Northport
by James Roderick Burns
(This is part II. Read Northport from the beginning.)
How Walruses Live
I MET HER in the Walgreen’s by the railroad station. I had a few minutes to kill before the LIRR delivered my darling Abe from Wall Street, and rather than worrying over how many parlour-car scotches he might have consumed, I decided to browse the manicure section. I never made it. She was slumped with her pup beside the flying-elephant ride, crying as though it had swallowed their last nickel then refused to lift off.
‘Are you okay?’
I wasn’t sure how to address her. ‘Dear’ or ‘honey’ didn’t seem to cut it. She was quite a bit bigger than me, and though her skin was a nice russet brown, it was criss-crossed with tusk-marks. Her boy was plump as a chestnut. Each sob sent a sympathetic wave through the entire wobbly length of him.
She wiped away a tear before answering.
‘I – well, not really, but thank you for asking.’
I nodded.
‘I’m Bonnie. New in town?’
She nodded back.
‘Just a few days, since my husband Claude hauled out in the harbour. But where are my manners?’ She sniffed, wiped away another tear. ‘I’m Lily, and this young man is Edward. We’re from Nova Scotia.’ The pup poked his head out from beneath her flipper, his mouth a small round hole in a ball of fuzzy whiskers. He grunted. ‘We’ll be alright.’
But they weren’t; at least not then.
*
I caught a backhander next day for failing to drive him home. Abe believes in discipline served cold.
‘Ten bucks taxi fare, Bee. Ten! That’s coming out of your housekeeping. Now get outta my goddamn sight.’
There wasn’t much point prolonging the discussion, so I went back to the kitchen. He’d drink himself to sleep in his La-Z-Boy soon enough, and I could catch up on my thinking. The pup had bucked up a bit when I asked if he’d like an ice-cream float from the soda fountain. We sat on opposite sides of a booth while he sucked it down. She’d had a chance to fix her make-up, and her cheeks were a bit less shiny.
‘So what brings you down here?’
‘Well, my husband, you know – Claude – he felt the feeding grounds weren’t so great this year, and he’d heard you had nice clams in this part of the world, and so – well, that’s it, really.’ She dipped her head as this little speech went on. Clams, my ass.
‘So it was his idea?’
She didn’t answer. Little Edward came up for air with a rather satisfying belch. She smiled, some missing light making it back into her eyes. They were huge, pitch black. I’d have killed for those lashes.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘this might be out of line, but we have a book group in town and you might like to come along, you know – get to know the ladies.’ I wrote down place and time for her on a napkin, not expecting her to show, but next week there she was, Edward in tow, wearing a pink jumper with a little enamel maple-leaf high up near the collar.
‘Come on in.’
I’d got Margie to bring out the biggest couch we had, but winced as she settled in amongst a battery of creaks. It held, and she smiled around at the ladies as I introduced them. We were discussing The Old Man and the Sea, and though she didn’t say much, I thought she might have some thoughts on that subject. I stayed behind a bit, collecting glasses, then took her aside.
‘Glad you came.’
‘Thanks. I enjoyed meeting your friends.’
I noticed she had a dark patch under one eye, and was holding her left flipper down by her side.
‘You know, there are rules about that kind of thing, nowadays. They’re even enforced occasionally.’
She looked away, making an ineffectual effort to tidy away the bowls with her good flipper. I reached over and turned her face back to mine. It was warm, quivering, and had a curious stiff-bristle feeling along with the heat.
‘Do you want me to help?’
She shook her head.
‘I can’t. Claude – ’
‘Oh fuck Claude, honey. This is your life. And his.’ Edward was chasing Margie’s dog ball through a patch of sunlight. The floorboards groaned as he leapt and landed. ‘Listen, you don’t need to do anything. But let me know where I can reach you.’
She handed me her card and sniffed.
‘Edward,’ she said. ‘We need to go now.’
As they went out she tried to stop herself looking back, but couldn’t.
*
I saw her now and again over the next few weeks: at the grocery store, the beauty parlour, one time lying in the shadow of the harbour bandstand watching her pup slipping in and out of the water. I was kind of busy myself, so didn’t stop. But I thought about her often. In the end, it came in a phone call. The timing couldn’t have been better.
‘Bonnie?’
The voice was small, hesitant, but I knew it was her.
‘Lily? Where are you?’
‘By the harbour. Edward’s holding the receiver so I can talk.’
There was a moment of confusion and she went away. The sound of plastic clunking on metal, a series of urgent grunts. Then she was back. ‘I’m sorry, he dropped the thing, and – Bonnie?’
‘I’m here.’
‘Can you help us?’
I took a moment myself, taking inventory, and concluded what I’d managed to gather up to then would have to do.
‘Lily, listen – get to the bandstand, right now. You know where I mean?’
‘How will I – ?’
‘Just be there.’
Twenty minutes later I pulled up in a U-Haul, the biggest truck they had. I’d squeezed everything that mattered into the space above the cab – look at that, twenty years – and let down the ramp in the shadow of the bandstand. Two sets of noses and tusks poked out. I heard a small, timid grunt.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Need a ride?’
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