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This
night
I
forced
him
.
I
lay
straight
and
rigid
,
far
over
on
my
side
of
the
bed
.
I
tightened
every
muscle
of
my
body
,
particularly
my
neck
and
jaw
,
and
doubled
my
fists
on
my
belly
and
I
forced
him
,
bleak
little
eyes
,
white
spiky
mustache
,
and
the
forward
-
curving
shoulders
that
proved
he
had
once
been
a
powerful
man
of
his
body
and
had
used
it
.
I
even
made
him
put
on
the
blue
cap
with
the
short
shiny
visor
and
the
gold
H
contrived
of
two
anchors
,
the
cap
he
hardly
ever
wore
.
The
old
boy
was
reluctant
,
but
I
made
him
come
and
I
set
him
on
the
crumbling
sea
wall
of
Old
Harbor
near
the
Place
.
I
sat
him
firmly
on
a
heap
of
ballast
stone
and
fixed
his
cupped
hands
on
the
head
of
the
narwhal
cane
.
That
cane
could
have
knocked
over
an
elephant
.
"
I
need
something
to
hate
.
Being
sorry
and
understanding
—
that
’
s
pap
.
I
’
m
looking
for
a
real
hate
to
take
the
heat
off
.
"
Memory
’
s
a
spawner
.
Start
with
one
clear
detailed
print
,
and
it
springs
into
action
and
it
can
go
forward
or
back
like
a
film
,
once
it
starts
.
Old
Cap
’
n
moved
.
He
pointed
with
his
cane
.
"
Line
the
third
rock
beyond
the
breakwater
with
the
tip
of
Porty
Point
at
high
water
,
then
out
that
line
half
a
cable
-
length
she
lies
,
what
’
s
left
of
her
.
"
"
How
far
is
half
a
cable
-
length
,
sir
?
"
"
How
far
?
Why
,
half
a
hundred
fathom
,
of
course
.
She
was
anchored
to
swing
and
the
tide
flowing
.
Two
bad
-
luck
years
.
Half
the
oil
casks
empty
.
I
was
ashore
when
she
caught
fire
,
about
midnight
.
When
the
oil
fired
she
lit
the
town
like
midday
and
flames
running
on
the
oil
slick
as
far
as
Osprey
Point
.
Couldn
’
t
beach
her
for
fear
of
burning
the
docks
.
She
burned
to
the
water
in
an
hour
.
Her
keel
and
false
keel
are
down
there
now
—
and
sound
.
Shelter
Island
virgin
oak
they
were
,
and
her
knees
too
.
"
"
How
’
d
it
start
?
"
"
I
never
thought
it
started
.
I
was
ashore
.
"
