Giles Blunt - Forty Words for Sorrow

Eric packed the body into a duffel bag that he could sling over his shoulder, and they set off in his Windstar for Shephard's Bay where he had rented a small boat. He'd even rented fishing rods, thoroughness and foresight being just two of the qualities Edie admired in him. Eric barely crossed the street without first writing out a detailed plan of action.

The boat was a twelve-foot aluminum thing with a thirty-horsepower Evinrude clamped on the stern. Once he had started the motor, Eric was content to let Edie steer. He sat in the prow by the duffel bag, the wind ruffling the soft spikes of his hair.

The wind seemed to tear right through Edie's thin nylon jacket. And it was suddenly colder when she steered out of the bay into the expanse of Lake Nipissing. The clouds fused into a somber landscape, and before long, it became dark as evening. Edie stayed near the shore, and soon they were passing Algonquin Bay, the limestone cathedral white against the charcoal sky. The city seemed tiny from out on the lake, hardly more than a village, but Edie was suddenly afraid that someone on the shore would sense something wrong about the boat- sense something odd in the couple heading into the teeth of a storm. Then a boat would approach, and police would demand that they open the duffel bag. Edie twisted the throttle, and the waves smacked louder at the hull.

Eric pointed west, and Edie turned the motor so that the town hove round behind them. Across the whole vaporous landscape, there wasn't another boat in sight. Eric grinned and gave her the thumbs-up sign, as if she were his copilot on a bombing run.

Soon, the island took shape on the horizon, the shafthead rising into the sky like a sea monster. Edie steered toward it and lowered the throttle. Eric made a circling gesture, and Edie took them slowly round the tiny island. There was nothing else besides the mineshaft, there wasn't room. They scanned the lake for other boats, but there were none in sight.

Edie steered around a rocky point and nosed the boat in. Waves rocked them wildly, and when Eric stood up he had to clutch the gunwale, nearly pitching over the side. He jumped onto a flat rock with the rope. He pulled the boat the rest of the way onto the pebbly beach, the stones screeching against the hull.

"I don't like the look of those clouds," he said. "Let's get it done fast."

The duffel bag weighed a ton.

"God, old Katie's a dead weight, isn't she."

"Very funny," Edie said.

"You can let go, now. I've got it."

"You don't want me to help you up that slope?"

"Stay in the boat. I won't be long."

Edie watched Eric stagger up the slope with the duffel bag. Good thing no one had seen them with it: From this distance, it was obvious the bag contained a body. The girl's spine was a vivid curve inside the canvas, the bumps of her vertebrae clearly outlined. There were twin bumps where her heels strained against the fabric. There was a hard straight line where Eric had slipped the crowbar he would need to break the shafthead lock.

The first heavy raindrops falling into the boat sounded like gravel hitting a bucket. Edie huddled in her nylon jacket. Clouds flew overhead at incredible speed. The waves were frothing into whitecaps.

Eric had been gone about ten minutes when there was a loud throbbing, and a small outboard appeared at the end of the point. A boy stood up and waved at Edie. She waved back, gritting her teeth. Go away, damn you. Go away.

But the boat came purring closer. The boy clutched his windshield and shouted, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, just had a little engine trouble." The worst possible thing to say, and Edie immediately regretted it.

The boy brought his boat in closer, dead slow among the rocks. "Let me take a look for you."

"No, it's nothing. I just flooded it, that's all. And now I'm waiting for it to clear. It'll be fine. It's just flooded."

"I'll stick around, just in case."

"No, don't. You'll get soaked."

"That's all right. I'm already wet."

What if Eric came back out of the trees with the duffel bag still slung over his shoulder?

"How long ago did you try to start her up?"

"I don't know," Edie answered miserably. "Ten minutes maybe. Fifteen. It's all right. Really."

"Let me give her a pull for you." He drew alongside and gripped the aluminum gunwales, grinning. "Can't leave a damsel in distress."

"No, please. I want to give it a bit longer. It floods easily, this motor."

From beyond the boy's shoulder, Eric appeared. Seeing their visitor, he drew back among the trees.

The boy was smiling at Edie. He was a gawky adolescent, all pimples and Adam's apple. "You from in town?"

Edie nodded. "Maybe I'll try it now," she said, lurching around. She yanked at the cord, and the motor coughed blue smoke.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Eric threading his way through the trees and down to the point. Another minute and he would be directly behind the boy. Something long and black gleamed in his hand. The crowbar, slick with rain.

"Is the pressure good? Better pump up the tank there."

"What?" Edie yanked the cord. And again.

"The rod on top of the gas tank. You probably have to pump it up. Want me to do it?"

Edie grasped the pump and worked it up and down. She felt the resistance stiffen, and it began to hurt her thumb. She pulled the cord again, and this time the motor caught with a roar. She gave the boy a big grin. Eric was maybe twenty yards behind him, half-hidden among the pines. He raised the crowbar over his shoulder.

"If you want, I can ride alongside. Make sure you get home okay."

"No, thanks. I'd rather do it alone."

The boy revved his own engine a couple of times. "Don't hang around too long. Storm could get a lot worse." There was a clunk as he slipped into reverse, the waves exploding into spray over the stern. When he was pointed away from the island, he gave her a solemn wave and went throbbing off into the storm.

Edie looked over at Eric, standing like a woodsman among the trees with his crowbar on his shoulder. "Jesus Christ," she said. "I thought he'd never get out of here."

Eric waited until the boy was a white speck in the distance before jumping into the boat.

"Jesus Christ," Edie said again. "I thought I'd wet my pants."

"Would have been simple enough to bust his head open." Eric dropped the crowbar, and it hit the floor of the boat with a bang. "Lucky for him I didn't happen to be in the mood."

Thunder cracked, and spears of lightning flung themselves at the horizon.

BUMP, bump, bump.

"All right, for God's sake!"

She went upstairs.

The old woman lay festering among the pillows. The air in the room was stale and hot. The television was on, but there was no picture.

"What do you want?"

"The thingamajig's gone. It's nothing but snow."

"You called me up just for that? You know it's always in your bed."

"It isn't in the bed. I've looked all over."

Edie flounced into the room and plucked the errant remote from the floor. She aimed it at the television and pushed the button till there was a picture.

Gram snatched the remote from her. "That's French! I don't want French!"

"What do you care? You don't have the sound on anyway."

"What?"

"I said, you don't have the sound on anyway!"

"I want company, that's all. People I could talk to if I met them." As if Alex Trebek's going to stop in for tea on his way to the studio.

Edie opened the window. She refilled the water glass, plumped the pillows, brought up a Woman's Day and a Chatelaine she'd swiped from the drugstore. Oh, Eric, save me from this.

"Edie, honey?" The wheedling tone was nauseating.

"I don't have time. Eric's coming over."

"Please, sweetie-peetie-pie? For your old Gram-Gram?"