Shipping News, The - E. Annie Proulx [55]
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, utterly weird benches 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.
[123] “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. Mavis Bangs and Dawn Budgel. Mavis is an older woman, widow, you know, but Dawn’s only twenty-six. Went to university, scholarships and all. Absolutely no work in her field. She’s been doing lumpfish processing at the fish plant to fill in—when there’s work—and then scraping along on unemployment insurance. That’s the lumpfish caviar.” Didn’t care for it herself.
“No, I didn’t see the shop. I interviewed two of your customers, I’m writing about their boat. The Melvilles. It was a surprise. No idea you were a yacht upholsterer.”
“Oh yes. I’ve been waiting for my equipment to come. Opened the shop about ten days ago. I started the yacht upholstery, you see, after my friend died. In 1979. What these days they’d call a ‘significant other.’ Warren. That’s who I named