Fair Play Read Online Free PDF Page A

making pictures.
    One day Jonna was sitting on the granite slope polishing an oval wooden box. She claimed it was an African wood, but she’d forgotten the name.
    â€œWill there be a lid?” Mari asked.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œHave you always worked in wood? I don’t mean woodcuts or wood engravings, but for real?”
    Jonna put down the wooden box. “For real,” she repeated. “That’s brilliant. Try to understand, I’m playing. And I mean to go on playing. Do you have a problem with that, maybe?”
    The cat came in, sat down, and stared at them.
    â€œFish,” Mari said. “We ought to take in the net.”
    â€œAnd what happens if I do nothing but play? Until I die! What would you say to that?”
    The cat meowed angrily.
    â€œAnd ambition,” Mari said. “What are you going to do about your goals?”
    â€œNothing. Nothing at all.”
    â€œBut what if you can’t help it?”
    â€œI can help it. Don’t you understand; there isn’t time anymore. It’s all I do, just observe, observe to distraction, pictures that don’t mean shit until I draw them, and redraw them. I’ve had enough for one life, my only life! And anyway, I don’t see them anymore. Admit I’m right!”
    â€œYes,” Mari said. “You’re right.”
    The sky had clouded over and there was rain in the air. The cat meowed again.
    â€œFish,” Mari said. “The cat food’s all gone.”
    â€œWe can leave it overnight.”
    â€œNo. What if the wind picks up? Nothing but seaweed, and it’ll catch on the bottom. And you know, it’s Uncle Torsten’s last net.”
    â€œOkay, okay,” Jonna said. “Your Uncle Torsten’s sacred net that he made when he was ninety.”
    â€œOver ninety. We laid it wrong. I know we laid it too close to shore, the bottom there’s too rocky.”
    The cat followed them down to the shore. Jonna rowed and Mari sat in the stern to take up the net. The float had drifted far out behind the point. The wind was rising.
    â€œWe’re not getting anywhere,” Jonna said. “Can’t you tell? We’re standing still. Your uncle and his blessed net ...”
    â€œBe quiet. It was the last thing he did. A little more out, no, no, turn! Backwater a little, backwater ... Now I’ve got it.” Mari pulled in line and got hold of the net peg. “Just like I thought, it’s hooked on the bottom. Go upwind ... Back around. Don’t row! Backwater! This is hopeless. And it’s his last net.”
    â€œOh, fine,” Jonna said. “Wonderful. It won’t come up, and if it won’t come up then it won’t come up. I’ll backwater around, all the way around! What do you want?”
    Mari was holding the net with both hands and could feel it breaking and tearing apart on the rocks on the seabed. What she’d already gathered slid off the net peg into the bottom of the boat in one big tangle and Jonna shouted, “Let go, let it go!” and the whole thing went back over the gunwale until the net peg stuck up its tail and disappeared. Jonna rowed in against the wind and crashed the bow up on the granite. The cat sat waiting and meowed. They didn’t tie up; just climbed out and sat on the thwarts. The sea had turned black to the south. It had begun to blow hard.
    â€œForget it,” said Jonna. “Forget it. Don’t grieve for a net, grieve for everything else that’s broken and can’t ever be mended. Your uncle liked making nets; it was what he knew, it was calming and familiar. Going into that loft you’ve talked about. I’m sure it helped him shut everything out, and everyone. He wasn’t thinking about fish, not a bit, and not about you getting the net as a present. He was just at peace, doing work that was his and only his. You know I’m right. He didn’t have goals