Mink River: A Novel (31 page)

Come on, Dennis. I need some help here.

Dec. I did my best. It’s worthless. They’re worthless.

Worthless.

Essentially, says Dennis with finality, and he stands up and extends his hand but Declan ignores him and Dennis leaves.

Declan drives home slowly, taking the long way home. It has begun to rain. He drives along the beach road, thinking of Grace and Nicholas at sea. The rain is a gray sheet. He drives along the river, thinking of his father. It has rained since fecking November, he thinks. He drives past the school, thinking of his brothers Niall and Peadar. Maybe it will rain until next fecking November. He drives up the long serpentine driveway to the house, thinking of his mother bumping down the driveway with her suitcase. Just as he steps onto the porch he sees a long low gray creature slipping fast and low along the far fence-line and he spins and grabs his rifle from inside the doorway and sprints to the corner of the pasture to get a shot at the fecking coyote but the rabbit-eared thing is amazing wily and slides away among the legs of the cows and vanishes into the trees. The cows startle and lurch. Declan is so angry that his eyes ache. He fires the gun into the rotting fence post, splintering it to bits, and then without thinking he swings the gun up and shoots the nearest cow in the ear, and then the next and the next and the next and the next and the last, the gun booming like a cannon, the dying cows moaning, the birds that had been sitting on the fence chaffing each other now flying away as fast as their wings can whip.

44.

Daniel Cooney has a long talk with the pain in his legs. He and his legs are in the bed by the window under the maps of the sea. The pain has a flushed face and hair the color of sand. The pain is restless and keeps changing shapes: now a thin man with thin hands, now a jay, now a fish of indeterminate species. Daniel tries to keep the pain clear in his sights but he can’t seem to catch the moment of morph. He asks the pain to keep one shape but the pain says politely that it cannot. Daniel drifts and dreams. He dreams that he is swimming with sea lions through caves at the bottom of the sea. He dreams that his mother wraps him in her hair and lifts him from the bed and carries him to the sea. He dreams his legs have no flesh but are only bones blinding white. He dreams his father comes with all his tools jingling and singing and hammers him a new pair of legs made from the brightest steel. He dreams that all the shatters and splinters of bones in his legs are tiny fish quick and silver in the shallows of the sea. He dreams that he is in a country where all the people and animals and trees are made of salt. He hears the bugling of elk and the hoarse roaring of sea lions. He hears all the fish in the sea singing their songs. He hears a sighing and roaring and sighing and roaring and a high voice like a bird in his left ear and a low voice like a bear in his right ear and he opens his eyes to find his mother on his left and his father on his right their arms around him thick and soft as kelp his legs bathing in the swirl of the surf and the moon hanging over the shimmer of the sea.

45.

Declan walks back to the house and puts his rifle back in its rack by the front door and makes a cup of tea and calls the Department of Public Works. He explains what happened to the herd he used to have. Worried Man listens quietly. He discusses the matter with Cedar who points out sensibly enough that there is now enough meat in the meadow to feed the whole town. Worried Man calls Maple Head for advice. She notes that it would be a useful public work to feed the whole town, and she notes further that the employees of the fish cooperative are expert editors of meat, and she notes further that alerting the entire population of Neawanaka to a free picnic the next afternoon wouldn’t be especially hard if some husbands and doctors she knew used their evening circumference stroll to inform rather than to ruminate, and also that Michael the cop’s patrol cruiser had a loudspeaker attachment, and that Daniel’s bicycle brigade friends had a really startling range with those speedy little bicycles, and that Michael’s wife Sara was a member of a telephone tree for expectant mothers, and that the priest was hosting a meeting tonight of his parish council, and that No Horses was the fastest runner on the planet and that such a stellar sprinter armed with suitable posters might very well paper every wall in town in a day, and that such posters could easily be produced on the printing press in the basement of the Department of Public Works if someone she knew would stop fooling around with pipe fittings and get his ass in gear on the printing press, and that Nicholas and his weightlifting cronies at the high school could very easily assemble hundreds of picnic tables under the astute direction of the engineering and carpentry professional Owen Cooney of Auto & Other Repair, and that George Christie the former logger could very easily assemble sufficient seasoned wood for a massive roasting and grilling project, and that all six grades of the Neawanaka School could very easily be assigned a natural history project to collect ripe salmonberries and thimbleberries from miles around in the morning, and that Stella at the pub would certainly not be averse to contributing a barrel or two of beer considering the public relations value of such a gift to the community, and that the O Donnell brothers Niall and Peadar were reputedly now past masters of the arcane arts of grilling and roasting beef, and that Rachel and Timmy and the other employees of the shingle factory could perhaps fairly easily be persuaded to assist in the distribution of food, and that various other people she could think of, if given a moment, could fairly easily be persuaded to cover dish duty, and that despite the pissing and moaning of some men she knows about lack of time to prepare such a public event, and lack of money, and how it would be easier to just bury the cows, that in her considered opinion a
real
Department of Public Works would
leap
at such a unique chance to strengthen the communal fabric, and make a silk purse out of the sow’s ear, or cow’s ear, of Declan’s, ah, accident, and perhaps she was wrong to think so highly of certain Departments of Public Works that she knew, but maybe not, and it was her assumption that the men she knows would rise to their best selves in this matter, that she would be very disappointed if they didn’t get hopping on this matter pronto and instantaneously, which is how an enormous and immense picnic was scheduled for the next afternoon at three o’clock, on the sprawling football field of the school, to commence as school let out early for it, all invited, bring your friends, bring your appetite, all the meat you can eat, courtesy of the O Donnell family, in celebration of the unique character, history, and communal good will of Neawanaka, long may it wave.

46.

I’m going way out, says Declan. I am taking the fecking boat and going way way out. Tomorrow morning after the picnic. Way out is where the big fish are and I am going there. Enough of this day trip crap. Enough of what every other fecking fishing boat on the coast does. Enough of this fecking farm and the fecking mud. Let’s shoot the moon. Let’s go hundreds of miles out. Let’s get us some deep blue water. Far away from here. Weeks at sea. Let’s go for it. Let’s do something big. A real voyage. We can fit out the boat for a trip like that without much trouble or much money. Are you with me or not?

Grace and Nicholas exchange glances. They are all three sitting on the rickety wooden steps of the farmhouse. Midmorning, just as the last tendrils of sea fog melt off the meadow and are caught in the fingers of the firs.

How far out? asks Nicholas.

Way
the feck out, says Declan.

Ah … why? asks Nicholas.

To work the canyons.

What canyons? asks Grace.

There’s a whole line of deep canyons off the edge of the continental shelf, says Declan. From Rogue Canyon, sixty miles off the mouth of the Rogue River, to Astoria Canyon, a hundred miles off the mouth of the Columbia. That’s the shelf line and that’s where the lunkers are and we are going to get them and get us some serious money. Bluefin tuna, marlin, swordfish, and halibut bigger than the boat. I need big fish. I need big money. I’m tired of this chickenshit. Tired of banks and loans and payments. I’m going for it. I’m shooting the moon. You with me or not?

For how long? asks Grace.

Long as it takes, says Declan. We can clean and ice the catch on the boat and stay out for a week. Then back in to sell and then out again. Long trips. Big fish. We’ll be rich by the end of summer. We can sell this place for the nothing it’s worth and do whatever we want, Grace. Live in town. Move to California. Hell, move to Japan or Africa or Mars. We don’t have to stay here. The boys can finish school anywhere. What are we here for, anyway? You should be in college. We’re only here because we’re here. Mom left and the old man is gone and the cows are gone. So what say? You with me?

Lemme think about it, says Grace.

Nicholas?

Ah, I don’t know, Dec. Working days is one thing but weeks away is another. I’ll have to ask my dad.

You have to check with the guy who punches you out every day?

Back off, Dec, says Grace.

Ever hit him back, Nicholas? says Declan. Because I would.

Back
off
, Dec, says Grace.

I’d punch his fecking face in, says Declan, standing up slowly. I punched my fecking old man and I’d punch yours. Feckers.

I don’t think I’ll be on the boat tomorrow, says Nicholas, also standing up.

I don’t think you have any fecking balls at all, says Declan.

Jesus, Dec, shut
up
, says Grace, jumping up.

See you at the picnic, Grace, says Nicholas grimly, turning away.

Yeh, see you there, Nicholas, she says. Three o’clock at the school. I’ll be there early to help you with the tables. I have to run a couple errands first. See you there. Okay. See you there.
Ass
hole, she snarls at Declan, who stands smiling calmly though his face is webbed with jagged red lines of rage. What’s the
matter
with you? Why pick on him? What’s he done to you? You’re a bully. You’re just like Dad. You want everyone to be as mean as you. What’s the
matter
with you? Take your fecking trip by yourself. Do the work yourself. He’s not going and neither am I.
Ass
hole.

Fine, growls Declan, turning toward the house.

Fine, snaps Grace, turning toward the road.

47.

The manager of the shingle factory gives everyone the day off for the picnic, what the hell, sometimes you just do things for the hell of it, what the hell, but he comes into the office alone early to wrestle with numbers. Rachel and Timmy take a picnic lunch and go up to her friend’s cabin on the Mink to make love all morning. The manager makes coffee and spreads reports and ledger books on a long table. Timmy makes coffee and Rachel spreads fresh sheets on the bed. The manager slowly eats an apple as he stares at the numbers. Timmy and Rachel slowly eat grapes as they stare at each other. The manager takes off his sweater. Timmy takes off Rachel’s blouse. The manager unbuttons the top button of his shirt. Rachel unzips Timmy’s jeans. The manager removes his eyeglasses and knuckles his eyes. Timmy removes Rachel’s underwear as she kisses his eyes. The manager studies income. Timmy slides into Rachel. The manager studies expense. Timmy comes immediately. The manager curses at the numbers. Timmy curses in embarrassment. The manager rubs his jaw as fervently as if his chin was a magic lantern and a spirit might appear to make everything all right. Rachel strokes the soft hairs on Timmy’s chin and tells him it’s all right. The manager leans back in his chair and moans in despair. Rachel leans back in the bed and moans in delight. The manager leaps up and paces around the room. Timmy leaps up and paces around the room. The manager reaches into his briefcase. Timmy reaches into his backpack. The manager brings forth a small battered leather wallet from which he extracts a handwritten note from his father that has been folded and unfolded so many times the quadrants of paper are held together by the merest faintest latticework of fibers. Timmy brings forth a small square black box with a filigreed silver hinge and a thick velvet lining like the fur of a mole. The manager reads the note written to him by his father fifty years ago when he was a boy and his father had just borrowed four thousand dollars to start the shingle factory. Timmy kneels naked by the side of the bed and opens the box in which there is a ring. The manager kneels by the side of his desk in his office.

I have to shut down the factory, whispers the manager.

Will you marry me? says Timmy.

No! says the manager. No!

No, whispers Rachel. No.

IV