The Big Snapper (7 page)

Eddie lies in bed thinking about how they're going to fix the broken axle. Granddad is not snoring so he also must still be awake. Eddie tells him about the wagon and asks his opinion on how to fix it.

“Where is it?” Granddad asks.

“It's in the boat shed.”

With some difficulty, Granddad swings his legs over the bed and sits up. “I'll tell you what. If we can sneak past your mother and grandmother, I'll take a look.”

“Right now?”

“They're in their bedroom. I can't get past them during the day, so now's our only chance.”

Eddie tiptoes to the door and opens it. The hall to the kitchen and the back door is dark. He signals for Granddad to follow. Granddad slips on his leather slippers and pads after him. They reach the back door where, as quietly as he can, Eddie turns the knob. Once they are outside, the moon is uncharacteristically bright, illuminating the yard. Eddie ducks beneath branches and keeps to the shadows as he leads the way across the damp grass. Granddad follows. They are almost across the yard when Granddad is forced to stop and catch his breath. Briefly, he leans on the table where he fillets fish.

“Ready?” Eddie asks when he hears Granddad's breathing lighten.

“Ready,” Granddad says.

They continue on together and enter the shed as quietly as they'd left the house. Eddie does not turn on the light until both of them are inside and the door is closed.

The shed smells strongly of cedar. The hull of the boat Granddad's been working on over the past two years is supported by sawhorses in the
center of the room. Curly wood shavings litter the floor and the walls are hung with tools.

“So, where is it?” Granddad asks.

Eddie points to the other side of the boat, to the big wooden wagon he and Jake had salvaged from the dump.

Granddad whistles—softly so Grandma can't possibly hear him. “What are you boys planning to haul in that thing?”

“We're going to hitch it to the bike and pull each other around.”

Granddad steps closer. “Why, it's as big as a taxi cab. You could start a business and charge people to take them around town.”

Eddie had never thought of that. He envisions Mrs. Greenshaw stepping into the wagon, tucking her long skirts around her, clutching her bag of medicines and herbs, and Eddie jumping on the bike, waiting for her instructions, and pulling her to the home of whoever is sick.

Granddad inspects the wagon and axle. “All it needs is a new rivet. I've got what we need right here.”

Eddie helps Granddad flip the wagon and he brings him the tools he needs. When he's finished fastening the rivet, they flip the wagon upright
again. After a shot of WD-40, it rolls smoothly, and Eddie is pleased. Granddad climbs aboard to test it. Eddie laughs at the sight of his old grandfather sitting in the wagon like he's a little kid. He pulls him once around the boat.

They sneak back to the house along the same route they'd taken to the shed. Granddad stops more often to rest. Eddie waits each time before moving forward again.

Eddie is the first one in the back door. The kitchen light flicks on abruptly, even though he is not even near the switch.

Grandma stands in the doorway in her nightgown; her arms are crossed and her silver hair is a fuzzy mess. She stares at them, her blue eyes wide behind her new glasses. “Just where have you two been?”

Eddie and Granddad are too surprised to say anything immediately.

“Granddad was helping me with a project,” Eddie finally explains.

She glares at Granddad. “You know you're not to get out of bed.” She then turns to Eddie. “And you're not to be encouraging him. Now both of you, back to bed.”

Eddie and Granddad tiptoe past Grandma and down the hall again, even though there is no longer any reason to sneak.

Twenty minutes later, Eddie is lying in bed thinking about the fixed axle. Granddad seems to know he's not asleep.

“Eddie?”

“Yes, Granddad?”

“I want to tell you a little more about the treatments Dr. Gibson says I'm going to need.”

Eddie sits up. So does Granddad.

“They have to be done in a big city hospital. It means I'm going to have to go to the mainland for a while.”

“How long?”

“Six weeks.”

This unexpected news causes Eddie's stomach to twist and his throat to tighten.

“You said you were going to be just fine,” he says.

“Dr. Gibson thinks I will. But it is very important that I have the treatments.”

Eddie wants Granddad to be well, but six weeks is a very long time. He'll be back at school by the time Granddad's home again. His eyes begin to sting along with the pain in his stomach. If he comes home at all.

“Eddie, I know what you're thinking. I will come home. Don't you ever think that I won't.”

Eddie wipes away the tear rolling down his cheek. He's glad it's dark and that Granddad can't see his face.

The Backhouse family leaves the island a few days later. Two more couples come and go before the end of the week. Finally it's Granddad's turn. The morning he is to leave, Eddie helps him pack his suitcase. They try to discuss what he'll need for the hospital, but they can't hear each other above Mom vacuuming. She's vacuumed every day—sometimes even twice a day—since she bought her new Hoover from the hardware store. Grandma is going with Granddad. She'll be staying with some cousin Eddie has never heard of.

“I wish I could come too,” Eddie shouts as he passes Granddad a pair of socks from his dresser drawer.

Thankfully, the noise of the vacuum cleaner stops.

Granddad puts the socks in his suitcase. “I know. But you'd be more bored than a day of fishing without a bite. Dr. Gibson says the treatments will make me a little sick, and I'm not going to be able to leave the hospital. And Grandma will be too busy fussing and driving me crazy to take you around.”

“Are you scared?” Eddie asks. He knows he would be if it was him. “I mean, you're going to a strange place to have treatments that you already know will make you sick.”

“Scared? Are you kidding? I'll be warm and dry. Maybe the food won't be so great but at least I won't starve to death. And if that's all I have to put up with to get better, it's worth the price. This is going to be a breeze compared to some of the situations I've faced in my life.”

Eddie tries to think of one of the scarier situations Granddad has been in. The trick he'd played on the loggers sounded a bit scary. What if he'd been caught? But Granddad hadn't told the story like it was. “Like what?” he asks.

“Hmm. Well, like the time I stumbled into the middle of a mutiny.”

“You stumbled into a mutiny?”

“I haven't told you that story?”

Eddie shakes his head.

Granddad appears surprised. He stops packing for the moment and sits down on the bed. “This goes way back. I was probably not much older than you at the time.”

Eddie tries to imagine Granddad ten years old. He can picture him shorter and wearing jeans and a T-shirt. But it's still Granddad's wrinkled face with wisps of thin gray hair sprouting from under a baseball cap.

“I had a good friend named Rick. One early November day, we took a walk out to Rose Spit. The fog was as thick as your Grandma's chowder; nevertheless, we hiked up to the top of Tow Hill. On a clear day, you can see east as far as the mainland and north all the way to Alaska. But on that day we could barely see our hands at the ends of our arms.

“We climbed down and walked along the shore. The rocks were slippery, slick with weeds and still wet from the tide rolling out. We stopped to see what had been left behind by the tide. Rick was behind me. I was squatting to inspect a pool when he called me. I turned to see what he
wanted and lost my footing. I hadn't realized how close to the edge I was. Suddenly I was falling, down through the fog, unable to see what was below me. I hoped to hit water, but I also braced myself to hit rock.

“As it happened, I didn't hit either. After falling for what seemed an eternity, I hit something very soft. It felt like a trampoline because I bounced ten feet up again. As I was falling back down, a pole appeared in the air. Naturally, I grabbed on to it to break my fall. It was five minutes before the wind cleared a little of the mist away and I was able to see what had occurred.

“To my good fortune, I'd fallen directly into the masthead of a passing square rigger. The sail had not only broken my fall, but like a rubber band, it had sent me back up again. On my way back down, I'd passed the yardarm. This is what I'd grabbed on to and was now dangling from in the fog. I could hear the voices of sailors below me, although I was quite sure they couldn't see me, as I couldn't see them. I could, however, see the crow's nest from where I was. If I could just get to it, I could climb down to the deck and I'd be safe. I began to inch my way along, hand over fist to where it was attached to the mast.”

“Nobody was in the crow's nest?” Eddie asks.

“The ship was fog bound. There was nothing to see. Anyway, my arms felt ten inches longer by the time I got there, but I made it, and I was able to climb to the platform. It took me a moment to get my bearings. As I stood there, the voices became louder, and it was clear they were arguing. I heard shouts, orders given, a gunshot and something thrown into the drink. Dead silence, and then a single voice inquiring if anyone else cared to question the new command.

“At that moment, I was standing with my foot on the first rung of the ladder. I thought twice about stepping unannounced into the middle of a mutiny, and I decided to stay right where I was. At least until the fog lifted. I was there about an hour when the new captain ordered, ‘Pull the anchor and loose the sails!' He'd decided to shove off despite the fog. But not half an hour out, it did begin to lift. The next time I looked down it was clear to the deck, and the captain was at the foot of the ladder, staring up.

“He was a frightful-looking fellow with black, stringy hair tied back with a dirty kerchief, and one eye permanently shut tight. ‘Where'd you
come from, boy?' he hollered. He tapped his bayonet sheath on the deck. ‘Get down here and present yourself.'

“Well, obviously, I had no choice. I climbed down and stood before him. He glared at me with his one yellow eye. ‘I asked you where you came from?' he repeated.

‘I come from Tow Hill,' I answered. ‘I didn't mean to disturb your ship, sir, and you have my promise I won't say anything to anyone about what you did.'

“I wasn't sure why I blurted that out, but I'd no sooner said it when I knew it was a mistake. He cocked his head and poked me with his bayonet. ‘Oh, and what did I do?' he enquired.

“‘Well, the gunshot, sir, and what went overboard.' I stopped myself because his face was getting snarlier as I spoke. He showed his teeth, the same horrid yellow as his eye. ‘Well, you can be sure you won't,' he sneered. ‘Mapface!' he hollered. At once, a squat fellow—his face a network of broken veins—stood next to him. ‘Throw this boy in the hold. I'll dispose of him later. I don't like boys who drop out of the sky.'

“Mapface grabbed me by an arm. He was a short sailor, but his arm was four times the
thickness of my own. He hauled me down a narrow flight of steps and along a dark passage. On either side, chains rattled and men groaned behind barred doors. Some doors had small squares cut in them. Through these, I spotted the squished faces of desperate men. ‘Let us out now, and no one will be the wiser,' begged one man as we passed. Mapface ignored him. ‘In there,' he growled. He stuffed me into a room with a door so low that I had to crouch to get in.

“It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Finally I detected half a dozen pairs of eyes around the room. Someone said something about me being just a boy. ‘You a stowaway?' one of them asked. I told them, no, I'd only been beachcombing and lost my footing. They chuckled sadly at the misfortune of my stumbling into their predicament by unlucky chance. It seemed it was the cook who'd taken over the ship; he was the yellow-eyed man who was now posing as captain. He'd put something in their morning coffee to make them all fall asleep; then he locked them up while they were snoring.”