Read Online Vineyard Blues by Philip R. Craig - Free Book Online
Authors: Philip R. Craig
Tags: Fiction
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umbrella and the beach chairs set up, set the cooler near at hand, and got the beach blanket and the shovels and pails laid out. Zee stripped to her bikini, and I felt my eyes widen as usual. She saw my face and grinned. I helped the kids out of their shirts and turned them loose, since in that corner of Katama Pond the water is so shallow near the shore that itâs a safe place for small children.
Another good thing about it is that itâs one of the best spots in Edgartown for steamers and quahogs. Today I was after steamers, so I got my gloves and wire bucket and walked out onto the flats. Joshua came, too, wearing his own little rubber gloves.
There are a lot of ways to get steamer clams. You can dig for them with a shovel or a fork, you can use a toilet plunger to suck them up to the top of the sand, or, if youâre a professional, you can use a pump and a hose to wash them up to where you can get to them with a rake.
I prefer to get down on my hands and knees and dig for them as if I were strip-mining. I donât own a pump-and-hose unit, and I think I break fewer shells with my hands than when I use a shovel or a fork. But you can slice your hands up pretty well when youâre digging for clams, so good gloves make the job a lot easier. Joshua, wanting to do things the way his pa did, was also a digger, although his staying power wasnât as great as mine.
I liked to clam. There was a nice mindless quality about it. You could clam and enjoy the sun on your back and think about something else entirely.
In spite of my own wishes to stay away from grief, I thought about house fires and Millie Dowling and Adam Washington. Then I thought about Susanna Quick and her telephone calls. Once again the serpents in Eden seemed to be sliding out from under the rocks. Or maybe they were always out in the open, but I was just too blinded by the garden to see them.
â  8  â
At home again, I put my catch into a five-gallon bucket of salt water, so the clams could spit out sand overnight and be clean and ready to eat tomorrow. I put the bucket in the shade and got back to work on the addition to the house. Fires might burn, people might go missing, comets might come out of heaven and threaten the earth itself, but the world kept turning and all the normal stuff had to go on. It was another beautiful Vineyard day on beautiful Marthaâs Vineyard; no wonder I had no intention of living anywhere else.
Zee had Diana out in front of the house someplace, but Joshua was helping me, handing me nails that I dropped and steadying boards that I sawed and nailed. Maybe heâd end up with the magic hands that I lacked, hands that could do finish carpentry, hands that could fix a car or a radio, or build a boat, or carve a decoy, or play good blues or flamenco guitar, or do other subtle work that mine were not too good at. I hoped so.
I worked on and finally Joshua grew tired of playing grown-up, said, âBye, Pa,â and went off to join his mother and sister. Smart Joshua. Time enough later to be an adult, to wake to the farm forever fled. Time now to be young and easy, happy as the grass was green.
Green became red and my mind turned to last nightâs fire. Had Adam Washington ever showed up? Had Millie Dowling made an appearance, or were her ashes going to be found in the smoldering ruin of the house?
What a nosy person I was. Hadnât I moved down to the island precisely because I wanted to be left alone and have no more to do with the troubles of the world? And wasnât it a fact that Iâd only met Adam Washington once and Iâd never met Millicent Dowling at all? That their fates were not my concern?
Yet the two of them occupied my thoughts. Corrie would be worried about his friendâs son. Maybe that made it my concern.
I nailed another board and stepped back to admire my work. Not bad. At this rate, if I could come up with some money for materials, Iâd have
Another good thing about it is that itâs one of the best spots in Edgartown for steamers and quahogs. Today I was after steamers, so I got my gloves and wire bucket and walked out onto the flats. Joshua came, too, wearing his own little rubber gloves.
There are a lot of ways to get steamer clams. You can dig for them with a shovel or a fork, you can use a toilet plunger to suck them up to the top of the sand, or, if youâre a professional, you can use a pump and a hose to wash them up to where you can get to them with a rake.
I prefer to get down on my hands and knees and dig for them as if I were strip-mining. I donât own a pump-and-hose unit, and I think I break fewer shells with my hands than when I use a shovel or a fork. But you can slice your hands up pretty well when youâre digging for clams, so good gloves make the job a lot easier. Joshua, wanting to do things the way his pa did, was also a digger, although his staying power wasnât as great as mine.
I liked to clam. There was a nice mindless quality about it. You could clam and enjoy the sun on your back and think about something else entirely.
In spite of my own wishes to stay away from grief, I thought about house fires and Millie Dowling and Adam Washington. Then I thought about Susanna Quick and her telephone calls. Once again the serpents in Eden seemed to be sliding out from under the rocks. Or maybe they were always out in the open, but I was just too blinded by the garden to see them.
â  8  â
At home again, I put my catch into a five-gallon bucket of salt water, so the clams could spit out sand overnight and be clean and ready to eat tomorrow. I put the bucket in the shade and got back to work on the addition to the house. Fires might burn, people might go missing, comets might come out of heaven and threaten the earth itself, but the world kept turning and all the normal stuff had to go on. It was another beautiful Vineyard day on beautiful Marthaâs Vineyard; no wonder I had no intention of living anywhere else.
Zee had Diana out in front of the house someplace, but Joshua was helping me, handing me nails that I dropped and steadying boards that I sawed and nailed. Maybe heâd end up with the magic hands that I lacked, hands that could do finish carpentry, hands that could fix a car or a radio, or build a boat, or carve a decoy, or play good blues or flamenco guitar, or do other subtle work that mine were not too good at. I hoped so.
I worked on and finally Joshua grew tired of playing grown-up, said, âBye, Pa,â and went off to join his mother and sister. Smart Joshua. Time enough later to be an adult, to wake to the farm forever fled. Time now to be young and easy, happy as the grass was green.
Green became red and my mind turned to last nightâs fire. Had Adam Washington ever showed up? Had Millie Dowling made an appearance, or were her ashes going to be found in the smoldering ruin of the house?
What a nosy person I was. Hadnât I moved down to the island precisely because I wanted to be left alone and have no more to do with the troubles of the world? And wasnât it a fact that Iâd only met Adam Washington once and Iâd never met Millicent Dowling at all? That their fates were not my concern?
Yet the two of them occupied my thoughts. Corrie would be worried about his friendâs son. Maybe that made it my concern.
I nailed another board and stepped back to admire my work. Not bad. At this rate, if I could come up with some money for materials, Iâd have
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