Daniel Gumbiner - The Boatbuilder

He walked back to the cubby and popped the pills. It was going to be a good day. It was Saturday in America and he and Alejandro were heading to the Oysters game. Alejandro was a big Oysters fan, it turned out. When he learned that Berg had been given tickets to a game, he was thrilled.

“Walt gave those to you? Oh, they should be great seats then,” he said.

The Oysters, Alejandro explained on the way over, were one of the first teams incorporated into the Far West Division in 1941. Their biggest rivals were, and always had been, the Visalia Rawhide, who, between 1994 and 2009, had been known as the Oaks, but who had recently reverted to their old name after a series of fan surveys and polls. Oysters fans, however, continued to call them the Oaks and Ted Young, owner of Young’s Market and arguably the most diehard Oysters fan in Talinas, continued to build a small bonfire of oak branches in front of the stadium before every game versus Visalia, despite repeated requests from the team to cease doing so.

Their seats were on the third-base side and only ten rows away from the field. They found themselves sitting next to Gene Abbott, whom Alejandro introduced to Berg as a mechanic and an “excellent chess player.” Gene told Alejandro and Berg that he’d bought the gas station up by the Plains a few months ago.

“I hired Treehouse John to run it,” he said.

“I’ve always liked John,” Alejandro said.

“That’s the thing. I told him, ‘Look John, everyone likes you. Everyone’s rooting for you. If you get the drinking under control, I don’t see why we can’t work together.’ And he’s doing great. Haven’t had any problems. Sometimes his stories get a little tiresome. The other day, for example, he was explaining about why he grew a beard. I said, ‘Look John, I don’t need to know all the details about your beard.’ I mean, it was a long story. Twists and turns and twists and turns.” Gene threw his hands in the air. “I just… I mean… who’s got the time? It’s a man’s beard.”

The first inning was an unequivocal disaster for the Oysters, who were facing off against Bakersfield that day. Talinas gave up eight runs and had to pull their starting pitcher before he had recorded two outs. Jim Honeywell entered the game as pitcher and forced Bakersfield to ground into a double play to end the inning.

“And with that 6-4-3 double play,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker, “the first inning mercifully comes to a close. My gosh. There’s just… My gosh. Not a lot to say. Top of the order coming up for the Oysters.”

“I like that Honeywell,” Gene said to Alejandro. “Good instinct.”

The Oysters strung together a few hits in the fourth and Jim Honeywell kept Bakersfield at bay, but by the seventh inning the score was nine to two. People had begun to file out of the stadium. During the seventh-inning stretch, an old man walked onto the field with a cane. He was accompanied by a middle-aged man with a ponytail.

“And now,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker. “Please direct your attention toward home plate for another edition of Meet the Candidates, sponsored by Todd’s Fish and Tackle. Bring your Oysters ticket into Todd’s to receive a discounted copy of Todd’s Advanced Finesse in Fly Fishing manual. Today, we’d like to welcome Samuel Freisinger, independent candidate for District 4 Assemblyman, and his aide, Rudy Johnson.”

Samuel tapped the mic. “Is it on?” he said. “Okay. Here’s the thing. Is it on? Okay. Starting over. There’s a lot of problems in Talinas. Lots of them. We need a revolution. Declare Talinas a nuclear-free zone. Pardon Edward Snowden. Open relations with Venezuela… What’s the… I’m missing one…”

“Put Bush on trial,” Rudy said.

“That’s right,” Samuel continued. “Put George W. Bush on trial for war crimes. Free Tibet. Elect the Grateful Dead to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, if they have not already been elected by the time I assume office. Encourage vegetarianism. Stop chemtrails. Those are our platforms. We want you to turn out this November. We need your vote. My name is Samuel Freisinger. Please visit my website at SamuelFresinger.blogspot.com, where I elaborate on my positions. We cannot wait any longer. Our time is now. Thank you.”

There was a light smattering of applause throughout the stadium. Samuel walked over to the dugout, where he donned an Oysters hat and waved to the crowd.

The Oysters gave up two more runs and did not score any themselves. By the eighth inning, the announcer could barely conceal his disappointment.

“A swing and a miss from Ricky Rogers,” he said. “And the strikeouts for the Oysters continue to mount. Fourteen strikeouts on the day. And you just have to wonder what… oh whatever, here’s Davey Knittles to the plate with two down and no one on.”

It was around 3 p.m. when they left. The sun was high in the sky and the air smelled like caramel corn and hot dogs. As Berg and Alejandro walked through the parking lot, they discussed their plans for the rest of the day. Maybe they would go swimming at Jensen Beach or take out the Contos. And then they saw Lammy approaching them. She was wearing a shawl and large, circular earrings that looked like dream catchers.

“Lammy,” Alejandro said. “Good to see you.”

“I’ve got bad news,” she said.

“Oh no.”

“Pat’s been arrested,” she said.

“Oh no.”

“In San Diego. All three of them were apprehended.”

“What about JC?”

“He’s gone. He left for Mexico last night. I don’t know where exactly. He didn’t want me to know.”

She seemed like she might cry.

“Are you safe?” Alejandro asked.

“I’m going to my mother’s in Sacramento. I’ll be fine there.”

“Do we need to go somewhere?”

“No, you should be okay,” she said. “You know what to say if anyone asks about the boats.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I’ve got to go, Ale.”

“Okay, take care, Lammy,” he said.

On the ride home Alejandro ranted about JC. He’d been cutting corners for years now, he said, trying to expand too quickly. All the success had gone to his head and he thought he was invincible and now he’d endangered all of them. His kids, Lammy, Pat and his crew, not to mention Alejandro’s own shop and family.

“Can you get by without his commissions?” Berg asked.

“It’s possible,” he said. “We have before. It’s a lot more difficult. But frankly that’s the last of my worries right now. I just hope I don’t end up on trial.”

AS LAMMY PREDICTED, THE police did not come for Alejandro. Still, most days, he refused to leave the farm. He didn’t want to run into anyone in town and be forced to answer questions about JC and Pat. Uffa thought he was being paranoid but Berg didn’t find it unreasonable. Rumor of Pat’s apprehension had spread throughout the town and everyone was talking about it.

Holed up on the farm, Alejandro spent most days putzing around, helping Rebecca in the fields and baking bread with Marie. All work on JC’s sloop came to a halt and, as a result, Uffa decided to take a trip in the bus with Demeter. They wanted to go visit the warehouse in Oakland and then head through the Southwest.

“I’ve got some survival tickets stored up,” he said. “Time to hit the road.”

Berg, for his part, began picking up more shifts at Fernwood. There were a lot of charters happening and Garrett was eager to have him back. Unsurprisingly, Garrett and Simon were obsessed with the details of Pat’s arrest. Both of them seemed to think Berg knew more than he was letting on, and they pressed him for information.