Entrance to the Harbour

by Peters, Sue

  `I’ll throw the tea leaves over the side.’ She got to her feet restlessly, seeking movement to steady the turbulent thoughts that went round and round like ,a whirlpool in her head, almost envying the men their occupation. Dan, she was sure, had forgotten all about her and Chris by now, his back was turned towards them as he bent about some task on deck.

  `I’ll take your mug back with me when I’ve got rid of the tea leaves.’ She passed Roddy on her way to the rail, and he nodded in a preoccupied fashion.

  `Spit first, before you throw them overboard,’ he advised.

  `Don’t be disgusting,’ she scolded him, and made for the side. ‘I hope Chris doesn’t pick up these outlandish superstitions,’ she thought fervently, and with a quick, impatient movement she flicked the lid off the teapot and hurled the wet leaves over the rail. Instantly she heard Dan shout, but it was too late to check her movement. ‘A few tea leaves won’t spoil your fishing,’ she muttered rebelliously, but instinctively she turned as he called her name, just in time

  to prevent the wet tea leaves from blowing back full into her face. As it was they splattered the sleeve of her mac with damp darkness.

  `Roddy told you to spit first,’ Dan grinned. ‘Next time, perhaps you’ll listen.’ And he turned away, still grinning, his strong hands playing out the net that streamed from the side of the Kittiwake and dropped through the water below in silent seeking, to claim its victims from the deep.

  Jo shivered, and turned back into the wheelhouse, appreciating Lance’s comment fully for the first time. Fishing was hunting. And these men were the hunters, their faces keen and absorbed, involved in their task of stalking their prey to the exclusion of everything—and everyone—else. Jo shut the door of the wheelhouse with unnecessary force, thankful to close herself in—and Dan out. He had made cruel jest of her lack of local knowledge. Tessa would doubtless have known not to throw tea leaves over the side of the boat right into the teeth of the wind blowing in the opposite direction. So would I, if I’d thought about it, Jo thought miserably, but she could not undo her action now, and it added another point to the score which Dan seemed to be mounting up against her.

  `There must be a kitten on the boat somewhere. Have you seen it, Jo?’

  `No.’ She looked at Chris in surprise. Surely Dan would not succumb to carrying a black cat for luck, she thought caustically, not after his vocal disapproval of Amos’s superstitions. ‘Where is it?’ She cast a quick glance about her feet, fearful of stepping on the animal

  `Oh, I haven’t actually seen it, but there’s its basket.’ The boy pointed to something under the bench seat that Jo had not noticed until now. A shallow wickerwork basket lined with a piece of warm blanket, and jammed securely into the only available alcove that presented itself. It made a cosy little nest, and she wondered where its owner was.

  Perhaps the influx of two extra people aboard the Kittiwake had been too much, and it had taken refuge elsewhere. Maybe with Amos?

  `I can’t see the Sea Swallow, can you?’ she enquired, just as Dan rejoined them.

  `He’s fishing in the opposite direction.’ The skipper’s voice was curt.

  `To make sure I don’t cast a blight on his chances of a good catch, I expect.’ Jo tried to speak lightly, but her voice came out flat, betraying the sudden bleakness that caught at her spirits. Perhaps Tessa had been right, and she should go back inland. She did not fit in among this seafaring community, their ways and outlook were totally alien to anything she knew, and if Amos and Tessa were typical, she was not likely to be accepted among them even if she had been able to remain at the cottage.

  `They’re pulling in the net.’ Dan’s voice speaking to Chris, above a mechanical clatter, broke across her thoughts, and he strode away again. Interested despite herself, Jo pressed her nose to the window beside her brother and watched with fascination as the dark, bulging net was raised and swung dripping across the deck until it was over an erection of boards fixed in the centre, much like the fiddles Dan had slotted into the stove.

  `Roddy says they untie the cod end of the net and drop the fish into the pound,’ Chris informed her, proud of his newly acquired knowledge, and sure enough Lance reached up and untied the bottom end of the net as soon as it was swung over the cage made by the boards, and allowed the contents to spill safely within their confines. She saw Dan reach down over the boards and straighten up again, with a brown-backed, orange-spotted fish in his hand. A plaice for Hannah? It flipped feebly, and Jo suddenly felt sorry for the pile of gasping creatures, torn from their element to die in order to provide sustenance for others. For the first time

  she understood the feelings of confirmed vegetarians, and felt glad for the minute crabs and sundry small marine creatures that took immediate opportunity to quit the pile of flopping fish, and hasten to the rail where they dropped back overboard, unchallenged because they were too small to be of use.

  `I wish I could go out there and help,’ Chris said wistfully, and Jo shook her head.

  `You mustn’t. Dan said not.’ She felt glad he had insisted on instant obedience from the boy. With the arrival of the net full of fish the scene on deck exploded into intense activity. Chris would only have been in the way, and what was worse might hinder the men and incur Dan’s wrath. He had not wanted to bring them with him in the first place.

  `Look at the gulls !’ Chris shouted excitedly, his attention distracted by another wonder. Out of nowhere a cloud of squalling birds wheeled and dived about the boat in hungry anticipation. A knife blade caught the light and winked wickedly, and Lance and Dan settled to their task of gutting and cleaning their catch. Once or twice a gull, bolder than the others, dived on the mound to try and steal a fish, but invariably got distracted as one of the men, without bothering to look up, flicked some offal in its direction and it flew off, satisfied. Roddy had disappeared into the shallow hold, Jo could just see the top of his fiery head moving about above the level of the deck boards.

  `Roddy boxes the fish.’ Chris seemed to have learned a lot from his sojourn with the young lad, and Jo blessed Roddy’s kindly interest. The multiplicity of new sights and sounds were providing a wonderful distraction for the child, and at least keeping one of them happy, she thought mournfully.

  `Doesn’t he want to take his turn working on deck?’ It did not seem fair for the men to keep the freedom of the

  deck to themselves, while the boy worked alone in the cramped hold.

  `Not Roddy,’ Chris grinned. ‘He reckons gutting’s the coldest job in the world, particularly in a wind like this.’ There was no doubt he was repeating the redhead’s own words.

  `So that’s why Dan keeps him in the hold.’ The skipper of the Kittiwake was a strange mixture, Jo mused, outwardly hard and unapproachable, but subject to unexpected flashes of kindness. It must be bitterly cold on deck. No wonder the men who worked there liked kye ! A closer look at their arms, bared to the elbow, showed them to be as wet as the fish they handled.

  `I’ll make their kye.’ She swung to her feet, and realised her legs had gone numb. She looked at her watch. ‘I can’t believe it !’ she gasped. They had been at sea for several hours, that had fled like minutes with the interest they held. `Where’s the kettle?’ She ignored the pins and needles in her feet and made her way to the urn for water.

  `If you’re making kye, that’s no good.’ Dan stuck his head inside the door. ‘You’ll have to make that in the dixie—just add the cocoa and plenty of sugar and a knob of butter. The water’s already in it, ready to boil up.’

  `Where do you keep your tin of cocoa?’ She had to ask him; she hadn’t seen one about, and she knew she had looked in all the cupboards there were in the small enclosure.

  `It isn’t in a tin, it’s in slab form.’ He reached down and picked up what Jo had taken to be a large bar of chocolate. `I’ll break it for you, it’s hard.’ It presented him with no trouble, his strong fingers snapped the slab into useable pieces which he dropped straight into the dixie as it stood
. `Boil it, but for goodness’ sake don’t let it boil over,’ he warned her. ‘Otherwise you can have the job of cleaning up the mess.’ And he departed to resume his task beside Lance.

  `He treats you as if you’re a real part of the crew,’ Chris commented enviously.

  `That’s not a privilege,’ Jo snapped ungraciously. If she could, she thought mutinously, she would have liked to turn up the flame under the dixie of kye and walk out, and leave it to boil over at its leisure—and Dan to clear up the mess. The wide expanse of water surrounding the Kittiwake silently derided her wishful thinking, and she fumed in silence, keeping a careful eye on the dixie, since she had no illusions that Dan would carry out his threat, and refuse to let her ashore until she had cleared up any spills. Tiny though the boat’s accommodation was, it was kept scrupulously clean, a pointer to the fastidious habits of its owner.

  `You’re not a bad galley hand,’ Dan grinned as he tasted his drink, and cupped the enamel mug in both hands to unfreeze his fingers. Jo shuddered in sympathy as she watched the men hose down the deck when they finished cleaning the fish, and when they had stowed away the boards of the pound, hose themselves down as well. Even Roddy came in for the same treatment.

  `I’d rather have him cold than dirty,’ Dan responded to her protest, ‘we’ll all wash down in fresh water as soon as we’re ashore, but there’s an hour to go before then.’ And a mug of hot liquid to drink, and one of Hannah’s cookies to eat, with hands that he made sure were clean. Being obliged to approve his action made Jo more annoyed than ever.

  `I can’t see the shore.’ Chris had his nose glued to the wheelhouse window again, the attraction of his surroundings even surmounting that of his cookie. ‘I thought you said we should see the Claw Rocks coming in?’

  `So we shall, but they’re too far away just now, and the drizzle would blot them out anyway.’ A faint splatter of wet on the window, that Jo had thought came from the hose, turned her towards Dan in sudden dismay.

  `It’s not going to be misty, is it? Or—or—anything?’ Her expression betrayed her qualms. What if it got rough

  and she was sick? She put her untasted mug down on the stove with undignified haste.

  `Of course not, there’s too strong a wind blowing,’ Dan scoffed. ‘It gave you back the tea leaves just now, remember?’ he laughed. ‘And it’ll be smoother going on the way back, we’ll be riding the tide, so you can drink your kye. It won’t make you sick, and it’ll help to keep you warm.’

  He read her thoughts with deflating accuracy, and his keen glance dared her to leave her drink, and she raised her mug defiantly to her lips. To her surprise the contents were good, more food than drink, and the heat of it seeped welcome fingers through her, relaxing her taut muscles, and she finished the mugful without any trouble.

  `Come and stand by me up front, you’ll see where we’re going then. You won’t feel quite so shut in.’ How had he defined what she was feeling? Jo wondered, but the clearer windows up by the wheel gave an unobstructed view all round them, and she peered out, feeling happier.

  `I’m turning her back home, now.’ The engine shivered into life again after its steady, slow pulling of the last hour or so, but instead of butting into an oncoming sea, the Kittiwake rode on top of the long, slow rollers that bore it shorewards on the pull of the tide. It was a pleasant, soothing sensation, and Jo found she could keep her feet easily enough now, the smooth dips and rises presenting her with no difficulty. She did not even feel anxious when Roddy, with time on his hands again, collected Chris to show him the work he had done in the hold. Lance went with them, so he was there to check any over-abundance of enthusiasm, and Jo stood beside Dan at the wheel, content to enjoy the ride.

  `Leave the dixie and the mugs,’ he told her, ‘I take those back to the house where there’s plenty of hot water and soap.’ So she left them, and remained with him, at peace

  for the moment, for with the urgency of the work gone, and the others out on deck, Dan’s mood mellowed to match her own dreamy content, though his eyes remained alert, constantly searching his surroundings.

  `Are you looking for the Sea Swallow?’ A small cloud still hovered over her new-found peace.

  `No, Amos has gone right out to the other side of the bay. He’ll come into harbour from a different direction, probably he’ll wait until nearly the turn of the tide.’ He paused for a moment, his face serious, and then he said, ‘Jo, you mustn’t let Amos worry you.’ He spoke as if he had been awaiting the opportunity to broach the subject. And now, when there was just the two of them together, was a propitious moment. ‘His superstitions rule his life, but they can’t be allowed to rule the lives of others,’ he went on with quiet firmness. ‘Even his own family see the sense of that. For a niece of his, Hannah isn’t all that superstitious, really,’ he smiled. ‘And Roddy’s his grandson, and he’s as free thinking as any modern youngster.’

  `Is everyone in St Mendoc related?’ Jo asked lightly. The old fisherman’s attitude had worried her, though she would not admit it, particularly to Dan.

  `A lot of them belong to one family,’ Dan replied. ‘Years ago isolation and lack of transport encouraged intermarriage, but of course it’s different now, easy travel’s brought a breath of fresh air into the lives of the villagers. And into their thinking, though of course Amos’s generation are too set in their ways to change over-much,’ he acknowledged the inevitable without criticism. But the younger generation, ours and Roddy’s, seek their partners where they choose,’ he said. ‘A different background can be an advantage,’ he added, apropos of nothing. ‘A rut’s cosy, but it can be stifling too.’

  Tessa was from a different background. A flower farm.

  An attractive setting for a beautiful woman, Jo thought forlornly.

  `Ah, there’s another!’ Dan stiffened suddenly, and his exclamation broke across her thoughts, forceful with an undercurrent of anger. He throttled the engine down to idling speed, and swiftly lashed the wheel. ‘Stay where you are,’ he bade her. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ and then he was gone, striding away with a sense of urgency so strong that it communicated itself to Jo and left her tense. Forgetting her earlier resolution, she disobeyed him, and followed him outside.

  `He’s on the starboard side,’ Lance called, already hanging over the rail watching something on the water below, and Jo felt her throat go dry. What was it Dan had stopped the boat for? Pieces of wreckage? A rowing boat, perhaps? She had not seen one, but she had not seen anything on the water besides themselves. Maybe it was a floating lifebelt, or—or—hurriedly she stopped her thoughts from going any further.

  `Chris, come to me. Come here !’ sharply, as the boy hesitated, and he slowly turned and dragged reluctant feet in her direction, wanting to go to the rail with Roddy instead.

  `I want to watch,’ he complained.

  `You might be in the way. Wait for a minute or two.’ It was a feeble excuse, but she dared not let him approach the rail. She was afraid of what he might see. For a child he had received shocks enough. Jo herself felt battered by the events of the last few months, and cringed from what might appear above the rail as Dan and Lance between them dropped a weighted hand net something like a hammock over the side of the boat, and did some trawling of their own. A tense moment passed and then Roddy called, ‘It’s in !’ and the men started to pull the net up, slowly and carefully as if they did not want to upset whatever it was

  they had caught. Jo shut her eyes as the net emerged dripping into sight. It was cowardice, she knew, but she could not help it.

  `Don’t stand there looking scared—come and help !’ Dan’s voice, tinged with impatience, cut sharply through her horror, and she shivered and opened her eyes.

  `What is it?’ Chris asked curiously, and stepped away from his sister, snapping her back to instant life.

  `Chris, come back !’

  `Let him come, it’s only a bird.’ Once again Dan seemed to read her thoughts, and Jo found her eyes drawn downwards to the net,
which he and Lance lowered on to the deck, and knelt beside it regardless of the risk of soaking their trousers in the process. As soon as they had swilled themselves down after dealing with the catch they changed from waders into ordinary rubber boots, and from above their knees they were no longer protected.

  `It looks like a guillemot. Yes, it is.’ His fingers explored the limp, slimy-looking mess that was all Jo could distinguish among the meshes.

  `He’s covered in waste oil.’ Lance looked up at Jo briefly as he ran his hands under the net and raised it slightly to enable Dan to lift the bird with as little disturbance as possible. Even so it stirred, and the skipper nodded his satisfaction.

  `There’s a bit of life left in him, I think we might manage to save him. Roddy?’ But Roddy had gone, and was already struggling back through the wheelhouse door with the wicker basket in his hands that Jo thought was there for a kitten.

  `Warm some water, will you, Jo?’ Dan called over his shoulder. Not too hot, I want it for a hot water bottle for this poor little creature.’

  She sped to do his bidding, grateful for the steadier deck that enabled her to keep her feet while she worked. The

  guillemot, barely recognisable as a bird, with its feathers plastered to its body with the thick black oil, was another piece of the flotasm and jetsam Tessa said Dan collected. Just as much a piece as herself and Chris.

  `We thought the basket was for a kitten.’ Chris trotted close behind Dan, getting under his feet in his eagerness to help.

  `You go into the wheelhouse in front of me, and take one end of the basket.’ The skipper considerately let the boy hold the basket when he could have managed for himself far better. Jo hastily thrust her toe against the wheelhouse door to hold it open, sympathetic with his struggle to elbow his way through and give the child a clear passage at the same time. ‘Wedge the basket into the alcove under the seat, it’ll ride steady enough there.’ Dan went on his knees to lift it in without disturbing the limp creature inside.

  `Here’s the hot water bottle.’ Jo held it down to him, finding herself as keen to help as her brother.