Read Online Sylvanus Now by Donna Morrissey - Free Book Online Page A

when he spoke, and he smelled clean—of soap. And he lived only with a mother, no youngsters. For that reason alone she agreed to go visit Cooney Arm. She walked the muddied road with him, skirting an ornery baa-aa-ing ram and wincing at the plink, plink, plink of a dozen different axes splitting their way through piles of firewood that rose like giant yellow beehives beside each doorway in Ragged Rock.
    “This way,” she said, leading him off the path and cutting across a weed-choked garden to where the flakes had once stood. In keeping with the governing fathers’ instructions, the merchants had, indeed, burned the flakes, making room for the new fish plant and the new government wharf built alongside it. Dismal, the plant looked, with its long, low roof and little porthole windows dotted along its wooden sides. And not a whole lot different from the flakes, thought Adelaide, noting how half of it extended out over the water on stilts. Bobbing and creaking alongside the wharf was a fifty-foot longliner, its winches and anchors all brownish with a rust that had bled profusely over time, streaking the scaling, yellowed paint covering its forecastle and smokestack.
    “The new longliner,” she said with a hint of humour. “Ever fish on one?” she asked as he peered more closely at the automated shooting machine that sent a hundred feet of line with dozens of baited hooks interspersed along it out into the sea. He quickly shook his head, sizing up the vertical winch that would automatically haul back the line, leaving the fishermen the tedious job of unhooking the three to four thousand pounds of fish it would catch daily, and then rebaiting the hooks before shooting it back out into the water again.
    “Not my way of fishing,” he staunchly replied. “I’d rather be the master of my own boat. Good thing for women, though, I suppose—the plant and everything. Lot better than working on the flakes in the rain and all. And the money, for sure they’ll like that, making more money.” He turned to her, settling into a smile. “Guess there’ll be lots of fancy dresses and hats being bought with all that money rolling in.”
    She glanced caustically at his suit. “Looks like you got the jump on us, there.”
    “Yeah, well,” and he grinned, sheepishly, “gets lots of wear, this suit do. Been a godfather thrice, and best man twice—pallbearer twice, too.” He nodded, fingering his lapel. “Yup, gets lots of wear, this suit do.”
    “Surprise you finds time for visiting.”
    “Oh, I don’t do any of it. Truthfully speaking, I don’t like crowds much, so I just lends them the suit.”
    “You lends them your suit.” She eyed him questioningly. “You’re asked to be best man because you owns a suit.”
    He nodded, face serious, eyes intent. “Not many bothers with buying a suit in Cooney Arm. I dare say it got me a walk with you today, as well—or would you rather me knocking on your door in oilskins?” The eyes crinkled. He was grinning.
    Not knowing if it was at himself or her, she gave him a cool stare and carried on walking. “You tied on there?” she asked stiffly, pointing to a few boats at the end of the wharf.
    “No. Over here.” He pointed to the quay over by a fish store, a bit farther along.
    She cut through another abandoned yard, picking her way across trampled beds and muddied trenches. He remained quiet, following as she stepped carefully over a knocked-down fence, rotting into the ground.
    “Seems like good land,” he said. “How come nobody’s growing here?”
    She shrugged. “Some left off gardening last year when they heard of the new plant coming.”
    “Don’t seem wise to me, letting your gardens go.”
    “Why not? Not much time for hoeing and planting if you’re working on the flakes or in a plant all day long.”
    “That’s something you makes time for, gardening. What happens if you gets a bad year fishing?”
    “Not supposed to, with the plants. Not like you needs