Of Sea and Cloud (15 page)

What would you do?

That's a lot of shrinkage, Bill said. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth. Even on this shitass market, ten percent of eighty thousand pounds is costing us thirty-two grand.

Two crows circled the causeway and landed on an exposed rock.

We don't have eighty thousand pounds in here, Bill. We never have.

We will next year. Bill looked at Julius and Julius caught his eye as if Bill had finally said something that interested him.

Osmond laughed. Nicolas always said you were a planner. We need to get the crates down here. We can discuss shrinkage later.

Fine, said Bill. But I'm getting me a crow call and I'll be damned if I ain't going to kill everything that spits, shits, flies, or crawls from here to Canada. He turned around and climbed the ladder. His breath came quick and he wondered why and he reminded himself that he had not cut Osmond's traps but still he felt his pulse slam like an ill-timed engine. He thought of his father and wondered if he was watching from wherever the dead go and he hoped he was not because he did not feel like Nicolas Graves's son right then.

The crates were lined up beneath a lean-to on the far side of the building. Ten rows of ten and Bill dragged the first row into the building and across the concrete floor and the plastic grated loud on the dry concrete. He peered down at the floathouse where Osmond threaded twine through the torn dragnet. He wished his father were there. Just one more day working at the pound to help him prepare for Osmond. Just one more day to help him prepare for life on dry land.

He dragged the rest of the crates over then climbed down the ladder. Julius still leaned against the wall. The sun which had crested the chain of islands now glimmered off the pound water.

Osmond hooked the drag to the scow.

Give me a hand with these, Bill said to Julius.

Julius turned slowly and stared at Bill. You can't get them?

It'd be faster with us both.

Christ, said Julius. I can get the fuckers myself.

Bill stepped back as Julius passed him and Osmond stopped what he was doing and watched. Julius reached up and pulled at the stack of crates. The bottom of the stack was two feet over his head and the top another eight feet above that.

I'll lower 'em down to you, Bill said.

The fuck you will.

Julius, Osmond barked and his voice was big and stopped Julius. He will help you.

I don't need his help.

But you will have it.

I could be fishing right now.

Bill climbed back up the ladder and separated the crates into fives then lowered the stacks down by their beckets and Julius restacked them against the floathouse wall. As they worked Osmond throttled the outboard forward and pulled the drag overboard. The drag was six feet wide with iron runners on each end and a nylon mesh bag in the middle. Osmond circled the pound with the drag running over the smooth bottom while the lobsters tumbled and piled into the mesh bag. He circled twice and headed to the floathouse and he rammed the bow of the scow into the float and unclipped the drag rope and handed it to Bill. Bill ran the line through a block that hung from a rafter. Osmond flipped the outboard into reverse and throttled back and the rope reeled through the block as the drag slowly rose out of the water.

The outboard whined. Bill and Julius each took an iron runner and heaved back. The drag rose onto the floathouse floor. The mesh bag held 500 pounds of lobsters piled with strands of rockweed and twists of kelp. Osmond helped them dump the catch onto the floor then Julius and Bill flipped the drag over and lined it up at the edge of the deck as Osmond motored off again. The line tightened and the drag dropped into the water and the salt swished and sparkled in the wintertime light.

Osmond circled the pound with the drag as they crated the lobsters and weighed them out and strung the crates into a line that floated serpentine in the pound water. Bill and Julius worked in silence until the third drag when Bill pulled a skull out of the pile of lobsters and held it in the air and the world stopped.

Fuck, he said and his knees sagged and his back bent as if he could no longer hold himself up.

The skull was eaten clean of flesh and had been turned beige by the salt. The jaw and teeth were loose but intact. Julius stood straight-legged and stared. Osmond on the scow turned and saw the skull as if the presence of such a thing could impact a man a hundred yards off and he ran the scow into the floathouse and stepped out and took the skull from Bill.

Osmond's hair fell over his cheeks. He held the skull at arm's length and he whispered, Lord.

Who the hell is it? Julius said. Unlucky sonofawhore.

It's my father, Bill said. He tried to straighten his body but he could not and he felt himself sink into the float as if the wood beneath his feet had suddenly rotted. He took his glasses off and he put them back on and he stepped to Osmond and took the skull from him and held it to his stomach like a woman embracing her pregnancy. He looked around the floathouse and the walls pressed against him. Julius sat on a crate and breathed slowly and didn't say anything. He stared at the skull for a long time. When Bill finally noticed Julius's gaze he wanted to hide the skull but he saw something in Julius's eyes or the way Julius held his head slightly cocked that made him hold the skull up as if out of sympathy or childish camaraderie. All was quiet save for the swish and lap of the tidewater on the pound dam. One of the bottom canine teeth was gold and Bill pinched it between thumb and forefinger as if testing the root's strength.

Julius stared. His mouth fell open and his nostrils flared and his eyes held a light that Bill would have thought the boy incapable of. He couldn't stop watching Julius as Julius watched the skull as if it were the only thing in this world that he cherished.

That's your father, Julius finally said and the words came slow and didn't sound like Julius's voice.

Bill nodded and he felt Osmond behind him. Osmond took a step forward.

How'd he get in here? Julius sounded like he'd lost something that truly mattered.

Osmond brushed past Bill and took the skull and walked to the outer edge of the floathouse and flung it sidearm over the dam. It landed with a splash in the tidewater.

Bill stood dumbfounded. His hands felt empty. He turned them palm-up to be sure the skull was gone from them.

The Lord shall tend to such things, William.

Bill blinked. The Lord?

Yes. He shall cross to the other side.

The other side?

Bill noticed Julius standing beside him. It was a comforting presence.

Osmond stepped back into the scow.

Is the rest of him in there? Julius asked Osmond.

Osmond's face was pale and it took him a moment to speak. Horse and rider he has thrown into the sea. Now crate those bugs before they freeze.

Osmond pulled the cord and started the outboard.

Bill dropped to his knees with a crate beside him and began filling it. He worked slowly and methodically. He turned each lobster in his hands as if any one of them could be another part of his father. He concentrated on each breath. When that crate was full he slid another one over and looked at Julius. Julius was sucking on a hard candy and staring at his own palm.

You working today? Bill said.

Julius made a fist. That was your father? You sure?

Bill pulled one glove off and lit a cigarette and clenched the lighter in his trembling hand. He drew on the cigarette hard enough to cave the filter. How many gold-toothed dead guys you know of?

How'd he get in here?

I got no clue.

I thought he died offshore.

Somewhere out there. Not in here, I know that much.

• • •

A few hours later the dirty white refrigerated truck backed up to the loading dock at the pound. The driver got out and tied his cheap leather work boots and straightened. He was short and stocky with curly blond hair and wide blue eyes. Osmond approached him and they shook hands.

Osmond, he said and nodded.

Osmond clenched the man's hand. Daniel.

Daniel opened the backdoor of the truck and slid the rows of empty crates out to Bill and Julius. They stacked them alongside the building.

Osmond operated the winchhead as Julius hooked the lobster crates with two steel hooks. Bill stood on the loading dock and unhooked the crates as they rose dripping and spinning from the seawater. He dragged the crates into the cold metal truck and he and Daniel stacked them five high atop pallets. As he worked his father's skull hung in his mind and like a gull circling a dead fish that it didn't dare approach Bill couldn't quite grasp that he'd held his father's skull in his hands. Held it in his hands then watched Osmond throw it overboard. He wasn't certain if what was going on around him was actually happening or not and uncertainty wasn't something Bill was used to. The crates couldn't rise fast enough and any time Bill spent waiting he spent hiding his shaking hands and clenching his thigh muscles to keep his knees taught.

When they finally got the hundred crates loaded Daniel took out a book of checks and receipts and wrote a check out to Osmond. They stood next to the truck.

Jason sends his regards, Daniel said.

Osmond nodded.

He was in Japan then Honolulu. He'll be back tonight. He's expecting you.

Osmond looked up. That's right.

Good, said Daniel.

Bill stood next to them and listened but all he could concentrate on was the skull and his own shakes.

This is Nicolas's son, Osmond explained then cast a look at Bill that said with the hard weight of stone,
Keep your mouth shut.

Yeah, said Daniel. I was sorry to hear of his death. He was a good man. Jason respected him.

Thanks, Bill muttered.

Daniel handed the check to Osmond. I'll see you soon.

Yes. Osmond folded the paper into his breast pocket.

I'm off, said Daniel and he shook their hands and untied his boots and climbed into the truck and left.

Bill looked around and felt the wind in his nostrils. It didn't feel like any wind he'd ever known. He looked at Osmond and said, You going there for business?

Osmond blinked his eyes once and the lids were thick folds that remained closed for a couple of seconds. When they opened he was looking at Bill. Yes, William, I am. I am going on my business and my business alone.

If it's pound business it's my business too.

A raft of pintails lifted off the harbor and looped out of sight.

I'm getting a crow call, Bill said.

Osmond opened the door to his truck. I wouldn't if I was you, William.

Why's that?

Killing crows is bad luck.

Hell, said Bill. My old man killed them all his life.

Osmond raised his eyebrows but Bill was back to thinking about the skull.

Osmond sat in his truck with the door open. His face appeared to contort into an expression that it had never before known. He spoke slow. About your father, William. I wish that had not happened and I know it must be hard on you. How did he end up in here? In this pound? I do not understand.

I got no clue, Bill said.

Neither do I. Osmond took a moment to think. His face regained its composure and the vertical wrinkles once again stretched across the skin. Do not mention this to anyone. Not a soul, William. We don't want anything going on around here. If the police find out they will drain this pound down to mud and kill every bug in here. We will lose everything. We will go out of business and this pound will be sold. We will lose our boats and our homes and everything, William. This pound will go bankrupt. We will go bankrupt. Let your father go the way the Lord intended. That is what he would like.

We got to do something, Bill said but even as he said it he knew that Osmond was right. His father had spent sleepless nights pacing the kitchen and even puking into the sink with anxiety over the pound. Pounding lobsters was always a gamble and each and every poundman on the coast would take one hell of a beating before he removed any more than a cupful of water from his pound.

Bill pictured his boat being driven out of the harbor with some other fisherman at the helm and he nodded consent to Osmond and Osmond nodded in return.

Bill watched him drive away and he went back to the doorway and leaned against the doorframe. He pulled his glasses off and wiped at his eyes which were raw as if salt burned.

Julius came up behind him and stood in the opposite side of the doorway. Neither said anything then Julius hacked and spat and said, Can't believe we found a fucking skull in there.

Bill turned his head slowly to Julius and looked the boy up and down then went back to looking at the driveway and the harbor mouth. A few gulls bobbed in the water and a crow rose from a spruce snag. It circled once then landed in the same tree.

You moving somewhere? Bill said.

I moved already.

Where to?

Up the east side. The old Smith house.

Bill nodded. He felt like everything had gone strange on him and the only thing that connected him to what he understood was Julius Wesley. That made him feel even stranger. He didn't want Julius to leave. His head throbbed. He wished he was on his boat.

How's the new boat?

Like fucking thunder, Julius said.

You got a new trap gang too?

Who said that?

Nobody.

Then why you asking?

I'm not, Bill said. He looked down and kicked at the ground with his rubber boot then walked to his truck and left. He drove slowly down the road and bashed his palm against the steering wheel and said, Fuck, Dad, but he didn't know why he said it and he almost said,
I can't do it
, but he didn't know what exactly it was that he couldn't do so he held the words crunched in his teeth like a piece of shell he planned to spit out.

Charlotte didn't come down for breakfast. Jonah and Virgil sat at the table without talking. Celeste made waffles. The classical music station played in the background. When the waffles were finished Celeste called up to Charlotte but didn't get an answer. She looked at Virgil and Jonah and neither spoke.