The Forty Fathom Bank and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF

narrow bunk and puffed contentedly until we went up on deck again to bring in the shark line I’d almost forgotten and that had probably soaked too long or had lost its bait to the big red ocean crabs.
    Yet once the engine was going and the
Blue Fin
’s big wheel began to churn up a mound of white water astern and a wide ribbon of wake streamed out of the dark, sparkling water, the troubles, fears and complex uncertainties were back in an instant. It was as if they had never left me. I headed toward the first buoy line, and when the flag was alongside, I slowed down while May brought in the keg with the boat hook. So far he made no indication, either by gesture or expression, of what we might expect to catch. He worked with the same quick efficiency as before, a kind of buoyant cheerfulness in his strong, coordinated body. Now, as the buoy line came in over the starboard roller and around the flat, grooved wheel of the power gurdy, my anxiety was such that I could feel my heart beating heavily in my chest. When the anchor was up, I swung the wheel over and put the bow a few points off the direction of the set and then, with one hand on the wheel and my head through the open window, I gazed down at the mainline that was coming in slowly from off the ocean bottom. But as far as I could see down into the wavering depths, thehooks hung clean and empty on their long ganions. As the last of the set came in, I caught myself, despite my disappointment, watching tensely for the body of the big gull. But by the empty hooks it was evident the crabs had gotten him. When all was aboard, one small male soupfin lay on the deck along with a few red cod, a couple of worthless leopard sharks and some odds and ends of sticklebacks, smoothhounds and a skate or two. May threw everything back except the cod which we could sell, and, of course, the one soupfin which, when I weighed it on a small spring scale, though it was less than thirty pounds was worth more than twenty-five dollars. A whole week’s wages at the real estate office! I looked around for the boats I had seen that morning. All were gone. A thin trail of smoke lay low and quite still on the horizon far off to the west. Beyond that, the ocean was empty. And, except for the soundless passage of the long shimmering swells, there was no movement anywhere. Even the gulls that had been with us all morning had disappeared. And standing there on the
Blue Fin
’s slow rolling deck in the middle of that immense blue emptiness with the sun slanting, as it seemed, by the minute toward the sea, I was aware of such an overwhelming sense of hopelessness that had it not been for Ethan May, who with his same imperturbability was coiling up the last of the buoy lines, I would have turned north and headed back to the Gate.

5

    As soon as the gear was in order May began once more the long job of baiting the hooks. Somehow I think he must have suspected how I felt, for I sensed a subtle change in his movements and, though I may have been wrong, a suggestion of concern on his face that seemed, in some particular way, to indicate tacit sympathy. Of course all this was a long time ago, and my thoughts since then may well have colored the accuracy of my memory. I stepped back into the wheelhouse and turned up the throttle.
    â€œWhere to now,” I shouted back as cheerfully as I could. May put down his work and came in beside me.
    â€œI think we’ll have better luck on the forty fathom bank, off Año Nuevo Island,” he said in his soft, slow voice. There was not the slightest trace of resentment in his manner, nothing at all to reflect my failure of the morning. “We can try one set today and then set out again early in the morning.” He paused to draw a little circle on the chart and then went back to his baiting.
    The white conical tower of the light station at Pigeon Point was visible above the water a point or two to the east of south. A few miles beyond, I could