Free Ravens by George Dawes Green Page A

Claude’s wrist till he found a tender spot, then slid home the catheter tip.
     Claude never winced but was stoic throughout. Nor did he rebuke his daughter for her whining.
    She said, “Dad, what are we gonna
do
?”
    He replied mildly, “How about. Tennis?”
    “Come on, Daddy. Be
responsible
.”
    “OK. I’ll chop. Firewood. I’ll clean. The gutters.”
    His grin was toothless but went from ear to ear.
    He asked Romeo, “Is that really. Your name?”
    The sudden fixity of his gaze made Romeo blush. “Well, my mama knew what a lover I’d be.”
    “Ha! You’re Italian?”
    “Half. I’m Polish on my dad’s side.”
    Said Claude, “I’m Portuguese.”
    Romeo smiled.
    Claude said, “My grandfather. Came here. For the fishing. First to Darien. Then Brunswick. He had. Shrimp boats. Him and my
     uncles.”
    “Did you work on the boats?”
    “Oh yes. My grandfather. Would stand. On the dock. And say, ‘
Galo pequeno. Quem o ama? O pescador. Idoso. Ama-o!
’ ”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means. ‘Little Rooster! Who loves you? The old. Fisherman loves you!’ ”
    Wynetta whined, “Daddy, I gotta take you back to the hospital.”
    “He carried. A netting needle. Made from bone. In his pocket.”
    “Could you say it again?” said Romeo.
    “Say what?”
    “What he told you.”
    “Oh.” Claude tucked his chin down and cocked his elbows. “
Galo pequeno! Quem o ama? O pescador. Idoso. Ama-o!
” He was a childlike wraith posing as an old fisherman posing as a roosterish kid. This pierced Romeo.
    “Could you say it again?”
    But Wynetta had had enough. “I’m taking you back, Daddy.”
    Said Claude, “No, no.”
    “I
got
to.”
    “This. Is where I’m. Dying. Right here.”
    Romeo saw that it was time to go. He had no business here. “Well I guess I got things to do. Nice to meet you though. Both
     of you.”
    He went out into the blazing day, got in the Tercel and drove off — and then the Brunswick stench hit him. Gone, instantly,
     was ‘The old fisherman loves you.’ He shifted forward in his seat and set his face grimly and drove back into the city of
     Brunswick without seeing anything.
    Tara poured the Madeira while Nell showed Shaw her toys: the singing buck, the trophy fish, the sunflower who dipped coquettishly
     toward the windowlight and sang, “On the Sunny Side of the Street.”
    Shaw laughed. “At last! Technology produces something useful! Where’d you get these, Nell?”
    “Well, the buck I got at Wal-Mart’s. I went to Dollar but they don’t have ’em yet. You play poker, young man?”
    “Sure.”
    “You play pot-limit seven stud? Or just that TV crap?”
    He grinned. “I guess I play pot-limit seven stud.”
    She said, “We don’t cotton to Tedious Hold’em around here. Where you go all-in on a pair of nines and cross your fingers and
     pray? There’s more skill in Bingo. But if you’re up for
poker
let’s get to it.”
    Tara downed her Madeira right away, while she was still standing by the sink. Then she refilled her glass and set her face.
     Remember how much you love her. Think of nothing else.
    She brought the glasses to the table. Shaw toasted Nell’s cats. Nell told him all their names, and he toasted them again.
     Then he looked at Tara, and Tara told her first lie: “Shaw’s an old friend of Daddy’s.”
    “What, dear?” Nell was hauling the coin sacks off their shelf in the china closet, lugging them to the table.
    “I said Shaw’s an old friend of Dad’s. He was just passing through and he called Dad, and the two of them went in on the jackpot
     tickets together.”
    Nell poured out a mound of coins, and started counting it. She told Shaw, “We like the feel of
money
. Chips are for sissies. Sell you twenty dollars’ worth, that good?”
    “Grandmother,” said Tara, “you’re not listening.”
    “I’m not?” She kept counting. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
    “I’m saying Shaw paid for half of our jackpot