The Forty Fathom Bank and Other Stories (6 page)

When I went below, May had his Joe's Special on the table. Suddenly I was hungry, starved. The food was excellent and I ate until my stomach hurt, mumbling comments on both. I sensed May's pleasure at my rude compliments though, as always, I could never be quite sure about anything he felt. While I was drinking my coffee and smoking a cigarette, May got two cups from the galley and an old bent corkscrew. Then he opened his suitcase and brought out a bottle of red wine. The kerosene lamp, swinging a little in its gimbals, threw a soft shadowy light over the cabin. From time to time the thump of a shark could be heard, probably stiff now, rolling against the hull.

“Today is my birthday,” May said in his same slow voice, and, after straightening the corkscrew with his strong fingers, methodically pulled out the cork.

“Thirty-one?” I asked, remembering his fishing license.

“Thirty-one,” he replied. He filled both cups and pushed one across the table to me.

“Well, congratulations,” I said. “I feel like it has been my birthday, too.”

We raised our cups in the yellow lamplight and drank. The wine was a rich Burgundy and in scarcely more than a minute I could feel my muscles relaxing and a pleasant drowsiness came over me. I kicked off my shoes and pulled up a blanket. The dishes were still on the table. Since May had cooked the dinner, I knew I should clean things up.
But I could not budge. I closed my eyes for a moment. My whole body seemed to float away, and though I could hear May moving about and the soft clatter of dishes, I still could not budge. It was only when I heard the double click of May's suitcase being snapped shut that I managed to open my eyes for an instant. And then, guilty as I felt for not having forced myself up, I had to chuckle at the sight of May's stocky frame clad in a pair of red flannel pajamas, like some little boy in a fairy tale, as he reached up to put out the lamp.

The dream was vivid. I was standing in the wheelhouse with my hand on the throttle. There was a big load of rocks in the hold and on the deck. The rocks were covered with little specks of something that looked like mica and glittered in the bright sun. The hull was down almost to the sheer strake and the after deck was awash. The water rushing in and out through the rocks made a sharp hissing sound. Close by lay a low sandy island, apparently far out at sea. May was standing on a small dune watching the boat pull away. He had on his sweatshirt; his new sea boots were turned down. He held his black skull cap in his hand and was quietly puffing on his pipe. In the dream, it was imperative that I leave him there because his additional weight would capsize the boat. I shouted to him that I would be back, but for some reason, either because he could not hear me or was not interested, he just stood there quietly puffing on his pipe. I shouted again, but this time I could not even hear my own voice. I turned up the throttle slowly so that the
Blue Fin
would not go down by the stern. As the little island receded, I realized I was crying. But when I wiped away the tears I found great red streaks on the back of my hand.

When I opened my eyes, I could still hear the sharp
hiss of water through the rocks and then the softer grinding of gravel on gravel. For a moment I could not disengage the dream from the unfamiliar reality in which I found myself. Then slowly it came to me that the
Blue Fin
must have swung on her anchor chain and lay in closer to the shore across from Año Nuevo. Little waves, probably after waves from the reef, were washing up on what I could tell now was a shingle beach, rolling the small pebbles and making the hissing sound among the larger rocks. The moon had risen; by its pallid light through the open port, I could see the glass chimney of the kerosene lamp swaying in its gimbals, and again, like on the previous night, erratic circles danced on the bulkhead, the rudder post thumped woodenly and from forward came the rhythmic grumbling of the chain in its iron chock. No sound came from May's bunk, but I could make out the outline of his sleeping figure and even thought I could discern his slow, even breathing. And over everything, like a thick blanket of some noxious gas, lay the dark ammonia stench of the sharks in the hold.

For the first time in what seemed like days, or even months, I thought of my wife and the children. Suddenly I felt a great longing to take them, all at once, in my arms and feel their tender live warmth close to me. Then I thought of how I would break the news to my wife about the fifty-five hundred dollars, and how she would just look at me startled and unbelieving, and then when she saw that I was serious, that I had the signed receipt for the sharks and the amount of money to be paid in cash all stated in writing, of how her eyes would fill with tears. Of course the children would not understand, but they would feel the effects of it soon enough in the good food and the new place to live and in the changed attitude of their parents. Yet, we would have
to be careful. Even that much money, though more than I could have saved in a lifetime, could be dissipated all too quickly even on necessities. Actually, it would take four or five times that much and properly invested to guarantee any real security. Fifteen tons would do it. Fifteen tons of soupfin sharks. How odd to be lying awake in the middle of the night in a lonely anchorage mentally balancing the tonnage of sharks against one's future security and happiness. But that was how it was, I thought. Fifteen tons of small gray sharks, and they were all out there somewhere, at that very moment, swimming around, feeding on the forty fathom bank. Yet ten tons of them already were safely stowed in the
Blue Fin
's hold. Two-thirds of all that I would ever need, and more coming in tomorrow.

Suddenly, like a black shadow, the thought passed over me that three tons belonged to me.

Three tons only. All the rest was Ethan May's and whatever else we might bring in the next day. A kind of silent sickness went through me, a sickness born of envy and fear. But I had more money right now, I reasoned, than I'd ever dreamed of having. This is what I told myself. If it had not been for May, I'd have less than nothing. I would not even have been able to pay for the expenses incurred on the trip to Half Moon Bay. I owed everything to him. But I could not rid myself of the knowledge that there was something like eighteen thousand dollars worth of fish aboard and that better than twelve thousand dollars of that was May's share.

The rumble of the surf on the reef had faded to a low murmur like a far off freight train in the night. The
Blue Fin
must have turned with the tide change, for the pale dancing circles disappeared quite suddenly. In the darkness, the stench of sharks lay heavy on the dank sea air. What would
May do with all the money he would get, I wondered. Would he still live in a little furnished room down in the Tenderloin somewhere? For some reason, probably because of the General Delivery address on his fishing license, I pictured him living in a furnished room or in one of those old hotels around Third Street with a public bath down the hall and wooden rockers in the lobby where old men sat and watched the street. And he had no one, the fish buyer said. Most likely his parents were dead or far away in another country. And his tranquil self-sufficiency, that made unnecessary even his need to talk, had probably put marriage completely out. Then what would he do with twelve or fifteen thousand dollars? Gamble it all away? He was a gambler, there was no doubt of that. No one in his right mind would have made a deal like the one he had made with me. And he had made similar deals before and lost. Probably he got a kick out of playing his hunches, the buyer had said. But even if he didn't gamble all his money away, what then? Would he give it away? But to whom? And for what? Certainly it would never go for any useful purpose like feeding and housing a family and getting kids an adequate education. What he'd probably do would be to blow the whole works before the next spring.

This last disturbed me so that I sat up in my bunk and lit a cigarette. Everything seemed so unfair, I thought bitterly. Those who needed nothing always seemed, by some prearrangement, to get everything. Ethan May would probably have been just as happy, just as complacent, if we had gotten no sharks at all. Yet, here he was with more money than he knew what to do with while I, who had a whole family depending on me, came out with a bare fraction of what he would make.

I put out my cigarette and lit another. There must be
some way to equalize things. Perhaps I could talk to him, tell him about my situation, about my wife and the children up in the City. He might even be willing to consider making a different arrangement for the next day's fishing. But I quickly discarded the idea. Perhaps, and I wondered about this, perhaps he already knew about me. Or maybe he just didn't care about money and figured I didn't either. One way or another, if he had thought about giving me a larger share, he would already have said so. No, it wouldn't do any good to talk to him, I concluded, and besides, there was something about May that did not invite confidences. Suddenly a picture flashed across my mind of the after deck with its tubs of shark gear, of the big hooks snapping ominously over the stern and the white breasted gull flapping helplessly on the line. An instant surge of fear went through me and I inhaled deeply. The cigarette flared in the dark.

A new thought occurred to me. Everyone had concluded that the season was over, yet we had caught what was probably one of the biggest catches of the year. No doubt we would get more tomorrow. Then what was to prevent me from going out the next day and the day after? No one knew for sure when the weather would change. It could very well continue fair for weeks. And certainly May would be willing, considering what he had already made, to go out for a one-third share, which was common practice. Even if we got a couple of tons a day, in a week's time I would have ten tons or so which, with the three I already had, would give me around twenty thousand dollars. With that much I could manage very nicely. I would invest every bit of it in real estate. In ten years' time the accrued equities would make me independent for life, and in the meantime we would all live decently, like human beings.

I put out my second cigarette and, pulling the blanket up over me, closed my eyes. But I could not sleep, for somehow with the act of closing my eyes, my thoughts, as though held in check by the visible darkness, suddenly went out of control; the events of the day, the gulls, the long lines, the wide shining water, the chocolate, oranges and wine from May's black suitcase, and the dreamlike shark haul under the swinging cargo light all tumbled crazily in my mind. And I was aware too of the low rumble of the surf on the reef, the little waves lapping on the shingle beach, the clanking, thumping and creaking of the
Blue Fin
, the smell of sharks and, through everything, the soft sound of May's breathing from the opposite bunk.

It was possibly five o'clock and still quite dark when the springs on May's bunk squeaked. A moment later I heard him throw back the blankets and get up. He lit the kerosene lamp and went into the galley, and I could hear the splash of water as he washed his face. I was wide awake, as I had been for hours. My eyes burned and my body ached, but my mind was clear now as though all my thoughts took flight with the yellow glow from the kerosene lamp. While May was getting into his clothes, I got up and, despite my sore muscles, put on my shoes and started the Primus up. The least I could do, I thought, was to get breakfast on since May had made the Joe's Special the night before. I scrambled some eggs with some chopped up Spam, made a stack of toast, set out the oleo and a half-empty jar of plum jam, and poured the coffee.

We sat opposite one another and ate in what, by now, had become an habitual silence, yet a silence that in many ways I was learning made a better conductor of feelings than words. And upon that silence that bridged our separate thoughts, I sensed something not quite right, some shadow of suspicion in May's mind. All during breakfast I had the feeling he was watching me with those innocent green eyes of his, that possibly he was puzzled or curious or even disappointed. No doubt all this was nothing more than a product of my imagination, a projection of some guilt or other. But whatever, I could not bring myself to look up at him and ate my eggs and Spam with my gaze consciously averted.

The sound of the surf had all but disappeared and the
Blue Fin
lay still and silent as though she were beached. The weather had changed. There was a thickish quality in the air that was not entirely from the settled stench of the sharks. And through the open port a low star glittered fiercely.

Perhaps I was merely suffering the anxiety of a guilty conscience, but the subtle change I'd detected in May's expression continued to disturb me. I was certain with that almost mystic insight that had enabled him to locate the sharks he had seen at a glance all that had been in my mind during the night. No doubt the full meaning of those oppressive dreams and fruitless speculations were as clear to him as they were obscure and confused to me. What satisfaction I'd gotten from my unexpected good fortune was completely forgotten. The clearheadedness I'd experienced earlier vanished.