Regan Wolfrom - Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

“I like to think that this village once belonged to the Children of Raven,” Paul said. “But I’ve got nothing to back that up. You know… besides Edgar.”

“I’m pretty sure the clans lived together,” Darrel said.

“The moieties live together now, but in the beginning each lived apart. My clan is one of the Raven clans.”

“Good for you, Paul. Good for you.”

“Well I think it’s pretty interesting,” I said.

“I think I’m gonna head back for another dip,” Breccan said. “All this testosterone is making me dizzy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jon said, with a yawn for good measure.

She and Jon started back to the beach, and Darrel followed behind.

“You’re going, too?” Paul asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Got anything else to tell me?”

“Not much about that village.”

“You can tell me about being a mortgage broker. Just… uh… try to make it dazzling.”

He laughed.

I heard Edgar cawing overhead.

“I’m sorry about before,” I said.

“What was before? Don’t tell me you’re the one who brought us syphilis.”

I hadn’t expected that.

“People don’t really get what this nation is about,” he said. “I’d say there’s at least one guy every week who asks me about teepees.”

“Well, Darrel should know better.”

“He was trying to impress you.” He paused and clicked his tongue. “Uh… I’ve been trying to impress you, too.”

“I’m easy to impress. I find common household implements to be fascinating.”

“If you like that, you’ll love my take on reconveyance fees.”

Edgar cawed again.

“He’s pretty opinionated,” I said, nodding upward.

“He likes you.”

“Who doesn’t? Obviously I remind him of one of his exes.”

Paul didn’t laugh at that.

I realized that I’d sounded a little bit like Breccan.

“It’s pretty cool that you’re out here,” I said to him. “Sometimes I wish I had more of a connection to my roots.”

“You’re what, Scottish?” he asked.

“You can tell?”

“It’s the freckles. Well, that and the patch on your backpack. Clan Munro. With a little eagle and everything.”

“You mean a ferocious eagle,” I said. “A tear-your-entrails-from out-your-rear kind of eagle. And don’t you forget it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I smiled and tapped my hand against his shoulder. “A raven and an eagle,” I said. “So now do we fight or something?”

“We’re supposed to kiss.”

I could feel the blush. “Wow… you’re, uh, forward.”

He was blushing, too. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant. I mean… a member of a Raven clan was supposed to marry a member of an Eagle clan.”

“Oh, okay… now I don’t think you’re easy.”

“Thanks.” He looked away. “Thanks for listening to me drone on about this place.” He turned back to look right into my eyes, almost like he was forcing himself to do it. Not exactly a compliment.

“It was nice,” I said. “I liked it.”

“I really enjoyed this,” he said. He seemed shy all of a sudden.

I knew what to do. “We should meet up back in the city,” I said. “You know… get to know the girl outside beyond the shower singalongs.”

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

I pulled out my phone and he gave me his number.

“I won’t have it back on until I get home,” he said. “Cell phones aren’t very Watchman-like.”

I nodded. “I should get back to the beach,” I said.

For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. But it didn’t happen. But that was okay; he gave my hand a little squeeze instead.

And Edgar cawed. Like he’d been watching us.

I guess he had been watching us.

“Ravens are smarter than we give them credit for,” Paul said. “They’re really good at taking things that don’t belong to them.” He pointed up to the sky. “You stay away from this one, Edgar.”

“You’re a little territorial,” I said.

“With Edgar I have to be. I had a friend drop off a huge bucket of fresh blackberries last week. They started disappearing and I blamed the other watchmen. Then one night I caught Edgar in the kitchen, eating away. He’d managed to figure out how to open the door of the cabin just so he could steal my berries.”

“That makes him smarter than most of my friends,” I said.

He smiled and gave my hand another squeeze.

Paul walked me back to the beach and I dipped my legs in the pool, and after another twenty minutes or so I was back on board with Breccan and the guys. The sun was going to set soon, so we didn’t go too much farther south before we found a place to anchor for the night.

I fell asleep wondering if Paul would’ve seemed so interesting dressed in khakis and a pop out collar on Robson Street.

MONDAY

WE FINALLYsaid goodbye to Haida Gwaii just as the sun was setting on the Pacific; Darrel slowed us down to watch the orange and purple against the twin tree-wrapped crags of Cape St. James. I still don’t think he’s qualified to be a captain, but at least he knows how to appreciate the beauty in things.

Once it was dark, Breccan and I sat down in the salon while Darrel and Jon stayed up in the cockpit. We’d finally run dry of Granville Island Lager, but Breccan had brought along some rum and Sprite and a little bottle of lime juice, and once we mixed in a tiny bit of toothpaste it didn’t taste that far off from a mojito.

Breccan was across from me, picking her teeth with one hand and spinning her empty glass around the white melamine table with the other.

“I think Jon is learning to hate sailing,” Breccan said.

“Jon hated sailing before he’d climbed aboard,” I said. “He’s just here because you are.”

“That’s… creepy?”

“I’d call it romantic.”

Not that I wasn’t glad he was hitting on her instead of me.

Eleven days out of Horseshoe Bay, more than half that time locked together on a 41-foot ketch. And Jon still hadn’t taken the hint.

“I’m sure Jon’s a great guy,” Breccan said. “He’s just not my kind of guy, you know?”

“I know.”

“He’s a clown. I don’t really want a clown. I want a guy who’s like a man’s man. Nice clothes… good body… so, not Jon.”

“Ouch.”

“I like what I like. Don’t get all judgemental on me, Steph.”

I heard Darrel calling down to us. “You’ll want to see this,” he said.

Breccan and I headed up the stairs to the cockpit.

“They’d better not be naked,” I said.

It was hard to see much up top, even with a half-moon reflecting on the waves.

“Do you see them?” Darrel asked, pointing out into the black.

“Man-eating squid?” I asked with a smirk.

“Humpbacks. Four of five, I think.”

“Now they show up,” Breccan said. “And in the middle of the night so we can barely make them out.”

I wasn’t sure what she was whining about; last week we’d seen enough orcas in Johnstone Strait to fill an oil tanker.

“Just listen,” Darrel said. “And give your eyes some time to adjust to the dark.”

I could hear the splashes, whales on the water or whatever; for some reason I’d been expecting to hear some kind of whale song. That’s stupid, I guess, since I was standing on a boat and not dunking my head in the Pacific Ocean.

“I need another drink,” Breccan said. She looked over at me like she expected me to make a similar pronouncement.

I shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and went down to the salon.

“Is she drunk?” Darrel asked.