Shipping News, The - E. Annie Proulx [102]
He stood then in front of Sunshine and Quoyle, clawing at his groin as though scorched by red-hot underwear. “Quoyle. Just wanted to let you know you should call Diddy Shovel. Something about a ship fire. You’ll probably want to go straight along. I put [232] the camera in your car. See if there’s a chance for some pix. I’ll tell you, Jack Buggit is some smart. People would rather read about a clogged head on a ship than all the car wrecks in Newfoundland.” Took his time drinking his coffee. Chucked Sunshine under the chin and scratched again before he ambled out.
“I don’t like that yukky man,” said Sunshine. Feeling Quoyle’s anger through the comb.
“In love with himself,” said Beety. “Always has been. And no competition.”
“Like this,” said Murchie Buggit, hands blurred in demented scratching.
“That’s enough,” said Beety. “You look like a dog with bad fleas.”
“So did he.”’ And Sunshine and Murchie screamed with laughter until Murchie choked on toast crumbs and Quoyle had to slap his back.
But before he called the harbormaster the phone rang.
“For you,” said Beety.
“Hello?” He expected Diddy Shovel’s voice.
“Quoyle,” said Billy Pretty, “you stopped by Alvin Yark’s to talk about a boat?”
“No, Billy. I haven’t even been thinking about it to tell you the truth. Kind of busy the last few weeks. And I guess I’m leery of boats after what happened.”
“That’s why you must go right back to ‘em. Now you been christened. Winter is the finest time to build a boat. Alvin build you something and come ice-out I’ll show you the tricks. Since you’ve been brought up away from the boats and are a danger to yourself.”
Quoyle knew he should feel grateful. But felt stupid. “That’s kind of you, Billy. I know I ought to do it.”
“You just go out there to Alvin’s place. You know where his shop is? Get Wavey to show you. Alvin’s her uncle. Her poor dead mother’s oldest brother.”
“Alvin Yark is Wavey’s uncle?” He seemed to be treading a spiral, circling in tighter and tighter.
[233] “Oh yes.”
While his hand was on the phone Quoyle dialed Diddy Shovel. What was the fire, was there a story in it? Bunny slouched into the kitchen with her sweater on backwards. Quoyle tried to pantomime a command to reverse the sweater, aroused the Beethoven scowl.
“Young man,” the great voice boomed, “while you’re fiddling around the Rome bums. Cargo ship, Rome, six-hundred-foot vessel, Panamanian registered, carrying a load of zinc and lead powder is, let’s see, about twenty miles out and on fire at thirteen hundred hours. Two casualties. The captain and an unidentified. Rest of the crew taken off by helicopter. Twenty-one chaps from Myanmar. Do you know where Myanmar is?”
“No.”
“Right where Burma used to be. Helicopter took most of the crew to Misky Bay Hospital to be treated for smoke inhalation. Ship is in tow, destination Killick-Claw. More than that I do not know.”
“Do you know how I can get out to her?”
“Why bother? Wait until they bring her in. Shouldn’t be too long.”
Yet by three-thirty the ship still had not entered the narrows. Quoyle called Diddy Shovel again.
“Should be here by five. Understand they’ve had some trouble. Towing cable parted and they had to rig another.”
¯
Wavey came down the steps pulling at the sleeves of her homemade coat, the color of slushy snow. She got in, glanced at him. A slight smile. Looked away.
Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.
“I’ve got to go down to the harbor. So we can pick up the kids and I’ll bring you and young Herold straight back. I can drop Bunny off at Beety’s for an hour or take her with me. They’re [234] towing in a ship that had a fire. Two men dead, including the captain. The