The Sky Fisherman (20 page)

"I'm sure you are, dear, but there are other things to consider, and school will be starting in about a month."

"Jake's said he wants me to work after school and weekends—at least through deer season."

"Well, we'll see how all that works out." She tipped her head slightly. "But let's talk about something else. I'm just curious. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Is this some kind of trick question?"

She smiled. "Of course not. Don't tell me you're getting a suspicious mind. Just let your fancy take you. Pretend you have a magic carpet."

I tried, but as my mind ticked off the possibilities, I realized I wasn't interested in most of them. "I'd like to go to one of those big fishing
resorts in Canada. Jake had some brochures and the guys caught salmon weighing over eighty pounds."

She sat a little straighter. "Yes, salmon. Okay, then, what would be your next choice?"

"Alaska," I said, but when I saw her mouth tighten, I added, "or probably England. My literature teacher talked a lot about the places there. A dead poet's buried under every tree."

She laughed. "Culver, you have an extravagant sense of humor, but yes, England would be ideal. Your father took me to Victoria on our honeymoon. That's very much like England."

"What about now, Mom?" I said. "Where would you like to go?"

"Anyplace I could be pampered," she said. "Waited on hand and foot."

Twenty minutes late, Jake smelled of Lava. His hands and forearms appeared well scrubbed. "Gateway's agreeing with you, Flora." He stepped in the door. "You're looking fit." Noticing the table, he added, "Nice spread. Haven't seen that china for a spell."

"Took dozens of newspapers to pack it," she said. "And those galoots Riley hired managed to drop a barrel or two. Please just take a seat. The cheese muffins are getting cool."

Mom brought in the shrimp salad and muffins as well as some white wine she bought in Central. I had to settle for apple juice in an everyday glass. As soon as I had filled my plate, I was ready to eat, but she stopped me with a look. "Jake, would you like to offer thanks?"

"Sure," he said without missing a beat. "Dear Lord, for this food and family and all thy blessings, we give thanks. Guide us, and especially watch over the young one, we pray. Amen."

After a moment's hesitation, she said, "That was very nice. Thank you." She lifted her fork and I knew we could begin eating.

"You know, these shrimp are terrific," he said after a couple bites. "Maybe just a bit more lemon."

I passed him the plate of lemon wedges and he continued. "Funny how fish smells like the water it comes from. A trout from the Lost tastes different than a trout from the Pine. And lake trout differ from stream. These shrimp smell like the ocean."

"I bought them fresh in Central," she said. "They fly fresh seafood in twice a week."

"Central would do that," he said, and I thought he might light into Central or the Water Pageant, but he didn't. "I ate crabs from the Chesapeake one time at a little place on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Blue
crabs, and they tasted just like the bay. That water's milder than here, more tropical. They boil crabs using a spicy seasoning called Old Bay."

"Jake, you're just full of surprises." Mom set down her fork. "I never knew you were in Maryland."

It was difficult to imagine my uncle anywhere but on the Lost. "When were you in the Chesapeake?" I asked.

Jake looked at me, not my mother. "After your father's death, I traveled around the country, tried to reckon with things."

"I remember you were out of touch a long time," Mom said after a moment.

He nodded. "Somehow, I always went to water. In Maryland, it was the Chesapeake and a place along the Choptank River. They study marine biology there."

"What was it like?" My mother broke one of her cheese muffins in half and slid a piece into her mouth.

"Nice country, but the water's pretty sluggish. Lots of mosquitoes. The official bird of Maryland." He winked.

"I'll bet you met a woman," my mother said, studying him. "Why else would you stay in Maryland?"

Jake nodded. "Later, she married a biologist. Now they've got three kids."

"So you were in Maryland and no one knew. I find that remarkable."

Jake poured wine for my mother, then filled his own glass. "Like I said, I always went to water. When I hit the Great Lakes, I was out of money, so I signed on as a deckhand for the Cleveland Cliffs boats. That's a steel company. When the captain learned I like to fish, once he anchored off Isle Royal in Lake Superior. We rowed the dinghy to shore, then hiked to an inland lake for walleyes. Caught a couple nice ones, but they don't fight anything like a Lost River steelhead. At night we heard wolves howling—spooky. Moose and wolves share that island. No people.

"We sailed all around the Great Lakes—Michigan and Superior. One time we anchored off a little town holding a memorial service to honor all the drowned sailors. Great Lake storms are wicked, especially on Superior. The big waves coming from all sides can rip a ship in half." He took a sip of his wine

"Back in those days, fathers, sons, brothers, could work the same boats. But they changed the regulations since then, a couple years ago after the
Carl Bradley
sank." He shook his head. "
1
read about it in the paper. Twenty-two men were lost just from one city. Thirty-five altogether."
He tapped the side of his glass. "All that sadness. But I had realized a long time ago that my own grief was back here, so I'd come home."

My mother picked up her napkin, dabbing the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glistened and she blinked.

"Wolves and moose," I said, trying to keep the conversation going. "I'd like to see a wolf."

"They'll give you goose bumps." He laid his hand on my shoulder. "The only other time I heard wolves was in Alaska, when Dave and I tried longshoring to make money for the guide service."

My mother set down her napkin and stood. "Maybe that's enough stories for now. You're filling the boy's head with wild notions."

Jake tightened his grip. "She's afraid I'll tell you about the girl from Oberlin. In college she got knowledge, but in Alaska, she was
educated.
" He let go of my shoulder and spread his hands. "What wild notions, Flora?"

She held the back of her chair. "School's coming up. He's got to study and get good grades. Right now he's got too many notions about fishing. Salmon in Canada, fish camp in Alaska. There's more to life than fishing. I plan for him to aim a little higher." She let go of her chair. "Now who wants coffee?"

Jake said he did, please, and she went into the kitchen. He scraped back his chair, intending to clear the table but she called, "Just sit still, I'm not ready for those yet. It's a small kitchen."

Jake leaned toward me and mouthed, "Canada?"

I shrugged, but for the first time since she'd invited Jake to dinner I realized her strategy. She wanted him to back off. She was laying out her territory. I didn't know how he would handle it, but I expected him to take her square on.

"How's Juniper?" she called from the kitchen, her tone lightened. We could hear her getting the coffee.

"Sold her painting of horses yesterday at the store. Guy wrote out a check for two hundred dollars like it was chicken feed." Jake paused. "I liked that painting and kinda hated to see it go."

"I'm certain the Central show will be a big success. Franklin and I are planning to attend the opening." Mom put two cups on the table and poured steaming hot coffee into each. When she offered cream and sugar, Jake shook his head. "Juniper must have a good head for business," she said.

He let Mom get the coffee to her mouth before he spoke. "Flora, I'm all for study. College, too, if necessary. We got no quarrel over that. But Culver needs to learn about business, and I can teach him."

"I'm not talking about fishing," she said, setting the cup down.

"Neither am I," he said and tapped his head. "It takes smarts to run a business these days, advertising, merchandising. All good skills. He learns a lot working in the store, and if it comes to college, I can help some."

I half expected my mother to say I could get a scholarship or we could swing it ourselves, but she didn't. She was already reading up on college expenses and knew we'd need help.

"Maybe the business at the store's okay, Jake," she said. "But I don't want him taking chances on the river. I don't." She put both hands on the table, leaning forward.

Glancing at Jake, I tried to catch his eye. I didn't want him thinking this confrontation was my idea.

Setting down his cup, he squared his shoulders and took her straight on. "Flora, don't try to tie him to your apron strings."

"Damn you, Jake, I'm not."

"Cut him some slack. Your own fears will hold him back."

"My fears?" She flared. "I've got reasons." Her wild eyes made Jake pause, and I realized how deep the hurt and anger were. I doubted she was ever going to change.

After taking a sip of his coffee, Jake said in a reassuring tone, "We never go on the dangerous parts, Flora. As for the rest, hell, college kids that don't know a paddle from a bailing bucket go through every weekend." He paused. "If you insist, I'll row Culver through the rapids. But we can't stay off the river. We're putting together a great project down there, aren't we, Culver?"

"That's right. We are." In some ways, I didn't want to be his accomplice against my mother, but I didn't want her preventing me from going on the river. "We're putting up a monument for my father, grandfather, and some of the other old guides. And we need your help to get the right words."

"Sure," Jake said. "I've been over to Silverdale to learn about metal plaques. They'll do a fine job. But saying the words, that's something else."

Her right hand went to the top button of her dress. She looked at me, Jake, then me again. "You're really involved in this, Culver?"

I nodded.

"It's something he'll always remember," Jake said. "We want to get it right."

She went into the kitchen to get some store-bought cookies for dessert, but she seemed to take a long time. After a while, Jake leaned
toward me and said, "Coffee's cold. Tough getting a warm-up around here."

When I glanced into the kitchen, I could see my mother leaning heavily on the counter, totally still.

I don't remember much about conversation over the cookies and second cups of coffee. Jake helped clear the table and offered to wash or dry, but Mom said she'd get the dishes later. After he left, she put the leftover salad and muffins in the refrigerator, rinsed out the wine glasses and coffee cups. She filled each of the muffin tin containers with water, letting the crusty baked-on parts soften for the morning wash. "I can't face this right now," she said. When we moved the kitchen table back, she took out her manicure bag and started working on her cuticles, pushing them back with a little silver instrument until the moon slivers showed. "I've always had strong nails," she said. "They're one of my best features." She held up her left hand, inspecting the fingernails. "Even when I went to secretarial school and had to do all that typing, they never broke or chipped.

"A few of the other girls were jealous and when I found out, I told them Knox gelatin sometimes did the trick, even though I never used it myself. For a couple weeks they tried it but nothing changed. Then I discovered they had been
soaking
their nails instead of drinking it like they were supposed to." She shook her head and smiled at the memory. "Some of those girls didn't know sickem." She applied some clear lacquer to her nails and waited for them to dry, occasionally blowing gently. "Soaking them for two weeks. Can you imagine?"

Before going to bed, I took the garbage outside and placed a big rock on the dented can lid. According to my mother, cats were crazy about shrimp and she didn't want to find garbage strewn about the next morning.

Lying in bed that night, I felt a little sorry for her. Voices played over in my mind, especially the brief exchange she and my uncle had when she returned from the kitchen, composed, and set the cookies on the table.

"So you've gotten over it, I guess." Her words had been a challenge to Jake, rather than a question.

Reaching for a cookie, he stopped. "Not for a minute. I just quit hurting like hell."

"I
'D SAY THOSE FOLKS
are in deep doo-doo. One bad rock and they hit dead center." Jake studied Combine Rapids and the large rock midstream the shape and reddish color of a rusty combine. A bright orange raft had wrapped around the rock, the swift current pinning it to the stone like a wet butterfly. The raft's oars were gone and some of the cargo netting had torn away. A blue plastic ice cooler floated downstream. White Styrofoam coolers had broken apart in the rooster tail and bobbed like chunks of ice against the shoreline below.

Two rafters, a man and a woman, had scrambled up the rock and were stranded on a ledge three feet above the current. To my amazement, the man had no life vest. On the opposite shore, the third rafter waved feebly at his companions. Even at this distance, we could see the bloody scrapes on his legs from the sharp lava ledges of the sweeping rooster tail.

Jake had pulled our boat ashore to study the rapids, make certain a log hadn't jammed the chute he planned to run. "Sometimes a rock will roll, too," he said. "Always take time to look, even if you've run the thing a hundred times." When we had hiked around the corner on the railroad grade and seen the stricken raft, Jake had been almost as surprised as the rafters.

"They approached wrong," he said, pointing to the channel our side of midstream. "They stayed out there to avoid the overhanging trees along the bank, but the current swept them onto the rock. That's why it's also called Oh, fuck! rock. If you hit it, you scream, 'Oh, fuck.' Usually, a boat just bangs the side and hangs up for a moment. These dudes must have panicked and paddled the wrong way—something."

The man on the opposite shore finally saw us and started waving wildly, pointing. Then the two on the rock saw us and waved their arms, signaling distress.