The Watery Part of the World - Michael Parker [56]
“My uncle was a drunk and a middling sailor. Daniels knew the islands. He’d been asea since he was ten years old, pirating to hear him tell it for nearly that long. That and his famous grand-daddy’s only thing I ever heard him tell about his past. Long as we kept Clarence full of liquor, he’d never even notice Daniels was still around.”
“You came back here with him?”
“He knew he’d of died that night or starved to death on that island had I not saved his hide. I never meant to spend the brunt of my life in the company of Daniels. I never meant to abandon my family for these pitiful dunes. But I guess at a certain point—around the time I run into Daniels—I had already started to realize I couldn’t very well go back and pretend to be these young’un’s daddy again. Or that woman’s husband. Not after all I’d done.
“By the time we got back up here it’d been somehow decided: he’d set me up with my own boat. He claimed to have three ships at his ready. Turned out he had a barely seaworthy one and a half. He didn’t lie about one thing, though—he said he’d take care of me for saving his life, and that he did.”
“So what happened between you then?”
“We made a lot of money together, for one thing. I had a house in his compound, a couple of women I called wives—weren’t no more than girls, really. Eventually Daniels did set me up with my own ship. What it come to was, you know how they say you can choose your own death? I never believed it. I’m not much when it comes to fearing any God, but I do believe when it’s time to go you’re gone. You don’t get to sit around deciding which door to take. Only it seemed to me, all that time on a ship with my uncle, watching him drink himself to death, he was going to die drunk sure as he’d lived every day of his life past the age of ten with liquor sloshing in his belly. And he didn’t have to die like that. He could of chose not to. Name your poison, they tell you. Well, you can also name the medicine to take that’ll cure you.”
She nodded sympathetically but still had to stifle a smirk. Was he suggesting that, since he stopped thieving, he would be allowed to die a not-thief? It did not seem her place to point out the ridiculousness of his point, yet when she looked up, his eyes were on her and he seemed to read her thoughts.
“You’re wondering how it is I think I can live with all the wrong I done? I guess most men like me think they’re going to go down accountable for it no matter, no sense in fighting what has turned out to be your nature. I could easily accept that what I did those years with Daniels is my true nature. Or I could start doing some good or at least quit doing evil.”
That his admission, his sincere desire to change his life for the better would turn her stomach was nearly as distressing to her as the notion that she was only a part of his atonement. It was not love; it was rehabilitation. The old Old Whaley would have unleashed the dog and let him devour her; the newly reformed Whaley would stand above until she was maimed, then pull the dog off in order to right his wrongs. Not love but something akin to business, a transaction rendered on a payment long overdue.
“You’ve not told me what happened between you two.”
“I stopped robbing ships. I left my house in the compound, left those girls I called wives. I told Daniels he could take my share of it, told him I was tired. He thought it was God behind it all. I believe he fears any god could lay claim on you—or that picture of you—but not a god I could turn to in order to deliver me from my thieving ways. That God he’s got nothing but hate for.”
“And he left you alone?”
“So long’s I stayed to myself, on his island. He said he’d see to it I’d never starve, but I told him I didn’t want his help. Said I’d make do somehow. Fine, he