Read Online The Waterman: A Novel of the Chesapeake Bay by Tim Junkin - Free Book Online Page B

against the moving blue of the Bay.
    Before Clay had left the farmhouse near Trappe to return to school, Curtis Collison had agreed to rent him the small bedroom for $120 a month. Curtis was there when he arrived and watched him and Byron unload his belongings. Afterward,Clay and Byron hung out in the kitchen. Byron had put some water on the stove.
    â€œYou want it black?”
    â€œYeah.” Clay sat resting at the table.
    â€œBe sure when Curtis gets drunk to leave him alone,” Byron mentioned. “When he drinks, he gets ugly. He likes to fight.”
    â€œHow often is that?” Clay asked.
    â€œNot too often,” Byron returned. “Not as often as me.” He didn’t smile when he said this.
    Byron poured out two cups of instant coffee and brought them to the table. They each sipped at the hot liquid. A clock radio on the counter was on, and the disc jockey was counting down the top ten country tunes.
    â€œSo what’s your plan?”
    Clay stirred his coffee with a finger. “I told you before. I’m going on the river.”
    Byron shook his head. “I hoped you might come to your senses.”
    â€œThere’s a pull to it. I feel it, that’s all.”
    Byron leaned away, tilting his chair. “You know, I was thinkin’ back. There used to be shad in the Bay. Tons of ’em. And sturgeon. Oyster beds like natural reefs, big enough to give names to. Clams. Shit.”
    Clay nodded. “I know. The whole world’s that way. Changing.”
    â€œYeah. But making a living on the water . . . Ain’t so easy no more.”
    â€œShe’s still got life, Byron. She’s changed. But she’s still brimming.”
    Clay heard a commotion outside and stood and walked to the kitchen door. Opening it, he looked through the screen to the southern cornfield. It was full of snow geese, and so was the air above it. He stepped out on the porch, and their barking filled his ears as hundreds of them dropped like leaves from the sky, floatingthe last few feet to the ground, where others snorted through the stalks, feeding on the kernels left by the husking machines.
    Byron had joined him on the porch. “Never seen so many snow geese as the last few years,” he said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDifferent cycles seem to play their way out, I guess.”
    â€œThere’s a cause.”
    â€œSure there is. Those guys on the moon. Upset the balance of gravity.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œI’m serious. Think about it.”
    Clay gave him a playful shove with his shoulder. “How about all those jets landing at Friendship Airport every day. Suppose they knock the earth off kilter?”
    Byron frowned. “Moon’s different. Smaller. Virgin.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWell, no one really knows, do they?”
    â€œThe Bay has her cycles too. And the crabs are strong as ever. If I can just make one or two good seasons, I believe it will work. I could build a business. That’s what I plan to do. I figure I’ll give it a year or two. Build up my pots. Then reassess.” Clay turned toward Byron. “I’m going to be needing a culler. At first. Then a partner for the second boat, I figure. Eventually.”
    â€œI doubt it.”
    â€œGot any ideas?”
    Byron backed up, shaking his head. “You’re doing too much dreamin’.”
    â€œWhat are you living on now, anyway?”
    Byron thought for a moment. “I really don’t want to know.”
    â€œOne day you got to make a move. Put something in front.”
    â€œMaybe.” Byron walked down the steps and opened the door to his pickup. From under the front seat he pulled an opened bottle of Calvert whiskey and returned with it to the stoop.
    â€œLiving off the water, you live free,” Clay said.
    â€œTo be free, you got to be free in your mind.” Byron took a drink from the bottle and offered it to Clay, who took a drink