The Boatmaker by John Benditt Read Free Book Online Page B

doesn’t want her to fall. His boots find their way along the path, which is invisible in the dark. The grass catches at his feet and tries to trip him, but he pushes through into the woods. When he gets home, he falls to the floor next to his boat and sleeps.
    He wakes up in his clothes, cold and sore. It comes back to him slowly: going to his mother’s house, her not seeming to know he was there some of the time, tellingher about the boat, being given the handkerchief. He rolls out from under the hull, stands up, goes to the pitcher in the corner, drinks some of the water and pours the rest over his head. Takes off his corduroy jacket, hangs it on a peg near the door. Reaches into the jacket pocket and pulls out the handkerchief. It’s creamy yellow-white linen, decorated with his mother’s needlework in green. He would know her work anywhere.
    The embroidery shows the harbor of Small Island. On the bluffs above are a few tiny houses; below is the curving shoreline. In the foreground are three harbor seals, their heads sleek and pointed, nosing above the surface. One is nearby, on the right, the other two farther away, toward the land, facing each other. He folds the handkerchief carefully and replaces it in his jacket pocket. No matter how far from Small Island he goes, he must never lose the thing his mother has given him.
    He turns to look at his work. The boat is almost finished. He has filled in maple decking between the gunwales and completed the centerboard well. In the town, he has purchased the few pieces of hardware he needs, avoiding the woman while he was there.
    Now that the boat is almost done, he can indulge himself. He goes outside and sits, smoking and thinking, enjoying the warmth. Sitting with his back againstthe shed, he sees her come up the path carrying a parcel. She stops in front of him, the toes of her boots almost touching his.
    She sits down beside him without saying anything. The silence excites him. He feels the excitement rising in his chest, arms, legs. He waits until his cigarette burns to a glowing nub, then crushes it into the earth. He takes hold of her, rough and tender at the same time, feeling the thing that always joins them, regardless of how long it has been.
    He gets up, leans over, puts one arm around her back, the other under her legs. He lifts and carries her into the shed, then lays her down in the shadow of the boat. He pulls at her clothes, then at his, and enters her, quick and sharp. Her legs are raised, his overalls falling around him, his buttocks white in the darkness of the shed. She feels herself flow around and into him. As always, she loses her sense of where she is.
    When he is done, the first thing she’s aware of is the coolness of the air on her body. She straightens her clothing, gets up, brushes herself off and walks out the door. He watches her without moving from the floor.
    The package is where she left it. She picks it up, brushes off a few pine needles and some crumbs of dirt. She goes back into the shed, holding the parcel out, herhands trembling. He stands and gets a folding knife, cuts the twine, which falls twirling to the dirt. He slices the paper, removes it and sees a light blue box with dark blue lettering raised from its surface. The name of the famous maker of nautical equipment means nothing to him.
    He squats next to her on the dirt floor. What’s inside the box is heavy, wrapped in tissue paper. He unwraps the tissue and lets it fall. What’s left is a marine compass, designed for big ships but scaled down to the proportions of a small boat. It has a solidity and precision beyond anything he is familiar with. The black dial is lettered in red and gold. The needle moves slightly, as if eager to show him his course away from Small Island. He knows this compass must have cost every one of the bills he left her with the table—and perhaps more. He sets the compass back in the box, puts the box on the dirt floor and