The Shipping News

33 The Cousin

“Magic nets, snares, and knots have been, and in some

instances probably still are, used as lethal weapons.”

QUIPUS AND WITCHES’ KNOTS

AT TEN in the morning the chambermaid knocked on Quoyle’s door, then stuck her head in and called “Comin’ to do the room, m’dear.”

“Wait,” said Quoyle. “Half hour.” Dead boiled voice.

“Guess you was at the party where they sunk the boat! Harriet says the kitchen wants to put away the breakfasts so they can get started on lunch. Shall I tell her to save you a bit of eggs and tea then?”

But Quoyle was on his knees in front of the toilet, retching, suffering, full of self-hatred. Heard her voice like a wasp in a jar. At last he could turn on the shower, stand beneath the hot needles, face thrust near the spray head, feeling the headache move back a little. His legs pained.

The bedroom was icy after the steam. He pulled on clothes, the fabric rucking like metal. Bending to tie his shoes brought the headache into his eyes again and his stomach clenched.

Out the window the sky was dirty, sand swirled in the street. A few trucks passed, exhaust twisting out of tail pipes. Cold. His jacket sleeve was torn from shoulder to wrist.

Downstairs Harriet smirked.

“Hear it was some party,” she said. Quoyle nodded.

“You ought to have a cup of tea. Nice hot cup of tea.”

“I’ll make one out at the house,” he said. “Got to get out there this morning and pick up some things.” Sunshine’s boots, kids’ extra mittens, the rest of his shirts, a library book now weeks overdue. Some tools. Supposed to be at Alvin Yark’s in the afternoon. He had a recollection of Nutbeem’s trailer being pulled apart. Suppose they couldn’t live in it? Tried to telephone Nutbeem, fumbled the coins into the slot. No answer.

“They’re calling for snow tonight,” said Harriet and crackled her papers. “What do you hear from Agnis? She like it in St. John’s? I know Dawn likes it. She’s my cousin Arky’s youngest. Guess she’s having the time of her life. Says she’ll never come back here.”

“O.k., I guess,” said Quoyle. Shaking.

In the street he couldn’t find his car. Forced his mind back to Nutbeem’s party, remembered walking miles and miles out to Wavey’s house. Peering in the window. The car must still be at Nutbeem’s. Or had he wrecked it, driven it off the road or into the sea? He didn’t know. But walked to Harbor Cab and took a taxi to the trailer. There was no place he wanted less to see.

“So this where they ‘ad the big pardy,” said the driver. “Never know it. I seen pardies go on three, four days. Not no more, my son. Them good days is gone.” And drove away.

His station wagon was there, but with an indentation in the door. Seven or eight beer cans in the backseat. Shriveled circles of ham on the fender. The trailer sagged at one end. The yard was glassy with a strew of bottles. No sign of Nutbeem, his bicycle or, at the dock, his boat. Had he sailed away drunk in the night without saying good-bye? Must be pitching on the Atlantic with his head in a vise.

Quoyle thought of the barrel full of piss, the tiny aluminum rooms. He did not want to live in the trailer.

Beety gave him a cool look and a mug of hot tea.

“I stayed at the i

“Look like you slept in the puppy’s parlor. I never thought you was the type, Quoyle.”

“I didn’t think so, either.” The tea, scalding hot with two sugars and plenty of milk repairing him. “Is De

“Yes. In a way you could say he’s up all night. Come in at daylight with that poor Nutbeem to get some tools, and now he’s out rousting the rest of them that sank the boat. Poor Mr. Nutbeem.”

“Sank the boat? I didn’t see that. I just came from there. I didn’t see anything. There was nobody there. Nothing.”

“They’ve gone to get a crane. De

“My God,” said Quoyle. “And I thought Nutbeem had left in the night.”

“He didn’t look in shape to cross the road.”

“Dad. Guess what, Dad, I’m sick. And Bu

Sunshine stood in the door in droopy pajamas, her nose ru

“Poor baby,” said Quoyle, lifting her up and dipping a bit of toast in his tea for her.

“They’ve all got colds,” said Beety.

“I was going to take them out to the house with me this morning. You’ve had them all week, Beety. You must need a break.”

“They’re like me own,” she said. “But perhaps you’ll be in tomorrow afternoon? Stay with them all for a bit? Wi

“Glad to stay with them, Beety. You’ve been all the help in the world. I saw Jack and De

“That was a lot of gossip. They was never cool. Hot under the collar for a while is more like it, but it passed right off. The old gossips made something out of it.”

Sunshine felt hot under Quoyle’s hand. He looked at her drawing. At the top a shape with cactus ears and spiral tail. The legs shot down to the bottom of the page.

“It’s a monkey with his legs stretched out,” said Sunshine. Quoyle kissed the hot temple, aware of the crouching forces that would press her to draw broccoli trees with brown bark.

“Nutbeem’s trailer looked pretty sad this morning. They lifted one end off the foundation last night. I think I’d rather take the kids into a house than that trailer. If I can find anything. If you hear of anyone who’d rent for a while.”

“Did you talk to the Burkes? They’re down in Florida. A nice house. They want to sell it but they might rent now. Said they wouldn’t at first, but there’s been no buyers. It’s up on the road to Flour Sack Cove. You go past it twice a day. Grey house with a FOR SALE sign on the front. On the corner, there.”

“Black and white picket fence all around?”

“That’s it.”

He knew the house. Neat house with blue trim, high up, a sailor’s wife’s view of the harbor.

“I’ll see what I can find out on Monday. It might be just the place for us. But I can’t buy it. I’ve put a lot of money into that old house out on the point. I don’t have much left. The girls’ money’s put aside for them. All right, here’s the plan,” he said, half to Sunshine, half to Beety. “I’m going out to the green house now to pick up the rest of the things. Then I’m going up to Alvin Yark’s and help with the boat. Then I’ll look in at Nutbeem’s and see what’s happened with his boat. If they fixed it. If De

“No! Get out of it. Why don’t you bring back a comedy? That Australian one you got before was decent enough.”

He wondered if they’d made the Australian lesbian vampire murders into a movie yet.

The gravel road to Quoyle’s Point, scalloped ice in the potholes, had never seemed so miserable. The wind dead and the thick sky pressed on the sea. Calm. Flat calm. Not a flobber, Billy would say. The car engine seemed u