Dennis clicked his tongue as though he'd heard her say a dirty word.

"Talk to Alvin Yark. See if he'd make you something. He makes good boats. I'd make something for you, but he'll do it quicker and it'll cost you less. I'll put a bulkhead in, long as n.o.body sees me doing it, touching this thing, but you better talk with Alvin. You got to have a boat. That's certain."

Bunny ran up to the house, thumb and forefinger pinched together.

"Aunt, the sky is the biggest thing in the world. Guess what's the littlest?"

"I don't know, my dear. What?"

"This." And extended her finger to show a minute grain of sand.

"I want to see." Sunshine charged up and the particle of sand was lost in a hurricane of breath.

"No, no, no," said the aunt, seizing Bunny's balled fist. "There's more without number. There's enough sand for everybody."

13.

The Dutch Cringle "A cringle will make an excellent emergency handle for a suitcase."

THE ASHLEY BOOK OF KNOTS.

"BOY, there's a sight down here to the wharf. Never the like of it in these waters." The booming voice rattled out of the wire and into Quoyle's ear. "With the smell of evil on it. I wouldn't put to sea in it for all the cod in the world. Better take a look, boy. You'll never see anything like it again."

"What is it, Mr. Shovel? The flagship of the Spanish Armada?"

"No, boy. But you bring your pencil and your camera. I think you can write more than arrival and departure times." He hung up.

Quoyle was not glad. A gusting rain fell at a hard angle, rattling the windowpanes, drumming on the roof. The wind bucked and buffeted. It was comfortable leaning his elbow on the desk and rewriting a Los Angeles wreck story Nutbeem had pulled off the [113] radio. An elderly man stripped naked by barroom toughs, blindfolded and shoved into freeway traffic. The man had just left the hospital after visiting a relative, had gone into a nearby bar for a gla.s.s of beer when five men with blue-painted heads seized him. Tert Card said it showed the demented style of life in the States. A favorite story with Gammy Bird Gammy Bird readers, the lunacy of those from away. Quoyle called back. readers, the lunacy of those from away. Quoyle called back.

"Mr. Shovel, I sort of hate to drop what I'm doing."

"Tell you, it's. .h.i.tler's boat. A pleasure boat built for Hitler. A Dutch barge. You never seen anything like it. The owner's on board. They says the paper's welcome to look her over."

"My G.o.d. Be there in about half an hour."

Billy Pretty stared at Quoyle. "What's he got, then?" he whispered.

"He says there's a Dutch boat that belonged to Hitler down at the public wharf."

"Naw!" said Billy, "I'd like to see that. Those old days, boy, we had the Germans prowling up and down this coast, torpedoed ships they did right up there in the straits. The Allies got a submarine, captured a German sub. Took it down to St. John's.

"We had spies. Oh, some clever! This one, a woman, I can see her now in a old duckety-mud coat, used to pedal her squeaky old bike up the coast once a week from Rough Shop Harbor to Killick-Claw, then go back down the ferry. I forget what she gave out for a story why she had to do all that bikin', but come to find out she was a German spy, countin' the boats all up and down, and she'd radio the information out to German subs lurking offsh.o.r.e."

"Get your slicker then and come on."

"We always heard they shot her. Just didn't show up one week. They said she was caught down at Rough Shop Harbor and executed. Said she dodged her bike through the paths, screaming like a crazy thing, the men after her, run like engines before they run her down."

Quoyle made a sucking noise with the side of his mouth. He did not believe a word.

There was a hole in the station wagon's floor and through it spurted occasional geysers of dirty rainwater. Quoyle thought enviously of the aunt's pickup. He couldn't afford a new truck. Frightening how fast the insurance money was going. He didn't know where the aunt got it. She'd paid for all the house repairs, put in her share for groceries. He'd paid for the road, the new dock. For the girls' beds, clothes, the motel bill, gas for the station wagon. And the new transmission.

"Wish I'd worn me logans," shouted Billy Pretty. "Didn't know the bottom half of your car was missin'."

Quoyle slowed not to splash the graceful, straight-backed woman in the green slicker. G.o.d, did it rain every day? The child was with her. Her eyes straight to Quoyle. His to her.

"Who is that? Seems like I see her walking along the road every time I come out."

"That's Wavey. Wavey Prowse. She's takin' her boy back from the special cla.s.s at the school. There's a bunch of them goes. She got it started, the special cla.s.s. He's not right. It was grief caused the boy to be like he is. Wavey was carrying him when Sevenseas Hector went over. Lost her husband. We should of give her a ride, boy.

"She was going the other way."

"Wouldn't take a minute to turn round. Rain coming down like stair rods," said Billy.

Quoyle pulled in at the cemetery entrance, turned, drove back. As the woman and child got in Billy said their names. Wavey Prowse. Herry. The woman apologized for their wetness, sat silent the rest of the way to a small house half a mile beyond the Gammy Bird Gammy Bird. Didn't look at Quoyle. The yard beyond the small house held a phantasmagoria of painted wooden figures, galloping horses, dogs balanced on wheels, a row of chrome hubcaps on sticks. A zoo of the mind.

"That's some yard," said Quoyle.

"Dad's stuff," said Wavey Prowse and slammed the door.

Back along the flooding road again toward Killick-Claw.

[115] "You ought to see the chair he made out of moose antlers," said Billy. "You set in it, it's comfortable enough, but to the others it looks like you sprouted golden wings."

"She has very good posture," said Quoyle. Tried to cancel the stupid remark. "What I mean is, she has a good stride. I mean, tall. She seems tall." Man Sounds Like Fatuous Fool. In a way he could not explain she seized his attention; because she seemed sprung from wet stones, the stench of fish and tide.

"Maybe she's the tall and quiet woman, boy."

"What does that mean?"

"A thing me old dad used to say."

"There she is." They peered through the streaming windshield. The Botterjacht stood out from every other boat at the wharf, tied up between a sailing yacht whose Australian owners had been there for two weeks, and the cadet training ship. From above, the barge looked like a low tub with strange and gigantic shoehorns on its sides. A crewman in a black slicker bent over something near the cabin door, then walked swiftly aft and disappeared.

"What are those things on the side? Looks like a big beetle with a set of undersize wings."

"Lee boards. Work like a centerboard. You know. You raise and lower a centerboard in a sailing boat so as to add keel. Some calls it a 'drop keel.' You got a shoal draft boat, my boy, she has to work to windward, you'll bless your centerboard. Now, with your lee boards, see, you don't loose any stowage s.p.a.ce. The things is hung out on the side instead of down in the gut of the boat. A centerboard trunk takes up s.p.a.ce." Billy's worn shape down to the bones, cast Quoyle as a sliding ma.s.s.

A light shone in the cabin. Even through the roaring rain they could see the boat was a treasure.

"Oak hull, I guess," said Billy Pretty. "Look at her! Look at the mast on her! Look at that cabin! Teak decks. Flat and low and wide. Never saw a shape like that on a boat in me life-look at them bluff bows. Look how she points up on the stem like a Eskimo knife. See the carving?" Her name was painted on an elaborately [116] carved and gilded ribbon of mahogany-Tough Baby, Puerta Malacca. They could hear m.u.f.fled voices.

"I don't know how you names a boat that," mumbled Billy Pretty, walking up the ramp and jumping on the glistening deck. He bellowed "Ahoy, Tough Baby Tough Baby. Visitors! Come aboard?"

A flush-faced man with white hair opened one of the curved-top double doors. He wore madras trousers with a patent leather belt and matching white shoes. Quoyle looked. Everything streaming. Coiled wet rope, dripping ventilator, sheets of water running over the deck. Near the cabin door a wet pigskin suitcase with a worked rope handle.

"Do I know you?" His eyes were bloodshot.

"From the local paper, sir, the Gammy Bird Gammy Bird, thought our readers would be interested in your boat, we try to do a little story on the more unusual boats that dock in Killick-Claw, never seen any thing like this." Quoyle said his piece. The boat felt like the plains under his feet. He smiled ingratiatingly, but Tough Baby Tough Baby was not a welcoming boat. was not a welcoming boat.

"Ah yes. That incredible harbormaster, what's-his-name, Doodles or whatever it is, mumbled something about a visit from la presse locale la presse locale." The man sighed hugely. Gestured as though throwing away fruit skins. "Well, my darling wife and I are having this sort of totally terrible argument, but I suppose we can do the dog and pony act. I've given lectures on this boat to everybody from Andy Warhol two weeks before that fatal fatal operation, to Scotland Yard. She absolutely draws this crowd wherever we go, whether Antibes or Boca Raton. She's absolutely unique." He stepped out into the rain. operation, to Scotland Yard. She absolutely draws this crowd wherever we go, whether Antibes or Boca Raton. She's absolutely unique." He stepped out into the rain.

"Traditional Dutch barge yacht design, but marvelously marvelously luxurious with these incredible details. I think, the finest Botterjacht ever built. When we first saw her she was a luxurious with these incredible details. I think, the finest Botterjacht ever built. When we first saw her she was a total total wreck. She was moored in some awful Italian port-belonged to the Princess L'Aranciata-we'd taken a villa in Ansedonia next to theirs for the summer and at one point she mentioned that she had this wreck of a Dutch yacht that had belonged to Hitler but bored her to tears. Well! We went up to see it and immediately I could see the possibilities-it was utterly clear, clear, clear that here was an [117] extraordinary, one-of-a-kind wreck. She was moored in some awful Italian port-belonged to the Princess L'Aranciata-we'd taken a villa in Ansedonia next to theirs for the summer and at one point she mentioned that she had this wreck of a Dutch yacht that had belonged to Hitler but bored her to tears. Well! We went up to see it and immediately I could see the possibilities-it was utterly clear, clear, clear that here was an [117] extraordinary, one-of-a-kind thing thing." Rain dripped off the ends of the man's wet hair, his shirt was transparent with it.

"Absolutely flat bottomed so she can go around without any damage, you can sail her right up onto sh.o.r.e in storm conditions or for repairs. Incredibly heavy. Almost forty tons of oak. Of course course, she was designed for the North Sea. Bluff bows. She's absolutely buoyant. You know, my wife hates hates this boat. But I love her." this boat. But I love her."

Billy Pretty's eyes had fallen on a square of Astroturf which he took for a bit of doormat until he saw cigar dog t.u.r.ds. Stared.

"That's for my wife's little spaniel. Great system. Doggie makes doo-doo on the simulated gra.s.s, you throw overboard-see the loop on the corner for the line?-and presto, tow until it's squeaky clean again. Great invention. The design dates back to the fifteenth century. The boat, of course, not the doo-doo rug. They're the boats you see in Rembrandt's marvelous paintings. They were royal barges. Henry the Eighth had one, Elizabeth I had one. A royal barge. She was named Das Knie Das Knie when we saw her-means 'The Knee,' and I had to get down on one knee to persuade my darling, darling wife to let me buy it-" he paused for Quoyle's laugh. "Had the same name when the princess bought it-absolutely n.o.body ever changed it since this sordid German industralist had it after the war. My beloved wife thought it should be named after her, but I called her when we saw her-means 'The Knee,' and I had to get down on one knee to persuade my darling, darling wife to let me buy it-" he paused for Quoyle's laugh. "Had the same name when the princess bought it-absolutely n.o.body ever changed it since this sordid German industralist had it after the war. My beloved wife thought it should be named after her, but I called her Tough Baby Tough Baby. When I saw what her true character was. This boat will be strong a hundred years from now. Built in Haarlem. Nine years in the building. She's utterly utterly indestructible. just incredibly ma.s.sive. The frames are seven and an eighth by six inches on eleven-inch centers."

Billy Pretty whistled and raised his eyebrows. The man's hair plastered against his yellow scalp. Drops hanging from the brims of Billy's and Quoyle's hats like moonstone trim. Quoyle scribbling on his pad, bent over to keep the rain off. Useless.

"The planking-n.o.body can believe the planking-select grade oak, two and three-sixteenths inches thick with double planking at the bottom. The reason? Because of her shallow home waters, full of sandbars, spits, shifting channels. Unbelievable. The Zuider Zee. Treacherous, treacherous water. You absolutely go aground all the time. The decking isn't flimsy, either. Believe it or not, you [118] are standing on inch and three-quarters teak from pre-World War II Burma! You couldn't buy the wood that's in this boat anywhere in the world today for any amount of money. It's just completely gone today." The pitching voice went on and on. Quoyle saw Billy's hands rammed in his pockets.

"You wretched b.a.s.t.a.r.d, who are you talking to?" cried a raw high voice. The drenched man kept talking as though he hadn't heard.

"Let's see, there's a crew of four. She's cutter rigged, two thousand square foot of working sail, takes three incredibly strong men to handle the mains'l and they're always getting these sort of hernias and ruptures. Always quitting and jumping ship. It weighs a thousand pounds. The sail, I mean. And she's slow. Slow because she's heavy. But very, very st.u.r.dy." Without a pause he shouted, "I'm talking to the local press about the boat!" Nose wrinkled like a snarling dog.

"Tell them what happened in Hurricane Bob!"

The words poured down with the rain. Quoyle put his sodden notes away, stood with his wet hand over his wet chin. The white-haired man's chest hair showed through the wet silk of his shirt like grey knots. He seemed not to notice the rain. Quoyle saw purple scars on his hands, a ruby the size of a cherry tomato on his ring finger. Could smell the liquor.

"The absolutely marvelous carving carving. The carving is everywhere, these incredible master carvers worked on it for nine years. All the animals known. Zebras, moose, dinosaurs, aurochs, marine iguana, wolverines, we've had internationally known wildlife biologists on board here to identify all the incredible species. And the birds. Utterly, utterly bizarre. It was built for Hitler as I suppose you know, but he he never set foot on it. There were a thousand delays. Deliberate delays. The extraordinary Dutch Resistance." Words spattering, drops bouncing off the deck. never set foot on it. There were a thousand delays. Deliberate delays. The extraordinary Dutch Resistance." Words spattering, drops bouncing off the deck.

"Tell them what happened in Hurricane Bob."

"I think my dear dear wife is trying to get our attention," the wet man said. "Just step in the cabin here and take a look at the interior. You'll adore it. As ornate as the carving is outside, they wife is trying to get our attention," the wet man said. "Just step in the cabin here and take a look at the interior. You'll adore it. As ornate as the carving is outside, they really really went [119] wild in there." He held a door open, sucked in his stomach to let them pa.s.s. Quoyle stumbled in thick carpet. A fire burned in a brick fireplace; there was a satinwood mantle inlaid with orchids worked in mother-of-peal, opal, jasper. Quoyle could not take it in, was conscious of patina, a lamp. Everything looked rare. There was something repellent in the room's beauty, but he didn't know what. Conscious of warping sea-damp, corrosive salt. A woman in a food-splotched bathrobe, hair the color of sewage foam, sat on the sofa. Her hands clashed in bracelets, rings. Feet stretched out, blunt purple ankles. Holding a gla.s.s cut with the initial M. Cellos sobbed, imparted a sense of drama. Quoyle saw the went [119] wild in there." He held a door open, sucked in his stomach to let them pa.s.s. Quoyle stumbled in thick carpet. A fire burned in a brick fireplace; there was a satinwood mantle inlaid with orchids worked in mother-of-peal, opal, jasper. Quoyle could not take it in, was conscious of patina, a lamp. Everything looked rare. There was something repellent in the room's beauty, but he didn't know what. Conscious of warping sea-damp, corrosive salt. A woman in a food-splotched bathrobe, hair the color of sewage foam, sat on the sofa. Her hands clashed in bracelets, rings. Feet stretched out, blunt purple ankles. Holding a gla.s.s cut with the initial M. Cellos sobbed, imparted a sense of drama. Quoyle saw the CD CD case on the coffee table, "Breakfast in Satin Sheets." The woman put down the gla.s.s. Wet and yellow lips. case on the coffee table, "Breakfast in Satin Sheets." The woman put down the gla.s.s. Wet and yellow lips.

"Bayonet, tell them what happened in Hurricane Bob." She ordered the man, did not look at Quoyle or Billy Pretty.

"Her beam is sixteen foot eleven," said the white-haired man taking a gla.s.s marked with a J from the mantle. The ice cubes were nearly melted but he drank from it anyway. "There's the Hoogarsjacht, and the Boeierjacht-"

"There's the hockeyjacht and the schnockyjacht and the malarkeyjacht," said the woman. "There's the poppyc.o.c.k and the stockyblock. If you don't tell them what happened in Hurricane Bob, then I will."

The man drank. The hems of his trousers dripped.

Billy Pretty coaxed the woman, lest she draw blood. "Now, m'dear, just tell us what happened in Hurricane Bob. We're anxious to hear it."

The woman's mouth opened but no sound came out. Fixed the man with her stare. He sighed, spoke in a weary singsong.

"Oh. Kay. Keep happiness in the f.u.c.king family. We were moored at White Crow Harbor north of Bar Harbor. That's in Maine you know, in the United States. Way up the coast from Portland. Actually there are two Portlands, but the other is on the West Coast. Oregon. Down below British Columbia. Well, Tough Baby Tough Baby sort of slipped her moorings at the height of this incredible storm. The sea absolutely went mad. You've seen how sort of slipped her moorings at the height of this incredible storm. The sea absolutely went mad. You've seen how Tough Baby Tough Baby [120] is built. Utterly ma.s.sive. Utterly heavy. Utterly built for punishment. Well! She smashed [120] is built. Utterly ma.s.sive. Utterly heavy. Utterly built for punishment. Well! She smashed seventeen seventeen boats to matchsticks. Seventeen." boats to matchsticks. Seventeen."

The woman leaned her head back and cawed.

"Didn't stop there. You've seen she's flat bottomed. Built to go aground. After she absolutely made kindling out of White Crow's finest afloat, the waves kept shoving her on the beach. Like some incredible battering ram. In she'd come. Wham!"

"Wham!" said the woman. The bathrobe gaped. Quoyle saw bruises on the flesh above her knees.

"Out she'd float. She got among the beach houses. These were not your butchers' and bakers' beach houses, no, these were some of the most beautiful houses on the coast designed by internationally known architects."

"That's right. That's right!" Urged him, a dog through a flaming hoop.

"Pounded twelve beach houses, the docks and boathouses, into rubble, absolute rubble. In she'd come. Wham!"

"Wham!"

"Out she'd go. Pulverized them. Brought them down. Wilkie Fritz-Change was trying to sleep in the guest room of one of those houses-he'd been amba.s.sador to some little eastern European hot spot and was recuperating from a breakdown at Jack and Daphne Gershom's beach house-and he barely escaped with his life. He said later he thought they were firing cannon at him. And the most extraordinary thing was that the only damage she she sustained in this completely mad and uncontrollable rampage was a cracked lee board. Not a dent, not a scratch on her." sustained in this completely mad and uncontrollable rampage was a cracked lee board. Not a dent, not a scratch on her."

The woman, mouth full, shut her eyes, nodded her head. But was bored, now. Tired of these people.

Quoyle imagined the heavy vessel hurling itself onto its neighbors, pounding houses and docks. He cleared his throat.

"What brings you to Killick-Claw? A holiday voyage?"

The white-haired man eager to go on. "Holiday? Up here? On the most utterly desolate and miserable coast in the world? Wild horses couldn't drag me. I'd rather cruise the roaring forties off Tierra del Fuego in a garbage scow. No, we're being reupholstered, [121] aren't we?" A deadly sarcasm whittled his voice to a point. "Silver here, my darling wife, insists on the services of a particular yacht upholsterer. Among thousands. Lived on Long Island, a mere seven miles from our summer place. Now we have to chase up to this G.o.dforsaken rock. All the way from the Bahamas to get the dining salon reupholstered. How can anyone live here? My G.o.d, we even had to bring the leather with us."

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 s.p.a.ces, utterly weird 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." 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Be a tour guide again. Go on. Go. Go on.