cutting Osmondâs traps.
Whyâs it spooky, Bill? I heard he can dream things. Erma Lee lowered her voice and her head lowered at the same time so she looked at Bill through the tops of her eyes. She spread her hands across her cheeks like a child hiding behind them and said, His eyes get moving when he dreams and when he wakes up he knows everything we do.
Dreams things? He dream up the things you and me do? He dream that thing we done in the truck the other night? He dream that?
She hit him on the chest. Ainât nobody knows about that, Bill. Just you and me.
Thatâs right, excepting Osmond who dreamt about Erma Lee Carver doing that. His eyes wouldâve been moving like a tilt-a-whirl at the fair he dreamt that.
Erma Lee glared at him.
Hell, heâd want you for his own if he dreamt you doing them things you done with me.
That ainât funny at all, Bill. Not one bit. Thereâs a line youâre crossing and Iâm not taking any of your bullshit. Just like Celeste said.
My bullshit?
Erma Lee nodded.
Bill thought it over and nodded and said, Fine.
⢠⢠â¢
The air was thick with salt and seaweed. A cold breeze blew across the harbor and the wharf light bounced on the ripples. The moon had yet to rise and the sky was black but shot with stars. They drove in silence past Virgilâs house and past Jonahâs trailer and down the rough pound road and parked in front of the building. They could see the dark mouth of the harbor on their right and the open ocean out beyond the Burnt Island causeway.
They sat in the truck with the radio on. They held hands with their fingers spliced. The wind was increasing and gusts of air drove across the Atlantic and rose over the island and causeway. The small trees on the island swayed and the pound water stood in rips like the curl of reaching hands.
I used to feed with the old man, Bill said. I been here only a couple times since he went. I suppose I couldâve got Jonah to help feed earlier, but I didnât. I just didnât.
Erma Lee pulled her hand from his and placed it on his thigh and squeezed. Iâm sorry about your dad, Bill. I know you two was best friends too.
Bill rocked his head from side to side. The pound was dark but in the distance he could see the open shining gut of sea. It wasnât far across. Just through the mouth of the Bay of Fundy and there was Nova Scotia. On certain days when he was far offshore he could see a cloudbank hovering over Nova Scotia and sometimes the ocean wasnât that big.
Bill blinked. He remembered what they were there for. They got out of the truck and Erma Lee stood above the black pound water while Bill slid the pound house door open. The room smelled pungent and sweet like salt cod. He flipped a breaker and a series of overhead lights turned on. The building was twenty by forty and stuffed full of plastic fish trays holding 100 pounds each of cod racks. The racks were all that remained of the fish after being processed for fillets in the Canadian fish houses and they were dried and salted like jerky. Bill flicked a breaker and the floodlights outside illuminated the driveway and water and dam. Erma Lee stepped inside as he slid a side door open and they both looked across the pound water.
You ever been in love before, Bill? Before me I mean?
Bill took a steel rod with a handle on one end and a hook on the other from the wall and hooked a blue fish tray and dragged it loud and scratching across the dry concrete floor and out the door to the ledge above the pound. The tide was down and it was a fifteen-foot drop to the feed scow. The scow was an eight-foot-by-eight-foot raft with an outboard motor bolted to the stern. He tipped the tray over the edge and dumped the fish racks. The scow bucked and settled. He went for another tray.
Bill? I asked you something.
I know it, he said. He slid a tray from a stack six high and he hooked it and dragged it across the floor.
Whyâs it spooky, Bill? I heard he can dream things. Erma Lee lowered her voice and her head lowered at the same time so she looked at Bill through the tops of her eyes. She spread her hands across her cheeks like a child hiding behind them and said, His eyes get moving when he dreams and when he wakes up he knows everything we do.
Dreams things? He dream up the things you and me do? He dream that thing we done in the truck the other night? He dream that?
She hit him on the chest. Ainât nobody knows about that, Bill. Just you and me.
Thatâs right, excepting Osmond who dreamt about Erma Lee Carver doing that. His eyes wouldâve been moving like a tilt-a-whirl at the fair he dreamt that.
Erma Lee glared at him.
Hell, heâd want you for his own if he dreamt you doing them things you done with me.
That ainât funny at all, Bill. Not one bit. Thereâs a line youâre crossing and Iâm not taking any of your bullshit. Just like Celeste said.
My bullshit?
Erma Lee nodded.
Bill thought it over and nodded and said, Fine.
⢠⢠â¢
The air was thick with salt and seaweed. A cold breeze blew across the harbor and the wharf light bounced on the ripples. The moon had yet to rise and the sky was black but shot with stars. They drove in silence past Virgilâs house and past Jonahâs trailer and down the rough pound road and parked in front of the building. They could see the dark mouth of the harbor on their right and the open ocean out beyond the Burnt Island causeway.
They sat in the truck with the radio on. They held hands with their fingers spliced. The wind was increasing and gusts of air drove across the Atlantic and rose over the island and causeway. The small trees on the island swayed and the pound water stood in rips like the curl of reaching hands.
I used to feed with the old man, Bill said. I been here only a couple times since he went. I suppose I couldâve got Jonah to help feed earlier, but I didnât. I just didnât.
Erma Lee pulled her hand from his and placed it on his thigh and squeezed. Iâm sorry about your dad, Bill. I know you two was best friends too.
Bill rocked his head from side to side. The pound was dark but in the distance he could see the open shining gut of sea. It wasnât far across. Just through the mouth of the Bay of Fundy and there was Nova Scotia. On certain days when he was far offshore he could see a cloudbank hovering over Nova Scotia and sometimes the ocean wasnât that big.
Bill blinked. He remembered what they were there for. They got out of the truck and Erma Lee stood above the black pound water while Bill slid the pound house door open. The room smelled pungent and sweet like salt cod. He flipped a breaker and a series of overhead lights turned on. The building was twenty by forty and stuffed full of plastic fish trays holding 100 pounds each of cod racks. The racks were all that remained of the fish after being processed for fillets in the Canadian fish houses and they were dried and salted like jerky. Bill flicked a breaker and the floodlights outside illuminated the driveway and water and dam. Erma Lee stepped inside as he slid a side door open and they both looked across the pound water.
You ever been in love before, Bill? Before me I mean?
Bill took a steel rod with a handle on one end and a hook on the other from the wall and hooked a blue fish tray and dragged it loud and scratching across the dry concrete floor and out the door to the ledge above the pound. The tide was down and it was a fifteen-foot drop to the feed scow. The scow was an eight-foot-by-eight-foot raft with an outboard motor bolted to the stern. He tipped the tray over the edge and dumped the fish racks. The scow bucked and settled. He went for another tray.
Bill? I asked you something.
I know it, he said. He slid a tray from a stack six high and he hooked it and dragged it across the floor.
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