Free Spartina by John D. Casey Page A

Dick coiling it in. And there was the fish. Dick saw the pale belly, then the bill, the mouth agape, the gills flaring slowly, the fins and tail still. No trouble slipping the noose over the tail and then tight. The fish tried to swim, but he was in air. Swung him right in. Felt like eighty, eighty-five pounds. Dick saw the lily, buttonholed in so he was amazed the fish had got as far as he did. A pretty fish, every line swept back for speed. The slender bill wasn’t as long as Dick’s arm. Dick got his foot on it, felt it stir under the sole of his boot, heard the tail slap once just before he clubbed the head. Once was enough.
    He kept his foot on the bill anyway as he ran his knife from anus to throat. The stomach was full of bait fish. He gathered the innards in both hands and dumped them. Dipped the fish once to clean the blood out of the cavity. Took it below to put it on ice. Sloshed a bucket of water across the deck and scrubbed off the slick.
    Parker slipped the two hoops of inner tube onto the wheel spokes and came aft to give him five. Then back to work.
    The plane showed up, but didn’t spot anything during the morning run. The plane went home for lunch when the tide began to run hard. Dick took a two-hour nap.
    When he woke up, the boat was rolling more. The southwestwind had picked up, and there was some sea running but not too much chop. In the crow’s nest he could feel the motion amplified. She was not an easy boat. Two-foot seas and she was a goddamn barge. Elsie came up. Dick sent her back down when he saw she was holding on for dear life.
    Dick could hear the plane, sneaked a look at it every so often. He climbed down at five. The plane could see better than him anyway.
    He drowsed on deck. Parker had got Schuyler to take the wheel. Parker had left the channel open but the squelch up in case the spotter had anything to say; the crackle blended into Dick’s nap.
    They’d been moving east in slow zigzags. At seven-thirty the plane wagged his wings and left. Parker got Elsie to fix canned soup with hot dogs cut up in it.
    They ate in silence, were through in a few minutes. Dick said, “Better juice it on out and pull some pots. We want to be back here by morning.”
    Parker said, “You want to look for a while longer? Just on the way.”
    The wind had dropped, so it was a bit more comfortable aloft. Elsie came up. She didn’t say a word. After twenty minutes Dick looked at her. Even in the rich light of the late sun she looked green.
    “You better go down,” he said.
    Elsie didn’t say anything for a bit. Then, “On deck I can smell the bait.”
    Dick had to lean near to hear. He said, “Better lie down on your bunk.”
    Elsie made a face. Dick was watching her now, in between looks at the water. She suddenly leaned away from him, bent at the waist over the rail, and vomited. The pea soup and hot dogs carried on the wind, trailed across the windshield of the wheelhouse. Dick grabbed her as she retched again. She was bent over so far he was afraid she’d fall. He got his right hand on her right hip, groped for her belt. Got his other hand on her left shoulder.
    She moaned weakly. He moved his left hand down onto her belt. “I got you,” he said. “Go on, just let go.”
    “Oh no,” she said. “Oh shit.” She sounded terrible.
    “You through?” he said. “If you’re through, I’ll get you down.” She didn’t say anything. He waited a bit, then got her onto the ladder. His feet a rung below hers, his hands on the ladder, his arms under her armpits.
    When he got her down, she sagged back against him. He felt sharp tenderness for her, as though she was a little kid. He was also embarrassed by how aroused he was. He looked into the wheelhouse. Parker was laughing his head off. Pointed at the streaks on the glass. Dick shook his head at him, and turned Elsie forward.
    He sat her down on the foredeck. He got her duffel from the cabin and spread some clothes under her. She curled up against