Thieves I've Known (24 page)

In her memory, Shelby thinks of her hands on the wheel of the trawler, turning the point of the bow into the waves, pulling back on the throttle. In the spotlight, white mist from the water floated in the glow. They'd
gone out beyond the cove, Grimsley pointing out the crab traps and the shallow reef hidden on the port side. In the bay, they'd pushed the throttle forward, skipped across the whitecaps, kept their eyes on the blue-black water. Orange jugs floated in the moonlight, and a tanker moved slowly across the horizon, an irregular shadow across the long flat water. Shelby had wanted to move out farther, perhaps circle the vessel.

“It'd take all night,” said Grimsley.

But they'd gone anyway, the trawler dipping and rolling in the open ocean. The tanker moved faster the closer they came, across the horizon and north toward Wilmington. Shelby looked out through the fogged window. At some point, she knew they'd never reach it.

“Gas'll run short,” said Grimsley.

“A little longer.”

“It's your swim back.”

When they'd turned around, Grimsley let her keep the wheel, into the bay, and then past the shallows, into the cove. Mona's eyes closed as she sat on the bench, slept little, rolling and dipping with the waves. On the far shoreline, they could make out a campfire on the beach, a half-dozen figures kneeling in the white-orange glow. Shelby guided the vessel around a stretch of fisherman's netting. Grimsley mumbled directions, watched her hand on the throttle. She eased the boat into the berth, past the other trawlers, the crab boats. She brought the vessel level with the dock. Took her time, cut the engine.

Outside, Grimsley kicked the ice off the bow, crouched at the railing, felt a sting of ice in his knee, then in his belly. He was unsure of the source. He was an old fool, he was sure, looked at his own reflection in the water. Any light in a rooster's eyes, other than the sun, was bad business. Had that been his mother's? He wasn't sure. He took the ratline in his fist, reached for the dock. Too much good luck was bad luck, but no bad luck was always good luck. He was sure of that, felt the ice melt and sting in his belly.

He had his favorites too, but he'd not yet had cause to use them all. Don't litter. Leave sleeping cats alone. To keep evil spirits away, drop
some burnt cinders into your shirt pocket. And if you find a stranger's wallet, always take a dollar before returning it. Then, give that dollar to another stranger. It will bring all three of you good luck. Grimsley caught the dock with the tips of his fingers, kept the line from touching the water, and wrapped it around the wooden bollard.

Nate and Merrill fussed about in the kitchen. The boy was seventeen, the girl almost sixteen, and their father sat at the kitchen table repairing a clock that a neighbor had brought to him. He was almost seventy, the father, and had long been deaf. His heart was weak now, and he was no longer able to work as a fisherman, as he had for the whole of his life. There were filets of cobia baking in the oven, and asparagus and corn frying on the stove. The boy concentrated on assembling a salad: they'd been heavy on the vegetables lately. They were good for the father's heart. The man searched among the parts spread out on the table: the gears, the recoils, the pin and escape wheels, though he could not find the switch he was looking for. A wave of heavy rain washed over the house, then died away, leaving a steady, irregular patter. It was early autumn, and the edge of a hurricane had passed through the harbor town. They'd spent the afternoon waiting for the walls of their trailer to collapse. The boy, then the girl had signed to their father.
Bad rain
, or
Heavy wind
, or
This is the worst now
, and he'd signed back.
I cannot hear, but I can feel
.

He had a strange sign, the old man. Formal and slow. He did not touch his body when he signed, and he looked up at them now, banged his knuckles on the table to get their attention.
If the traps are washed away, we cannot afford to replace them
.

We know this
, signed the boy, and then he said something to his sister that the man could not make out.
Why do you tell us things we know already?

The money is short here
, the man signed back.
There is nothing else worth speaking of
.

The girl set the wooden fork aside and signed at her father. Her sign was slow as well, but complicated. She touched her face and chest often as she signed.
You will get the boat back in the spring. Then Nate and I will fish. How do you fit many worries into a small head?

Look at my head
, signed the man.
There is nothing small about it
.

This set the boy and the girl to laughing, and the man smiled a little, went back to his clock. They filled the plates and set them on the table. The boy moved the pieces of clock to the side in sets of two and in the same order, and the old man watched him carefully. The bank had foreclosed on his trawler, and he believed it dishonest. He believed many things dishonest, and he'd been bitter and short with his children of late. He looked at the plate of food. He was a fisherman, and here he was, tired of fish.

What is with you two?
he signed.
Why do we eat early tonight?

The traps
, the boy signed.
You worry over the traps all day. We go to check the traps so you will not worry. Now eat
. The boy put his fingers to his mouth.
Eat now
.

The man pushed his plate away.
I don't want to eat. I am not your child
.

Yes you are
, signed the boy.

Papa
, the girl signed. She placed her hand at the old man's elbow and looked at him.
Your heart
.

They will wash out to sea
, signed the man.

The boy rolled his eyes. He put an asparagus in his mouth.
Shh
, he said.
Listen to your mother. Eat
.

The old man looked at his plate. He was very tired. He thought, as he often did, that if he went to sleep he would not wake up again. He had built the crab traps himself, and they were tied smartly, and with enough slack, to the buoys. He hoped they would be all right. They had survived storms worse than this one. He worried that they would be carried to the other side of the sound.

The boy put his fork down, as if reading his father's thoughts.
They will not get the traps
, he signed.
Those people. They take everything from us. But they will not get the traps
.

The old man looked at his son. He took a long breath.
What people?
signed the old man.
Who takes what from us?

You know
, the boy signed. He tapped his fingers angrily at his forehead. He pointed out the window, across the sound.
They have everything and we have nothing
.

The old man shook his head. He was sad for the boy, though he did not say this. He cut off a piece of cobia, then ate it.

Their children are worse
, the boy continued. He signed very quickly.
We hear them in school. What they own. What they do not. What they will own
.

The old man looked out the window at the rain. It was slow now, and the storm was coming to an end. The man thought of the way his son had pointed across the sound. The motion frightened him. He could see his own anger in the anger of the boy. It was something that had arisen recently and fully. The man tapped his knife at his plate.

This is very good
, he signed.
They cannot get cobia like this across the sound
.

They buy the best fish
, signed the boy. He was still very angry, and he was looking out the window.

The old man touched the boy's chin. It was unusual for him to do this.
Listen to me
, he signed.
You will come to market with me again. You forget. We sell them only the bad fish
. The man made a funny face, as if he'd swallowed something distasteful.

The boy said nothing. He continued eating. The sacks for the crabs were set by the door, next to the long raincoats that the boy and girl wore out on the boat.

What will you two do tonight?
the man signed.

We have told you
, signed the boy. He signed lazily, as if they were half-words.
We check the traps
.

After
, said the man.
I think you are up to something
.

We are up to nothing
, signed the boy.

The man looked at his daughter, and the girl looked down at her plate. She was quiet, that one, when she chose to be, and she was not yet filled with anger.

I know my own children
, the man signed.

They settled their father in front of the television after dinner. They placed a beer in his hands, though he was only allowed the one. Merrill placed a blanket over him and tucked it into the cushions of the chair. There was a special on the television about coyotes. They watched for a while, and Merrill could hear Nate rummaging around in the back room. She signed for her father, for what the woman was saying on television.

They are two times the size of foxes
, she signed.

I can see this
, the man signed.
Does she think we are stupid?

There might be a blind person listening
, the girl signed, and the man said nothing to that. He looked irritated, but he was happy. She still had a kindness that ran deep in her.

They hunt in pairs
, signed the girl.
Half die before they are adults
.

Why?
signed the man.

Merrill smiled.
I did not hear
, she signed.
The woman talks too fast. Their territory grows. It grows now. They howl to speak to other coyotes
. There was not a sign she knew for coyotes, so she spelled it out, quickly.

Who else would they speak with?
the man signed.
This woman has no sense in her head
.

Nate came into the room and stood watching the television with them. He had his raincoat in his hand and a small paper bag that he stuffed into one of the pockets.
Those are nasty creatures
, he signed.

They are very smart
, signed the old man.

The boy spelled a word out.
Scavengers
, he signed.
They eat children
.

No they don't
, signed the man.
They eat rats and rabbits
.

I have heard them at night
, signed the boy.
Here. Out in the woods
.

No you haven't
, signed the man.

The boy looked at his father.
How would you know?
he signed.

The man looked again at the television. He took a swig from his beer. His feelings were hurt, though he would not show the boy this.
You have heard dogs
, he signed.

I know things
, signed the boy.

I know you do
, signed the old man.

The girl pointed at the television. She struggled for a moment, trying to find the right sign. Then she pointed again.
They eat frogs
, she signed.
This is what was just said
.

The boy and the girl took the old rowboat out into the sound. The patches in the boat were poor, and Merrill bailed with an old milk jug while Nate pulled at the oars. The sky had begun to clear, and the water seemed a dark and strange blue. There was old trash and netting out on the water, things that had blown out with the wind, and the clouds and stars reflected on the choppy surface of the water as if they were slowly moving in toward shore. The moon was low and crescent, a half, though a large one, and Nate rowed with it over his shoulder. They headed out toward the traps and shared a beer on the way, their feet cold and wet with the water leaked through.

When they came to the buoys, they pulled the traps up, and some were empty and some were filled with one or three or half a dozen crabs, but they did not empty the traps and instead dropped them back into the water. Two of the lines were broken, and they would come back tomorrow, dive down into the cold water, pull back to the surface what was theirs. They headed now across the sound, toward the large houses, toward the lanterns strung all across the docks there like a long line of spider eyes in the distance, not menacing but watching. Nate had his hood up over his head, and Merrill watched the tip of his nose, the moustache below that he'd been trying to grow. They were best friends and didn't have many others in school.

“I got it,” the boy said.

“You got what?”

“The job on the ferry. Permanent now. It's twenty hours. I'll start on Tuesday.”

She was happy for him, but also sad. He'd no longer be working at the grocery store with her. “Can you get me a job there?”

He shook his head, leaned into the oars. “You're too young.”

“I'm mature for my age though,” she said.

He watched her bail the water. “No you're not,” he said. “You're not mature at all.”

“Example,” she said.

He thought about that. They were past the halfway point in the sound. He looked back at the houses across the way. “You couldn't watch me shoot William,” he said.

Merrill frowned at that. She didn't like to think much about that. “I was right there when you shot William.”

“You closed your eyes though.”

“I closed his eyes first,” she said.

William had been their mule. They'd used him when they went apple picking, a job they'd had since they were very young. He'd follow them along in the orchard, two baskets tied across his back. He'd gotten too old, and his legs had begun to go. They'd shot him at the edge of the orchard, at the end of last season. They'd shot him first, then dug the hole for him, and it upset her, Merrill, to think of it. Though, it would've been worse the other way. The farmer had told them it was past time, that it was long past time, that there was no sense in these sentimental ideas. Still, he brought the mule a pear that morning, offering it silently and rubbing down the animal's coat.