Read Online Ghost Sea: A Novel (Dugger/Nello Series) by Ferenc Máté - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ferenc Máté
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we sail?”
“The tide turns at noon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“It’s life and death.”
He thought about it and sucked the cold stub more. “I must be nuts,” he said. And turned and walked away. But before he took three strides he came back. “What kind of a mess are you getting me into? You didn’t get all that money in advance for honest work.”
I told him the story. Most of it: Hopkins, the Kwakiutl, Hay, his wife, without mentioning a word about her and me.
“You want me to hunt down one of my own tribe?” he said in disbelief.
“Nobody’s hunting anybody. The man just wants his wife back.”
“And the masks.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the masks.”
“Just you and me and the Chinaman.”
“And her husband.”
“Poor bastard,” he said. “Must be going through hell. Unless she’s ugly and stupid.”
“She’s not.”
Nello went quiet on me.
“What’s the matter?”
“How long you known her?”
“A bit.”
“Since July?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I remember. July. This is the one you taught how to sail, right? Jesus Christ. You haven’t stopped talking about her since!”
“That was someone else. The Welsh girl from the alley. The one who knit your sweater. This cold rich bitch would be the last on my list, believe me.”
He didn’t and he said so.
“You think I’d be stupid enough to take the husband along if it were her?”
“You’d take the devil if he paid you!”
“She’s lifeless and cold.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“ Ficca fredda , my nonno used to say. Cold cunt.”
“That’s her.”
“Thank God. For a minute I thought…. But even you wouldn’t sink so low as to drag me into such a mess.”
KATE
The Nights
The nights are long and the night winds sharp, but I lie in the bottom of the canoe, keep out of the wind, and I wrap myself double in blankets over my pajamas. Very stylish; apricot silk with rotten gray blanket. So I’m all right. The canoe is old and it stinks of dead fish or dead something, but it’s safe and with the blankets I’m warm. I’m all right.
We move all night. And all night I lie there, not sleeping much. Just lie there looking at the stars. I never knew, never even dreamt there could be so many. Layers and layers. You can see them if you look long enough. So dense there’s no darkness in between them. The whole sky. All my stars. I know a lot of them by now: their brightness, their names. I don’t mean the names in the books, I never did learn those, didn’t mean a damn to me—I mean, what exactly is an O’Ryan’s Belt? A triple shot of Irish whiskey? So I named them all myself: Uncle Harry, bright and smiley; Fat Joey Miller, kind of lumpy; Mary McLean, because sometimes she’d show up and other times she’d be hard to find. And Dull Sue. Dull but reliable. And that means a lot in this stinking world. She was reliable and very nice, once you got to know her. But few people ever bothered to take the time. George didn’t. He was busy traveling; collecting things. And did he ever get to know me? Though I was right there, traveling with him. Did he ever know even one of my fears? Or my smallest secret?
Oh, well. Dull Sue sure was reliable.
7
C HOW’S D EBT
H eaven took my wife. Now it
Has also taken my son.
My eyes are not allowed a
Dry season. It is too much
For my heart. I long for death….
Once gone, life
Is over for good. My chest
Tightens against me. I have
No one to turn to. Nothing,
Not even a shadow in a mirror.
—M EI Y AO-CH’EN (1002-1060)
I had once done Mr. Chow a favor.
One morning, I was loading the ketch with empty herring cans at Ballantine Pier destined for a family cannery in Sooke, a quiet hole on Vancouver Island where the strait empties into the ocean. They were lowering baled cans through the skylight—down below she was still empty; just the bunk and a woodstove—when Nello yelled out to come up and have a look. From seaward
“The tide turns at noon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“It’s life and death.”
He thought about it and sucked the cold stub more. “I must be nuts,” he said. And turned and walked away. But before he took three strides he came back. “What kind of a mess are you getting me into? You didn’t get all that money in advance for honest work.”
I told him the story. Most of it: Hopkins, the Kwakiutl, Hay, his wife, without mentioning a word about her and me.
“You want me to hunt down one of my own tribe?” he said in disbelief.
“Nobody’s hunting anybody. The man just wants his wife back.”
“And the masks.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the masks.”
“Just you and me and the Chinaman.”
“And her husband.”
“Poor bastard,” he said. “Must be going through hell. Unless she’s ugly and stupid.”
“She’s not.”
Nello went quiet on me.
“What’s the matter?”
“How long you known her?”
“A bit.”
“Since July?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I remember. July. This is the one you taught how to sail, right? Jesus Christ. You haven’t stopped talking about her since!”
“That was someone else. The Welsh girl from the alley. The one who knit your sweater. This cold rich bitch would be the last on my list, believe me.”
He didn’t and he said so.
“You think I’d be stupid enough to take the husband along if it were her?”
“You’d take the devil if he paid you!”
“She’s lifeless and cold.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“ Ficca fredda , my nonno used to say. Cold cunt.”
“That’s her.”
“Thank God. For a minute I thought…. But even you wouldn’t sink so low as to drag me into such a mess.”
KATE
The Nights
The nights are long and the night winds sharp, but I lie in the bottom of the canoe, keep out of the wind, and I wrap myself double in blankets over my pajamas. Very stylish; apricot silk with rotten gray blanket. So I’m all right. The canoe is old and it stinks of dead fish or dead something, but it’s safe and with the blankets I’m warm. I’m all right.
We move all night. And all night I lie there, not sleeping much. Just lie there looking at the stars. I never knew, never even dreamt there could be so many. Layers and layers. You can see them if you look long enough. So dense there’s no darkness in between them. The whole sky. All my stars. I know a lot of them by now: their brightness, their names. I don’t mean the names in the books, I never did learn those, didn’t mean a damn to me—I mean, what exactly is an O’Ryan’s Belt? A triple shot of Irish whiskey? So I named them all myself: Uncle Harry, bright and smiley; Fat Joey Miller, kind of lumpy; Mary McLean, because sometimes she’d show up and other times she’d be hard to find. And Dull Sue. Dull but reliable. And that means a lot in this stinking world. She was reliable and very nice, once you got to know her. But few people ever bothered to take the time. George didn’t. He was busy traveling; collecting things. And did he ever get to know me? Though I was right there, traveling with him. Did he ever know even one of my fears? Or my smallest secret?
Oh, well. Dull Sue sure was reliable.
7
C HOW’S D EBT
H eaven took my wife. Now it
Has also taken my son.
My eyes are not allowed a
Dry season. It is too much
For my heart. I long for death….
Once gone, life
Is over for good. My chest
Tightens against me. I have
No one to turn to. Nothing,
Not even a shadow in a mirror.
—M EI Y AO-CH’EN (1002-1060)
I had once done Mr. Chow a favor.
One morning, I was loading the ketch with empty herring cans at Ballantine Pier destined for a family cannery in Sooke, a quiet hole on Vancouver Island where the strait empties into the ocean. They were lowering baled cans through the skylight—down below she was still empty; just the bunk and a woodstove—when Nello yelled out to come up and have a look. From seaward
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