Quarantine: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

York and Boston. I suppose
    it was bound to find its way to Newburyport.” His grandfather
    leaned over his trench and resumed digging. “It is a form of wickedness, this fever. It truly is. We have just entered the belly of the whale, Leander, and ye must keep your faith.”
    Leander gazed out at the ship, watching a frenzy of seagulls
    wheel above its stern, squawking as they dove into the water after garbage that was being thrown overboard. He tried to convince
    himself that he had no fears—Papi was often telling him that if
    you are honest and you have faith, you need not fear anything in this world. But this wasn’t true, of course. It was really a matter of not revealing what you fear, to anyone, and perhaps even to
    yourself. Leander knew what he feared, though he seldom was
    able to name it. Fear would suddenly rise up inside him when he
    heard his parents talking about things he didn’t understand, and it often would crush him when he thought about his sister, the dark world she inhabited. Sarah rarely seemed afraid, but when she was she often turned to him, because she thought he was strong and
    brave. But he knew he wasn’t, and he didn’t know how to admit
    to his sister, his blind sister, that he was afraid of that which he could not see. The yellow quarantine flag luffed from the top of the ship’s main mast, indicating the presence of some invisible
    danger, a pestilence. Perhaps, Leander thought as he bent over
    and pulled the claws of his rake through the muck, it’s best not to think about invisible things—maybe his sister was brave, truly brave, because she could not see. Maybe it is better to be blind.
    R
    They dug for about another hour. It was getting hot and Leander
    was thirsty. His grandfather seemed to read his mind and when
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    j o h n s m o l e n s
    he’d filled his fourth dreener, he hung them on his long-handled rake, which he then hoisted up and laid across his shoulders. They walked back across the flats and climbed the beach to the shack.
    His grandfather had a jar of water, which they shared while sitting in the shade of the doorway.
    Other clammers passed by, and one, Silas Locke, stopped to
    sit a spell. “Ain’t seen Nathaniel this morning. Usually one of the first ones down to the flats.”
    Leander’s grandfather shook his head. “Aye.”
    “Strange.”
    “’Tis.”
    They passed around the jar of water and watched the other
    clammers at work. The seagulls had quit the ship, and now hun-
    dreds of them stood on the flats, white specks reflected in the
    wet muck.
    When Silas Locke got to his feet, he said, “All right, then,” as though they had concluded a long conversation, and he walked
    on to his own shack.
    Leander and his grandfather began their customary route toward
    Market Square. Water dripped from their dreeners and the clams
    continued to whistle. They stopped first at Mrs. Cottle’s at the foot of Bromfield Street. She usually bought a quart, but today she stepped outside her kitchen door, which she pulled closed behind her.
    “Won’t be needing any clams today, Mr. Minot.”
    “That so?”
    She wiped her hands in her apron. “But I thank you for stop-
    ping by.”
    “Tomorrow then?”
    She turned to open the door, and did not look back at them.
    “Perhaps.”
    “Is Mr. Cottle feeling all right?”
    “Well enough,” she said, closing the door behind her.
    They made their customary stops along the river, selling clams
    mostly at the back doors of taverns and ordinaries. There were
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    q u a r a n t i n e
    establishments in Newburyport that only served clams dug by
    Coverly Minot. Leander had asked his grandfather why he had
    such loyal customers, and Papi merely thumped his chest with
    his thick fist. “Mine are sweeter. It’s always been that way. It’s a gift—runs in the family. And they make for the best farts. Nothing like a good cleansing clam fart,” he said with a wink.
    By the time they had worked their way through Market