Fit Month for Dying Read Online Free PDF

pots.”
    Madeline Fitzpatrick’s delusions twig a memory in the dozing Paddy. He shakes himself awake. “Or like Mrs. O’Dearin.”
    He turns to me. “Remember her, Tess? Used to swear that the buzz coming from the transformers on the telephone poles was the Germans spying on us on account of the American base here. And just before the war started, when that Zeppelin flew over the Cove, she said, ‘My God, what a queer world ’tis. The Germans are flying in aeroplanes and the Newfoundlanders are flying in rags.’” He shrugs. “At least they said she said that.”
    Danny nudges my foot with his. “Come on, Tess. Give out with the dirt in the House. You must have lots of stuff to tell, mixing with those politicians every day of your life. All those members. I still can’t believe you’re an MHA. Honest to God I can’t. The first woman Member of the House of Assembly in Newfoundland. Imagine that! I’m always bragging about you in the camp. About my sister-in-law with all that political pull.”
    â€œAnd did you tell them that I was barely elected when our party got thrown out? Did you tell them that I’m an opposition MHA? That the Liberal Party is in shambles? That I’ve no more power than a beer bum on George Street?”
    â€œNot true,” Paddy says defensively, instantly wide awake now that he has gotten a sniff of politics. “You should hear her whenever she gets a chance to speak. She lambastes those buggers. Saw her the other day on the TV. She was speaking on the floor of the House. Stuck it right to the Premier. Nailed him on the spot. Asked him what he was going to do about those animal rights groups, ‘those ignorant people from away,’ she called them. Said they were savaging the reputation of the Newfoundland people by saying we enjoys clubbing seals.”
    He stops talking long enough to take a swallow of beer.
    â€œYes, b’y,” he continues, bringing Danny up to date. “They’ve been calling us barbarians and thugs and God knows what all. Crucifying us. That’s what they’re doing. Maybe you read about it out in British Columbia. They say we’re not doing the seal hunt fer the money. We’re doing it because we enjoys it.” He gives a small, sardonic laugh. “As if anyone with a shaggin’ dollar to his name would want to be out on an ice pan up to his armpits in blood and guts.”
    He points with his beer bottle towards me. “But she put it right to the Premier, she did. Told him those do-gooders were out for their own glory, not for the welfare of the seals. And she told him that it’s on account of them the seal fishery is banned and the people are out of work. And she told him the multiplying seals are eatin’ up all the codfish — now, b’y, that’s inshore codfish we’re talkin’ about. And then she got on him about the Norwegians over-fishing the northern cod and anything else they can scoop up while they’re at it. Said if we don’t establish a two-hundred-mile off-shore limit to stop them dredging the bottom, within ten years we won’t have anything with a fin on it left in the Newfoundland and Labrador waters.”
    He takes another swallow of beer and then looks across at me. “I loved how you said that, girl. ‘Nothing with a fin on it will be left in our waters.’”
    He turns back to Danny. “And sure, b’y, that’s the God’s honest truth. They try to make us believe them seals ent eatin’ up the fish. But my God Almighty, what do they think they’re eatin’? Those shaggin’ things lives thirty or forty miles out to sea, so they sure as hell ent eatin’ turnips. They’re not likely to be havin’ a feed of salt beef and cabbage.
    â€œAnd girl, I loved it when you told the Premier there’ll be nothing left in our waters but the hulks of scuttled