Read Online The Boatmaker by John Benditt - Free Book Online

he is surprised to see a customer.
    â€œYou too?” he says, letting the tray fall to his side, where it makes a wet spot on the nightshirt. The boatmaker nods.
    The man retreats into the door of the inn. A little while later he comes back with another drink. He sets the drink in front of the boatmaker and then stands motionless, waiting.
    The boatmaker looks at him, not immediately understanding. On Small Island, there is no need to pay for anything when it arrives. Everything that is delivered has its place in a specific account. These running accounts stretch back over generations, connecting everyone on the island, laid over ties of blood, marriage, death and history. Occasionally someone will come into moneythrough gambling or an inheritance and make a debt smaller. It is not considered right to eliminate the debt altogether: that would break a bond.
    Understanding that on Big Island things are done differently, the boatmaker rises and goes around the corner of the inn, watched closely by two pairs of eyes. Out of sight, he reaches under his shirt into the sealskin bag and pulls a bill out by touch. He brings it back, sits down and puts the banknote on the table. It is pale blue, enough for many drinks, even if two people are drinking.
    The woman of the town sits watching, spinning her matchbox round and round. She looks up at the innkeeper, nods with her eyes. The innkeeper picks up the blue banknote, leaves the drink and vanishes into the inn.
    The woman takes in the strange little man’s discomfort, her eyes alive, her mouth a red smile on the glass. She lowers her glass, puts a forefinger into it, stirs the liquid slowly. Its motion amuses her. She decides that on her husband’s next trip she will have him bring her a glass of water cooled by some ice from the precious store in the cellar.
    â€œYou’re not from around here,” she says, crushing the red end of her cigarette out in a saucer while thinking about the next one.
    The boatmaker can’t say anything. The noon heat, the woman of the town, his arrival on Big Island after four daysat sea, have rendered him dumb. He dips into the drink, his first in many months, knowing what’s coming, feeling the burn in his nose and throat as fumes rise up to his brain. As always, the drink seems to know him by name.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd where are you from, my friend of not too many words?”
    â€œSmall Island.”
    â€œSmall Island. Now isn’t that something? ” A smile pulls at the red corners of her mouth. “You don’t see many here from Small Island. More from the Mainland. Rich folks from the Mainland think Big Island is a picturesque sort of place these days.”
    The woman of the town has seen men from Small Island before; they haven’t impressed her. This silent one seems as though he might be different in some way she hasn’t figured out yet. But she will, with a little effort. Men aren’t difficult to figure out. There are only two things to keep in mind when you’re trying to understand a man. Those two items cover ninety percent of all situations. The other ten percent you figure out as you go along.
    This one, she thinks, does look the same as all the others from Small Island, which is a tiny rock at the end of the world, a very shithole. He has the grime, the overalls,the drooping mustache, the long underwear worn even in summer. They must have a depot over there that issues every man a pair of longjohns when he’s born. After that, they grow with him, never needing to be washed—until the funeral maybe. He’s got a little stash of money on him that he doesn’t want anyone to see. Funny the way he went around the corner to get into it.
    He doesn’t seem too bright, possibly even stupid. But there is something alive about him, like a healthy animal. The image of a seal comes to her mind, its fur smooth, wet and flashing. There aren’t many seals left in the