A Vineyard Killing
Page 17
“If you’re afraid the immigration people will kick you back to Spain, don’t be. I’m not going to tell them you’ve lived here illegally for most of your life, and I don’t think your family will rat on you. They’ll just be happy to know that their long-lost son is alive and well. Hell, you’ve been John Reilley for so long that you can probably go see them on an American passport.”
“I don’t have an American passport.”
“I’ll bet you can probably get one. You must have a Social Security card, since you’ve been working for forty years, so you must have a birth certificate, too, because you’d need that to get your SS card. That should be enough ID, unless they’re both fakes. So tell me: How did you become John Reilley? It’s a short step from Juan to John, but where did the Reilley come from?” I arched a brow.
He was looking less and less unhappy. “Serendipity. I knew the best way I could lose myself in this big country was to change myself into someone totally different than who I’d been. So I didn’t go back to Tulane for my final term as a premed student, but headed west and became an itinerant carpenter.
“I was lucky to be from a rich family, so I had enough money to see me through until I could begin earning my own, and I’d been in New Orleans long enough to speak good, Southern-style English, so nobody figured me for a foreigner on the run. I worked little day jobs at first, so I didn’t need any papers, but I knew that I couldn’t keep that up.
“Then one day I was in a little town in the Midwest—I won’t say where—and there was a sad story on the front page of the local paper. A young man about my age had been killed by a drunk driver right outside of his church on a Sunday morning. It was exactly the sort of story that any small-town editor would put on page one.
“I read the story and learned that the family had just moved there from another little town upstate, where they had lived all their lives before moving here. The family’s name was Reilley. The boy’s name was John. It seemed like a kind of miracle. Out of the boy’s death came my new life.”
“I can guess the rest,” I said.
“Sure you can. I went to that other town and got a copy of John Reilley’s birth certificate. Using it, I got a Social Security card, and Juan Diego Valentine became John Reilley.”
“But still, you never stayed anywhere too long. Just in case.”
“I paid my income taxes because I didn’t want the IRS after me, but I never got a driver’s license or bought a house because I didn’t want any more of a paper trail than I had to have. A moving target is harder to hit.” He looked around at the greening hills of Chilmark. To the south we could see the dark blue ocean under the pale blue sky. “One good thing that came of it is that I’ve seen a lot of beautiful country. None better than this island, though, even though I’m living in a cave.”
“Maybe it’s time you surfaced,” I said. “I think Dodie would like that.”
“How about Maria?”
“Maria will feel just fine after I give my report,” I said. “You’ll get a glowing recommendation.”
“You don’t really know me,” he cautioned.
“I think I know you well enough. You’ve spent forty years in the wilderness. Hell, Jesus only spent forty days.”
“That’s a pretty irreligious comparison.”
“Some people think I’m a pretty irreligious guy.” I stood up. “Time for you to get back to work.”
I went to the Land Cruiser and drove home. It was almost April. Spring wasn’t quite in the air, but it wouldn’t be long.
Six weeks later Zee and I and the kids were on Wasque Point waiting for the blues to come in for the first time that year. Zee and I were taking turns keeping a line in the water while the kids played tag with the waves. It was one of those lovely, warm, early May days when you didn’t need your waders but were comfortable in just a shirt and shorts, and the sun was a brilliant ball floating westward across a cloudless sky.
Between casts Zee brought me up to date on all the latest news, fresh from the ER hot line.
“Dodie and John Reilley are getting even cozier, and Dodie is beginning to accept the fact that Maria and Paul Fox have the hots for each other.” Zee seemed very pleased by these facts, as many women seem to be when learning of engagements, marriages, and less formal linkages between people they like.
“I hear that Paul is taking over Saberfox’s office here on the island,” I said.
“That’s right. And he’s putting a stop to this practice of threatening people with lawsuits over their land. He thinks there’s plenty of business for straight-arrow realtors here.”
“He’ll have a lot of competition. There are fifteen thousand people on this island in the wintertime, and all but a half dozen of them are realtors.”
“It’s not quite that bad, Jefferson. Anyway, Donald is back in Savannah, at the main office. That wound took a lot of zip out of him, but according to Maria he’s got several women down there who are anxious to take care of him while he recovers. She thinks he may change his management style after all that’s happened. Brad Hillborough was quite a revelation to him, she says.”
“He looked at Hillborough and saw himself?”
“Something like that.” She leaned closer. “And you know something neat?”
“No.”
“Maria says that John has taken Dodie to his house and that they’re talking about going to Spain together. What do you think of that?”
“More proof that romance still thrives within the hearts of the bald and silver-haired crowd. And are you telling me that Donald Fox is going to become a kinder, gentler Fox?”
“Don’t be a cynic. People do change, you know. It can happen.”
“It certainly happened to me. Why, before I met you I was a—”
“And you still are! You haven’t changed a bit! Wait! Smell that?”
I sniffed and sure enough there was a watermelon aroma floating on the southwest wind. Bluefish!
“There’s the slick!” cried Zee, pointing as she grabbed her rod from the rack on the front of the truck.
She was right again. Off to the west a round, oily slick was easing toward us on the rising tide.
I snatched my rod and trotted after her down to the surf. There she made her long, lovely cast far out into the water, just in front of the slick. I put my redheaded Roberts about three yards from where her plug had hit, and began to snake the lure back to shore.
Two fish struck us almost simultaneously, swirling white water around our plugs and bending our rods. I heard Zee laugh as she hauled back and reeled down and hauled back again, and I felt the power of my fish as I did the same.
The fish didn’t want to come, but they came anyway, fighting, dancing on their tails, tugging against the hooks that held them, flashing first this way and then that through the water.
We fought them into the surf, then brought them flopping and writhing up onto the sand. We hooked our fingers in their gills and carried them up to the truck where I extracted the hooks, cut their throats, and tossed them into the shade of the truck.
The children had come running, and were very impressed.
“Those are good ones, Pa!”
“Nice ones,” I agreed, feeling happy. “How does stuffed bluefish for supper tonight sound?”
“It sounds good, Pa,” cried Diana, who was always on the hunt for food.
“Well, let’s not just stand here,” said Zee, grinning.
“Let’s get some more!”
So side by side she and I trotted back down to the surf and made our long casts out into the beautiful, heartless, innocent sea.
Recipes
All Delicious
SEAFOOD CASSEROLE
(Serves 8–10)
J.W. cooks this casserole in this story.
½ green pepper, chopped
½ cup onion, chopped
½ lb. mushrooms, sliced
Sauté these ingredients in 3–4 tbsp. butter, then add:
1 can cream of mush
room soup
8 oz. sour cream
3 cups cooked rice
1 lb. precooked seafood (any combination of crabmeat, shrimp, lobster, scallops, or flaked white fish)
Mix well, season with celery salt and pepper, and place in baking dish.
Top with buttered crumbs and some bacon bits (and, if you wish, green or red pepper rings, red pepper, or pimiento).
Bake at 300° or till hot, and serve.
KALE SOUP
(Serves 6–8, at least)
This is a classic New England Portuguese dish that takes many forms but is always delish! Security on a cold winter’s day is having a large container of kale soup in your freezer.
Shinbone of beef
1 lb. beef chuck for stew, cubed and braised
1 package onion soup mix for each 4–5 c. liquid
2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
1 package frozen chopped kale (or fresh equivalent)
10–12 inches of kielbasa, parboiled and sliced
2 cups diced potatoes and/or macaroni
1–2 tsps. chili powder
2–3 tsps. pesto or basil
1 lb. can of boiled kidney beans or chili beans
Seasoned salt and pepper to taste
Cover shinbone with water, bring to boil, add beef, and simmer until tender (1–2 hours). Remove meat and marrow from bone and return to pot. Add soup mix, onions, and kale. Simmer till kale is nearly tender—15–20 minutes. Add kielbasa, potatoes and/or macaroni, chili powder, and pesto. When potatoes and/or macaroni are nearly done, add kidney beans.
Any other leftovers you have may be added at this time—corn, rice, green veggies, leftover soup or chili, carrots, etc. Heat until hot, and season with seasoned salt and pepper to taste.
TOM’S SAUSAGE, BEANS, AND RICE
(Serves 4–6)
This recipe came from Dr. Thomas Blues, retired professor, University of Kentucky. It is a simple and excellent skillet dish. J.W. uses kielbasa when he makes it but you can use hot turkey sausage if you don’t eat mammals.
2 tbsp. vegetable oil
2/3–¾ lb. smoked sausage such as kielbasa, cut in 2" lengths
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tsp. oregano leaves
½ tsp. basil
Dash of Tabasco
2 1–lb. cans of red beans
Cooked rice
Heat oil in skillet. Brown sausage and remove from pan. Sauté onion and garlic until soft. Add sausage and remaining ingredients (except rice), including bean juice, cover, and simmer over low heat for about 30 minutes. Mash a few of the beans during the last 5 minutes. Serve over rice.
About The Author
Philip R. Craig grew up on a small cattle ranch southeast of Durango, Colorado. He earned his MFA at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop and was for many years a professor of literature at Whee-lock College in Boston. He and his wife live on Martha’s Vineyard.