“There’s the Hoogarsjacht, and the Boeierjacht-”
“There’s the hockeyjacht and the schnockyjacht and the malarkeyjacht,” said the woman. “There’s the poppycock and the stockyblock. If you don’t tell them what happened in Hurricane Bob, then I will.”
The man drank. The hems of his trousers dripped.
Billy Pretty coaxed the woman, lest she draw blood. “Now, m’dear, just tell us what happened in Hurricane Bob. We’re anxious to hear it.”
The woman’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Fixed the man with her stare. He sighed, spoke in a weary singsong.
“Oh. Kay. Keep happiness in the fucking family. We were moored at White Crow Harbor north of Bar Harbor. That’s in Maine you know, in the United States. Way up the coast from Portland. Actually there are two Portlands, but the other is on the West Coast. Oregon. Down below British Columbia. Well,Tough Babysort of slipped her moorings at the height of this incredible storm. The sea absolutely went mad. You’ve seen howTough Babyis built. Utterly massive. Utterly heavy. Utterly built for punishment. Well! She smashedseventeenboats to matchsticks. Seventeen.”
The woman leaned her head back and cawed.
“Didn’t stop there. You’ve seen she’s flat bottomed. Built to go aground. After she absolutely made kindling out of White Crow’s finest afloat, the waves kept shoving her on the beach. Like some incredible battering ram. In she’d come. Wham!”
“Wham!” said the woman. The bathrobe gaped. Quoyle saw bruises on the flesh above her knees.
“Out she’d float. She got among the beach houses. These were not your butchers’ and bakers’ beach houses, no, these were some of the most beautiful houses on the coast designed by internationally known architects.”
“That’s right. That’s right!” Urged him, a dog through a flaming hoop.
“Pounded twelve beach houses, the docks and boathouses, into rubble, absolute rubble. In she’d come. Wham!”
“Wham!”
“Out she’d go. Pulverized them. Brought them down. Wilkie Fritz-Change was trying to sleep in the guest room of one of those houses-he’d been ambassador to some little eastern European hot spot and was recuperating from a breakdown at Jack and Daphne Gershom’s beach house-and he barely escaped with his life. He said later he thought they were firing cannon at him. And the most extraordinary thing was that the only damageshesustained in this completely mad and uncontrollable rampage was a cracked lee board. Not a dent, not a scratch on her.”
The woman, mouth full, shut her eyes, nodded her head. But was bored, now. Tired of these people.
Quoyle imagined the heavy vessel hurling itself onto its neighbors, pounding houses and docks. He cleared his throat.
“What brings you to Killick-Claw? A holiday voyage?”
The white-haired man eager to go on. “ Holiday? Up here? On the most utterly desolate and miserable coast in the world? Wild horses couldn’t drag me. I’d rather cruise the roaring forties off Tierra del Fuego in a garbage scow. No, we’re being reupholstered, aren’t we?” A deadly sarcasm whittled his voice to a point. “Silver here, my darling wife, insists on the services of a particular yacht upholsterer. Among thousands. Lived on Long Island, a mere seven miles from our summer place. Now we have to chase up to this godforsaken rock. All the way from the Bahamas to get the dining salon reupholstered. How can anyone live here? My god, we even had to bring the leather with us.”
From the way he said the woman’s metal name Quoyle thought it was changed from a stodgier “Alice” or “Bernice.”
“Yacht upholsterer? I didn’t know there were such things.”
“Oh absolutely. Think about it. Yachts are full of these incredible, bizarre irregular spaces, utterlyweirdbenches and triangular tables. Thousands and thousands of dollars to upholster the dinette alone in a unique yacht like this. Everything custom fitted. And of course every boat is different. Some of the more select yachts have leather walls or ceilings. I’ve seen leather floors-remember that, Silver? Biscuit Paragon’s yacht, wasn’t it? Cordovan leather floor tiles. Unbelievable. Of course you fall down a lot.”
“What’s his name?” asked Quoyle. “A local yacht upholsterer would interest our readers.”
“Oh, it’s not a him,” said the woman. “It’s Agnis. Agnis Hamm, ‘ Hamm ’s Custom Yacht Interiors and Upholstery.’ Tiresome woman, but an absolute angel with the upholsterer’s needle.” She laughed.
Billy Pretty shifted. “Well, thank-you folks-Bayonet and Silver-”
“Melville. As in Herman Melville.” The man pouring another drink, shivering, perhaps because he was wet. They shook the man’s hand, Billy Pretty held the woman’s cold fingers. Out of the hot cabin into the rain. The wet suitcase was probably ruined.
Inside the cabin heard voices turn loud. Go on, the woman said, get out of here, leave, see how far you get, detestable bastard. Be a tour guide again. Go on. Go. Go on.
14 Wavey
In Wyoming they name girls Skye. In Newfoundland
it’s Wavey.
A SATURDAY afternoon. Quoyle was spattered with turquoise drops from painting the children’s room. Sat at the table with cup and saucer, a plate of jelly doughnuts.
“Well, Aunt,” he said, “you are in the yacht upholstery business.” Sucking at the tea. “I thought all along it was sofas.”
“Did you see my sign?” The aunt sanded a bureau, rubbed the wood with hissing paper, sling of flesh under her upper arm trembling.
Bunny and Sunshine, under the table with cars and a cardboard road that unfolded in racetrack curves. Bunny put a block on the road. “That’s the moose,” she said. “Here comes Daddy.Rrrr .Bee bee-beep . The moose don’t care.” She crashed the car into the block of wood.
“I want to do that!” said Sunshine, reaching for the block and the car.
“Get your own. This is mine. “There was scrabbling, the knock of skull on table leg and Sunshine’s howl.
“Crybaby!” Bunny scrambled out from under the table and threw the block and car at Sunshine.
“Here, now!” said the aunt.
“Calm down, Bunny.” Quoyle lifted Sunshine into his lap, inspected the red mark on her forehead, kissed it, swayed back and forth. Across the room Bunny damned all three with killing eyes. Quoyle’s smile signaled his disinterest in glares. But it seemed to him the sounds of his children were screaming and scraping. When would they start to be gentle?
“The shop is sixes and sevens at the moment, but at least the sewing machines are set. Getting experienced help is the big problem, but I’m training two women, Mrs.