Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage

by Chris Hannon

  Perry gritted his teeth against the pain; soon they were at the end of French Street. He figured Joel would run along the harbourfront, but to his surprise he ran straight up the wharf - a watery dead end. Wary of some trap, Perry slowed at the neck of the wharf, there was little point running. Joel was penned in between himself and the sea.

  The crescent moon cut belts of shimmering silver onto the black water beyond. Perry gazed up at the desolate sky, clear and starry. Was God watching him? Wooden decking creaked underfoot, though he trod cautiously, seeking out forms in the shadows under the iron benches and checking behind for ambushes. The icy breeze buffeted and nipped at his ears, water licked and lapped in the darkness, stifling his senses. At the end of the wharf there stood a figure, black as a crow, waiting for him to come.

  Perry took a moment to dab a handkerchief at the worst of his cuts, though there were too many to attend to. He settled for tying it around the biggest wound on his knee. The pain was sharp and true. He cursed his stupidity for falling for that old trick, one he had played himself when he was younger. But that wasn’t what really hurt, what really fuelled the anger and hatred deep within. Would killing him assuage it? Right the wrongs? Perry didn’t know anymore, but he knew he would continue on to the end of the wharf.

  With each step, the figure grew larger; he was on the edge, facing out to sea, back turned to Perry’s approach. Perhaps he wouldn’t need the knife at all, a push might be all that it would take.

  ‘Funny to be here again,’ Joel spoke without turning, ‘I remember being chased here once before and had to swim to shore.’

  ‘You got pneumonia,’ Perry stated flatly, recalling Joel’s story.

  ‘I did, and we fished here together once, didn’t we, don’t you remember?’

  Perry was in no mood for reminiscing. ‘And we guddled up Bishopstoke together too. Take Eva on your fishing trips now instead do you?’

  Joel turned to face him, the moonlight casting hard lines on his face. ‘So you have seen her then,’ he stroked his chin, ‘she’ll never believe you, you know.’

  ‘Believe what?’

  ‘That I had you attacked and exiled.’

  Even knowing it was Joel, hearing it aloud and said with such bold pride made it incalculably worse.

  ‘Maybe she won’t but it doesn’t matter, I’m here to right the wrong done to me and my Pa,’ he pointed. ‘You betrayed us!’

  ‘No. I betrayed you. I did nothing to your Pa. And you want to talk about betrayal? What a memory you have old friend. Who betrayed who really?’ Joel’s voice wavered. ‘You promised me we’d stay together, the three of us. And what did you do? You stole our money and fixed to leave me on my own here. My best friend and the girl I love, the only people I had in the world scheming to abandon me,’ Joel bowed his head. ‘You promised me you’d never do it again after the prison notes. You lied. You betrayed me!’

  Was he crying? Perry bit down, fists bunched at his sides. He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but it was true. Of all the people in Southampton he had wronged, Joel was the one he had wronged the most.

  ‘It doesn’t excuse what you did to me. I was imprisoned in Buenos Aires. I missed my father’s passing. I should’ve been here!’

  ‘It was no less than you deserved and you know it. You’re just angry because I outfoxed you.’

  ‘Outfoxed me?’ Perry was incredulous. ‘This isn’t a bloody game Joel!’

  ‘Oh, but it is a game. It’s all a game, playing people off one another, scraping by, fooling people. I learnt from the best, you.’

  ‘Joel, I’m not the same person who left, I’m not like that anymore.’

  ‘And I’m not the boy you left. I’m a man grown and I’ve made something of myself. Earning good money, a fine place to live and I’m promised to Eva.’

  It was sickening to hear. ‘She doesn’t love you,’ Perry said, ‘not truly.’

  Joel’s face broke into a crooked smile. ‘Well, at least that’s one thing we can agree on. But she will, in time.’

  Perry was astonished. How could Joel want to marry someone who didn’t love him back?

  ‘I know she loves me some, but it’s a question of closing some of the open doors in her mind. When she knows it is only me who can give her what she wants, she’ll realise it’s me she truly loves. Only me,’ he repeated.

  Perry stood in silence, the breeze boxing his ears and the water lapping at the heels of the wharf. ‘You can’t make someone love you.’

  ‘I disagree.’ Joel stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘You shouldn’t have come back Perry,’ he sighed, ‘though it was good for one thing.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  Joel held a knife up to the moonlight. ‘You brought my blade back to me.’

  It couldn’t be. Perry’s arms shot to his pockets and padded down onto nothing. It must have spilled out of his pocket when he fell. And now he had nothing to attack with. No…he had nothing to defend himself with.

  Joel levelled the blade, outstretching his arm. ‘We wronged one another Perry, but I can’t have you coming back and spoiling things for me.’

  Fear pierced through him. He couldn’t believe how this had happened, him with the advantage of surprise over Joel, yet it was he who was now on the wrong end of a switchblade, with an injured leg that wouldn’t do for running away fast enough.

  ‘Well you needn’t worry. I’m not intending on staying. I’m going abroad again,’ Perry said desperately, taking a step back.

  Joel sketched a lazy figure of eight in the air with the knife. ‘You’ll try and take her with you.’

  ‘I’ve already tried,’ he swallowed, backing away, ‘and she refused.’

  A small flash of triumph spread itself over Joel’s face, but then snapped back to menace. ‘I was too kind, getting those coal porters to put you on that ship. No-one would have noticed if they’d kicked you into the sea instead.’ Joel took a step towards him, knees bent and knife at the ready.

  Perry kept his eyes on the blade.

  ‘But I see I’ve been given another chance!’ Joel lunged and slashed the knife. Perry jumped back, but not quickly enough, the knife caught his arm, slicing through the fabric of his jumper. A second, then another and the pain throbbed to the surface. Just a scratch, he thought, gritting his teeth and resetting his footing.

  Perry circled round with Joel like bareknuckle boxers looking for an opening, except his mind was only on defence and staying away from the blade.

  ‘That one hurt?’ Joel’s eyes were as black as a midnight sea.

  ‘A nick’s all,’ Perry didn’t dare look away from Joel.

  ‘There’s more where that came from.’

  In a flash, Joel darted forward lunging the knife straight at Perry’s belly, but Perry managed to leap back, sucking in his stomach, and gave Joel a shove backwards on his shoulders. At the contact, Joel slashed another stroke wildly in the air and Perry got his arms out of the way not a moment too late.

  He was terrified, the last attack wasn’t intending to slash him and cut him up, it was aimed to skewer him in the belly, no doubt with a twist of the knife. Joel was serious. He had no doubts now. Joel wanted to kill him.

  He glanced down the wharf, but knew he would not be fast enough. He’d rather face and fight then feel the blade in his back. There was no way out.

  Joel was no longer smiling or walking in a cocky way, he looked like thunder.

  ‘I’ll leave. I promise I’ll never come back,’ Perry pleaded.

  Joel feinted left with the knife. Perry twisted away and was met with Joel’s fist in the side of his skull. Pain exploded on the side of his face. He stumbled back with the momentum of the blow and regained his footing. The side of his head was hot, smarting, his head ringing. He was at the end of the wharf. The water, he was a fair swimmer. But the cold, his injuries…he wasn’t sure he could make it.

  Joel was watching him. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be in there soon enough. Only at the bottom, sunk w
ith all the holes in your hull.’

  ‘Even if I’m dead. Eva will never truly love you!’ Perry gasped.

  Joel charged at him, Perry, all the time watching the knife hand, but he didn’t wait, he leapt towards Joel, taking him by surprise and clasped his hands around Joel’s wrist. He yanked Joel’s knife hand and pulled Joel down to the floor with him.

  ‘No!’ Joel spat, trying to wriggle his hand free. Perry strangled the wrist with all his might, the blade being held tight by them both. They rolled over, each struggling for advantage, their breath misting the night air. Joel punched Perry with his free hand, short powerful jabs, once, cracking into his jaw, the second a glancing blow over his eyebrow. Perry took the blows, not letting his hands slip from Joel’s wrist. Blood cascaded over his right eye, blurring his vision.

  ‘Arggggh!’ he yelled and with a force of effort bent Joel’s wrist back with a sickening snap. The knife clattered onto the wooden decking.

  Joel screamed out in pain and desperately reached out for the dropped blade with his other hand. Perry brought his knee up with all his force and connected with Joel’s stomach, Joel folded in half and grabbed out wildly, finding a bunch of Perry’s hair. Perry felt himself be yanked over towards the edge of the wharf and Joel’s grip was iron, pulling at the root of his hair. He couldn’t fight the agony and rolled to the edge of the wharf, his foot hanging over the side, with nothing but water below.

  Joel shoved him with his good hand and Perry felt himself shift backwards.

  ‘No!’ he yelled, grabbing desperately onto Joel’s hand, trying to pull himself back away from the water. He glanced down into its shadowy depths, ‘No!’ he edged closer to the water, head and shoulders hanging off the wharf with Joel’s palm pushing him away and he knew he was too far over. He took a deep breath, clamped his hands onto Joel’s arm and resisted no more. He leant back and with all his might pulled Joel into the deathly water with him.

  43

  The cold cut worse than Joel’s knife, the icy water burned into his cuts and gripped his head like it was in a vice. He kicked his legs, pushing himself deeper and deeper into the blackness below, each kick taking him a little further away from Joel. His head throbbed, bubbles streaming from his mouth with the effort of each stroke. When he could go no deeper, he stopped swimming and let his limbs float. The last of the pain eased, ebbing away, until he could feel no more.

  Above and below there was only darkness; his eyes drooped, blinking heavily under the weight of the water. An image of Eva, yellow hair cascading down in curls on a white dress, radiant, came unbidden to his mind. He kicked and yanked the water as if pulling through some tunnel. Heat returned, a desperate fire in his lungs, frantic for air. He kicked and kicked until his face broke the silvery surface. Stars, that beautiful moon and the open sky filled his vision. He gasped, heaved in a deep breath and sprayed out water and hot mist into the air. Joel was floundering nearby, splashing like a harpooned seal.

  Perry was shivering, his teeth chattering. He swam a breaststroke to the wharf’s edge and reached up. He clasped his trembling fingertips around the decking, then the other hand and with every ounce of strength he had left, hauled himself up, his feet kicking into the water for extra lift until he could plant an elbow on the decking. He wriggled like an eel onto the wharf, dripping and shivering from head to toe. He pulled himself upright, resting on his knees, rubbing his arms with his hands though it did little good.

  Joel, weighed down by his heavy coat was thrashing in the water with his good arm, each stroke a little slower. The water would cloak him in its sleepy grasp at any moment. It was what he deserved and Perry knew that if the roles were reversed, Joel would just watch, as he was now doing. But was he not a better person than Joel? He thought of Martín, the best person he knew. What would he say to this? If Joel went under, Eva would not suddenly love him, no, she would blame him, hate him even.

  ‘Joel! Over here.’

  The splashing stopped for a moment. Joel’s eyes glistened with panic.

  ‘Here!’ Perry knelt on the edge and lowered his arm down. ‘Give me your good hand!’

  With his one good arm Joel splashed towards him, though only a couple of metres away, he was so slow, Perry thought he might sink at any moment,

  ‘Hurry!’ he urged.

  After a couple more strokes, Joel desperately reached out his hand, and Perry caught it, not waiting a moment to lift.

  ‘Kick your legs! Come on!’

  Perry heaved Joel’s limp body. His black coat dripped like he’d pulled up a mound of seaweed. Perry hauled him onto the wharf and Joel lay sprawled on the decking, only his chest rising and falling with his panting breath.

  ‘Damn you Scrimshaw,’ he mumbled.

  Perry’s teeth were chattering. ‘Wh-a-t?’

  Then he saw it, lying right by Joel’s good hand. The knife.

  Joel snatched it and pushed himself to a seated position using his elbow.

  He held Joel’s cold, grim stare.

  He’d made a mistake, he should have let him drown - what was he thinking?

  ‘Don’t do it Joel!’ Perry said. ‘Enough!’

  Joel looked down at the blade in his shaking hand and tossed it into the water with a plop.

  Perry felt the relief wash over his icy bones. He cradled his arms for warmth, the blood from his cuts mingled with the water. He slowly got to his feet.

  ‘Perry!’

  The yell echoed through the night.

  ‘Joel!’

  The same voice. He turned and looked back down the wharf. A figure in white was sprinting towards them, yellow hair bouncing with her steps. His heart leapt. Eva.

  She neared and padded to a stop, breathing heavily, looking from one boy to the other with confusion on her face.

  Finally her gaze rested on Perry.

  He was still shaking with the cold and forced a wan smile. ‘Eva…’ he said softly, ‘it’s over.’

  Her face darkened in a way he’d never seen before, she took a step towards him and slapped him across his cheek.

  The surprise of it stung as much as the force.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ she pushed him out of the way and knelt down beside Joel.

  ‘My poor Joely,’ she ran her hand over his face and removed the white cardigan from around her and draped it over Joel’s quivering body.

  ‘He did it Eva, he admitted it!’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ she screamed, ‘I’ve had it with your lies Perry. You’ve broken his wrist! What is wrong with you? You’re an animal!’

  Perry couldn’t bear it, heat returned into his swimming eyes, tears stinging and running hot paths down his frozen cheeks. She had chosen. It wasn’t possible, after everything he’d been through for her. He stuffed his hands under his armpits, cradling himself for warmth. He turned, desolate, bloodied and bruised, and limped alone down the wharf.

  44

  Perry spent the next three days recovering at the inn, replaying the evening by the wharf over and over in his mind. One moment wishing he had let Joel die, the next believing he’d done the right thing. He tended to his cuts as best he could and he kept the swelling at bay with a cold rag. But there was nothing he could do to abate the pain of Eva’s decision.

  He had to leave as soon as he could. He could not bear to see her with Joel nor accept that she would never be his own. Distance and time. Was that all he could hope for now? New York was no longer a fanciful notion; it was all he could grasp on to.

  On the fourth day, the sky was clear and the sun shone. Perry’s bruise above his eye was an ugly yellow knot ringed with violet, still tender to the touch. He dressed in his overcoat and a cap and headed out. He kept his eyes to the ground, not wanting to look around in case he saw them. He hired a driver near the station and kept his eyes on the carriage floor until they were well outside Southampton.

  Daffodils bloomed bright as the sun at the churchyard in Eastleigh. Through the scattering of bean-pole crosses, Samu
el Scrimshaw’s new headstone stood proud. Perry smiled when he saw it, the first smile he’d managed in days. He tended to the area around the grave, pulling out weeds with his hand until the space looked tidy and even.

  ‘Not quite as good a gardener as you I bet,’ Perry said and smoothed his hand over the stone.

  Samuel Scrimshaw

  1851 - 1892

  Master Gardener,

  Guddler & Father

  He knelt and said a prayer for his father and his mother, hoping they were together now, watching over him from heaven. A light breeze whispered amongst the leaves, swaying the long grass in the graveyard.

  ‘I’m going to make something of myself Pa,’ he promised. ‘I’ll make you and Ma proud, you see that I don’t.’

  Back in Southampton, there was nobody left to say goodbye to and though he was paid up until the end of the week he wanted to put as much space between himself and the port as quickly as he could. He had soup and bread at Mrs Drew’s café and then headed down to the ticket offices. There were still plenty of spare tickets on the Inman Line’s sailing on the SS City of New York that very afternoon. The only thing that could make him more miserable was spending ten days cooped up in Steerage, so he indulged in a Second Class ticket.

  Perry returned to the lodging house and informed the landlady he would be leaving that afternoon for New York and no, it was fine, she could keep the money for the rest of the week and rent the room out to someone else if she wished. He folded up his few effects in the valise and wondered if he’d ever own enough things to warrant a bigger suitcase. If the first seventeen years were anything to go by, then probably not, but for now it suited him alright.

  At embarkation, Perry queued amongst the hopeful families and young men. They were all abuzz with hopes and dreams of America and he felt lost among their smiles and excited chatter. All he wanted was to get lost somewhere new and try to forget her. New York was as good as anywhere in that regard, its only advantage was the safety net of some work with Mr Roebuck if he needed it. He was done with having hopes and dreams.