looks like I’ll be losing some weight on this trip.

  ___

  Gerri was learning more than she had thought possible about fishing and boating in general. She tried to remember her father’s dictum: always try to be useful and try to anticipate what needs doing. This was her first completely independent job—there had always been plenty of work on the farm when she was younger—and she felt she was making a success of it.

  There were good moments. Sven had taught her how to use a gaff hook—a six inch spike curved into a hook and attached firmly to a 30 inch handle—to hook the fish on their lines and lift them aboard. Once, on one of the lines she was tending, they brought up an enormous salmon. She gaffed it and pulled it smoothly onboard. Yes, it was extremely heavy, and she was relieved that she didn’t falter. Or worse, lose the fish entirely. She couldn’t resist glancing quickly at Sven, remembering his concern about her strength.

  He had been watching and he smiled his approval. “Good work.” Then he looked closer and added, “That’ll bring at least $50; maybe more.” Gerri looked at the fish with new appreciation.

  He respected her limits, though. Another time, a halibut came to the surface on one of her lines. It was gigantic—easily over six feet long. She gaffed it, but couldn’t lift it into the boat. Sven saw her struggling and quickly came to her aid. “That one’s about 150 to 200 pounds.”

  She didn’t want to seem greedy, but she had to know. “How much is that worth?”

  Sven made a face. “Not as much as that big salmon. They pay a lot less for halibut. That’s why we don’t really try for them.”

  Gerri even got used to Sven’s cooking, though she couldn’t quite come to enjoy it. He relied heavily on opening cans, and didn’t try to improve on the contents with seasoning. Since she didn’t dare show her cooking ability, she made sure that she took care of all of the cleaning up.

  Gerri’s worst moment was on the third evening of their trip. It had been a long day. The fish had been plentiful that day and Sven and Gerri had worked longer to take advantage. It was after 9 o’clock when they finally anchored in a small cove. Gerri went below to wash up and comb out her hair. Later, after she was in her room for the night, she would finish curling her hair. She tried to hurry, since Sven had made some pointed remarks about the time she spent in the head.

  When she climbed the steps to the galley, Sven wasn’t there. She stepped out onto the deck and saw him standing on the gunwale, facing outward. She opened her mouth to call to him, when she realized with horror that he was calmly urinating into the water beside the boat. Her monopolization of the head had driven him to an alternate—and practical—solution. Stricken with humiliation, she swallowed her words and silently fled back into the cabin. Once there, she paused only a second to rub her shin, which she had banged against a door in her haste, and then hurried back down the steps.

  She had barely scooted into her room when she heard Sven descend the steps and knock on the door of the head. “Jerry, are you still in there?”

  “No, Sven, I’m in here.”

  She waited, practically shaking, until he finished washing his hands and went back up the stairs to the galley. Thurman would probably have thought her hilarious—he would have talked about how she had too many hang-ups, but it wasn’t that. She wasn’t that naïve. She had seen her brother naked, after all. No, it wasn’t that. It was a sense of violation. Sven didn’t know that she was a girl (a woman, Mindy would have reminded her), and he wouldn’t have been so casual if he had known. She felt dirty, like a ‘peeping Thomasina.’

  When she finally got the courage to return to the galley, he was already eating. He gestured casually with his fork. “Food’s in the pan. I was beginning to think that you were boycotting my cooking.”

  “Sorry I took so long,” she said. Then, because she didn’t want to have the conversation linger on his cooking, she added, “I was cleaning up. That’s the one thing that’s hardest to get used to—the scarcity of hot water. I’d give…” A memory flashed briefly: one of Thurman’s friends saying ‘my left nut.’ Was that what a guy would say? Well, not a guy that she would want to be with. No, she wouldn’t carry her deception to that level. “I’d give anything for a real bath—one with unlimited hot water.”

  Sven smiled. “Hmmm.”

  Chapter 9

  Gerri stood on the deck of the fish buying vessel. She flexed her knees automatically to adjust for the gentle rolling of the ocean swell, silently pleased with herself for the casual way she was able to do this. Below her, visible if she leaned over the railing, was the Glacier Gal, its 40-something foot length dwarfed by the larger ship.

  Her arms and shoulders were sore, but it was a satisfying soreness. She and Sven had just finished transferring their fish from the Glacier Gal’s hold to oversized buckets, which were then winched up to the deck of the fish buyer to be weighed and the price calculated. While Sven and the captain of the buyer, Gary something, were chatting, waiting for the final numbers, Gerri considered her dilemma. Sven had said that he would write her a check for her share. The buyer had offered to mail it to her bank for deposit. But she didn’t have a bank account. Worse, she didn’t want a check in her name—that would be a dead giveaway.

  At the same time, she was intensely proud of herself for the way her adventure was turning out. The amount of money that Sven had mentioned would more than pay for her entire trip. She could hardly wait to tell her parents. That was it! She turned to Sven. “I don’t have a bank account. Could you make the check out to my father? I’ll mail it to him with a note.”

  “Of course. You go write the note. I’m sure Gary has paper and envelopes that you can u
se.”

  Gary nodded. “Sure, I keep a batch of writing materials for just this sort of thing. I always have a full satchel to take to the Post Office when I get in to port.” He smiled at a well-rehearsed line. “I won’t even charge you the six cents for the stamp.”

  Gerri went into the buyer’s cabin and, accepting a pen and paper, scribbled a terse account of her adventure thus far, with a promise to write a longer letter later. She addressed the envelope and then hesitated. Mindy won’t mind… She used Mindy’s address for the return address. She got an attack of nerves as she took the check and sealed the envelope—this would be her parents’ first chance to share their opinion of Gerri’s ad-libbed adventure. She only hoped that the money and her upbeat letter would temper any disapproval.

  ___

  After they were underway again, Gerri daydreamed about how—she hoped—her parents would be impressed with her initiative. She even dared to imagine Thurman (somehow) receiving the news with astonishment. It wasn’t that she still cared about him—she just wanted him to realize how badly he had misjudged her.

  Sven interrupted her reverie. “We’re going to take a detour before we get back to fishing.” He looked at Gerri with a smug smile. “I think you’ll like it.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Try though she might, Gerri couldn’t get any further information from him. They were approaching the shore, but it wasn’t a part that she recognized. Ordinarily, Sven was pleased when she showed interest in his nautical charts (don’t call them maps…), but when she asked to see the one for their area, he shook his head. That just made her more curious, but she could tell by Sven’s look of satisfaction that it would do no good to plead.

  She looked again outside to see what she could guess. The shore here was rocky, and she could see waves breaking—highlighting the numerous rocks just below the surface of the water. She watched silently, not wanting to disturb him—these rocks could easily destroy the Glacier Gal if Sven made a false move. He slowed the boat to a crawl as he neared the shore. A tiny gap appeared, and he maneuvered the boat carefully into it.