John Casey - Spartina

“Well, don’t show up the week after Labor Day,” the owner said. “That’s when all them yachts come out. In the spring it’s all spread out. Anywhere from Memorial Day to July. Fall, they all want it the same time.”

Dick dropped by to see Joxer Goode at the crab plant. Still not buying crabs. But Joxer had financed the new freezer system, got a new investor, though he didn’t have a dime to spare. Joxer said, “Will you come by when you get your boat finished?” Dick said sure. Joxer’s tone was one Dick hadn’t heard. They were equals, but it was based on Joxer’s bad luck, not on any gains Dick had made.

Dick stopped by Schuyler’s new cottage, found Marie sunning herself in a lawn chair on the wharf that stuck out into the creek. Dick could smell the coconut oil ten feet away. Marie said that the phone company hadn’t put the phone in, so she hadn’t heard from Schuyler. “And I can’t call anyone to come do anything about the house. There isn’t a single thing I can do. It’s sort of delicious.”

Charlie and Tom went by in Dick’s skiff. Charlie slowed down, waved, headed toward the cut. Marie raised her head, Tom waved. The wake, which had rolled up the bank under the wharf, slid back out.

Marie said, “Your friend Parker isn’t back, is he?”

Dick said, “No. Not that I know.”

Everything he saw was part of his familiar life, except where he stood. And the part of himself that was heading for Elsie’s. Every time he talked to someone he felt odder and odder. The yard owner, Joxer, Marie. How odd it must look to Charlie and Tom to see him there. He should have been in the skiff. How odd to see his skiff, when for years he’d been in it, turning his head to look at the point.

Marie slid her sunglasses up her nose with one finger and began to read again. Dick said goodbye. She turned her face toward him, her lips moved silently, “Bye-bye.”

Dick decided he’d better take Mamzelle out on his own. He’d take Keith college-boy and Charlie. Parker would still get the boat’s share. No sense in letting everything stay idle. The weather was good, would hold for a few days.

Dick went home. May was in the garden. He went past her to look at his boat. As he pulled back the plastic sheet from the doorway May said, “The Buttrick girl was here. She said you wouldn’t mind her taking pictures of your boat.”

Dick didn’t say anything. May said, “I let her, I didn’t know. Is that all right?”

Dick said, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Have you thought of asking her to lend you some money?” May said. “I hear Joxer Goode’s still shut down, so you can’t look to him. I know you won’t ask Miss Perry, but you could ask the Buttrick girl. The Buttricks just sold their whole lot to the development. And God knows they bought it cheap enough.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Still … It ought to be on their mind, now they’ve made such a profit.”

Dick said, “If Parker shows up, tell him I’ve taken his boat out. I can’t wait around.”

“You going to ask the Buttrick girl?”

“If I decide to.”

May looked at him so long he felt alarmed. She said, “You’ve worked so hard, I hate to see you give up now.”

“I’m not giving up. Jesus, woman! I’m going out.”

“I never thought I’d have to tell you to do something about the boat. It’s been—”

“Then don’t tell me. Don’t tell me what to do with the boat. I told you already, if I don’t get her in the water by September, I’ll sell her as is and get a regular job. You’ll be satisfied one way or the other.”

May sighed. “It’s true I couldn’t stand another winter like last one. And the one before, and before that. It’s not just the lack of money, it’s the way you are on account of it. On account of the lack of your boat. The boys and me get to feel every bit of what you feel about banks, the price of lumber, anything that goes wrong. So if you don’t raise the money, if you sell the boat, the rest of us won’t be any better off. You say I’ll be satisfied one way or the other. I’m saying you’ll be sour one way or other. The only way you won’t be sour is if you finally get your boat in the water. You won’t get the money quick enough putting out to sea. It may suit you better to get knocked around some by salt water, but the plain truth is you’ve got to do it the way everyone else does it — get your nerve up and go ask.”

Dick said, “I’m not going to talk about it with you. What do you think Joxer Goode was here for? I went and cooked for him, I went and waited on his friends to get him over here to look at my boat. I asked him, I damn near pleaded with him. Were you blind that day? Deaf? Have you been blind all summer? This whole summer I’ve been making money. I poached those clams, and you complained. I did that clambake, and you said I worked the boys too hard. I’ve gone out with Parker and stuck swordfish and brought back more than four thousand dollars, and you complain about Parker. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’ve done all that,” May said, “and I know it’s not enough. And I know you haven’t asked Miss Perry, I know you haven’t asked the Buttricks. So don’t tell me you’ll sell the boat, don’t tell me you’ll cut off your arm. Just don’t you come in all next winter and make the house stink with your moods. Not unless you’ve gone round and—”

“And begged—” Dick said.

“No,” May said, “you just tell them how you figure to make money, how they’ll get their money back. But if it does come to begging, I’d rather you begged and hurt from begging than have you sit around oozing poison for another year. I won’t live like that. It may be the only way you can drive yourself as hard as you do, but I can’t let you put me and the boys through it. So you go ask.”

Dick knew enough not to get mad. What May said wasn’t just her nagging. It was a well-seasoned bitter complaint. In the end what May said was hard but true. It wasn’t worth arguing over the details. About the boat, she had him pretty well pegged.

May sat down on an upside-down washtub. She put her arms across her knees, her head on her arms. She didn’t cry. After a bit she got up and went back to hoeing the weeds out.

Dick had no exhaustion to match hers, not this week. No salt of work. He felt rotten with his secret sweet.

May stopped hoeing and looked at him. He said flatly, “I’m thinking about it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

May looked like winter. Not bright-blue winter but drizzling, tired winter. On this summer day, the sun still above the trees, May in the middle of her bell peppers and summer squash, in front of the square of tasseling sweet corn, she was the only thing that hadn’t absorbed the summer, that hadn’t flourished.

Dick felt the justice of the claim she made. He felt it the more since she spoke from the middle of bleakness. But he doubted he could bring himself to ask Miss Perry. He could hope Parker would get back. But even if Parker paid up, he’d be short.

He felt the embarrassment and danger of his next thought before he fully knew what it was — May wanted him to go see Elsie. Dick saw himself coming back late, May stirring in bed, himself saying, “I did what you asked, I went over to see the Buttrick girl.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Go all the way, Dickey-boy. Be a player.

Dick wondered if it was in any way possible that he could have been pushed into asking Elsie if he and Elsie hadn’t started up.… It didn’t matter, there was no way, not after what he’d been up to.

Dick now couldn’t wait to get out to sea. “This next run’ll be a short one,” he said. “I’ll be careful with Charlie, you needn’t worry. The weather’s good. There’s nothing can hurt us in summer.”