Envious Moon(12)

And sitting in the captain’s chair, staring at the stars, I wondered why we even did it, took the risk we did for this job. Though I knew the answer already. We did it because we were born to it. We did it because it was the only thing we could do. We did it because in the work itself was a simple truth that is so hard to find in this life. We were men killing fish. It was no more complicated than that. And when you think about it in those terms, you understand the freedom that comes from this work. The freedom in knowing where you stand, in seeing your relationship to things.





We reached the Grand Banks without incident and the weather held. Captain Alavares moved us to different patches of ocean, looking for the right temperature to set. In the galley I sat with Carlos and Big Al and we smoked and waited for the word from up top that it was time to go. Unlike when we were steaming, there was no relaxed banter, no movies. We had our boots on and our coveralls. The quiet anticipation of the work to come.

Then in the afternoon Ronny came down the ladder and said that the captain wanted to see me. If the other men were curious they did not say anything, though I could not remember a moment before when he had asked to see me by myself.

I went to the wheelhouse and when I opened the door, Captain Alavares sat with his back to me and when I walked through he swiveled around and faced me.

“Anthony,” he said. “Come in.”

Through the windows I could see that the weather still held but the ceiling had shrunk and in the distance there were heavy gray clouds. I stood with my hands clasped in front of my waist, and I said, “Skip.”

The captain was in his forties and solidly built, with only the slightest hint of a paunch. The first silver was showing on the hair at his temples. Captain Alavares looked at me. “Anthony, is everything all right?”

I nodded, unclear at what he was getting at. “Yeah, sure,” I said.

“I got a strange call on the SSB this morning,” he said. “Sheriff from Cross Island.”

Immediately I thought of Victor, what he might have done. “Okay,” I said.

“You in some kind of trouble, Anthony?”

“Nah, Skip. Not that I know of.”

The captain looked straight at me and I tried to return his gaze, but instead I looked past him to where the boat cut through the waves. “He wanted to know if you were on board,” he said.

“What’d you tell him?” I said.

“That of course you were on board. He wanted to know when we were coming in.”

The captain laughed and I felt better when he did. He said, “Not a fisherman, that one. I told him we’d be in when we were done. Couldn’t give him an exact date.”

“All right,” I said.

“Anthony,” he said. “You sure everything’s okay? You’re not in trouble?”

I shook my head. “Something stupid. Something with my skiff. That’s all.”

Captain Alavares smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, Anthony.”

“We going to set tonight, Skip?” I asked.

He swung his chair around and peered at the instruments in front of him. “Still running a little cold. But let’s hope so. It’s time.”

We fished that night and every night for the next two weeks. It was a great run with calm seas and clear skies. A pale full fisherman’s moon hung fat over the ocean. The first sets we pulled were mainly blue dogs, sharks, but after that it was all swords and big-eyed tuna. We worked hard and I gave in to the rhythm of the work, and the hold quickly grew full. Although in those brief moments when we had a lull, or when I found the time to lie in my bunk, I couldn’t help but wonder what waited for me back home. Sometimes I looked to the wake that ran like a road through the ocean behind the boat. And it dawned on me that perhaps my life was going to come to an abrupt end after this trip.

But we caught fish after fish and this meant money and all the men were in good spirits. I tried to join them and sometimes I could not help but feel it. Sometimes I even managed to push it all out of my mind. The sheriff, Victor, the great house. All of it.

One bright sunny morning Captain Alavares told us we had done all we could do. He told us we were going home. We all whooped and hollered and stood dog-tired on the deck putting our arms around each other and lighting cigarettes. The captain turned the boat toward land. We were steaming again. Carlos and Big Al and Ronny all disappeared below to sleep. I stood on the deck and watched the sea move under the boat. I watched the birds that followed us, storm petrels mostly, get pushed around by the breeze. And I wondered if the sheriff would greet me at the wharf, or if he would be waiting for me at my house.





As we approached Galilee, I kept my eyes fixed on the small harbor. After we passed the breakwater, I anxiously scanned the wharf for any signs of red-and-white sheriff cars. But I saw none and when we docked we got busy with unloading the catch and cleaning out the holds and washing the decks. I looked over my shoulder the whole time. When we were done we smoked outside the office while our checks were cut and then we split up, Big Al and Ronny to the bar, Carlos home to his wife, and me to Victor’s, where I found his apartment open but my friend nowhere to be found.

I returned to my house and there were no police cars here either. I thought that maybe my mind had gotten to me at sea. It was possible, I thought, that Victor had not caved in like I suspected and told everything. Perhaps the sheriff’s call to the boat was nothing more than a routine follow-up. Maybe I was going to be okay, after all.