The CTR Anthology Read online

  Skipper Pete: At the tender age of sixteen years,

  I had to sail away,

  All on a banking schooner – (Hums)

  (He frowns – as if recollecting the words. Smiles. Hums the tune again loudly. Pauses to cough. Then spit. The hands all the time working.)

  All on a banking schooner,

  In the morning light of day,

  All on a banking schooner (Hums to himself)

  I stowed my gear away –

  Funny – can’t remember it now.

  (Begins to hum the tune again with concentration … half-way through he’s interrupted … Uncle John appears downstage right. Looks up at the sky. Nods at the smoke. Enters the room downstage right. He carries a can slung over his shoulder by a rope. He shuts the door behind him. Pete, still humming, has continued to look out of the window. Uncle John nods in his direction.)

  Uncle John: ’Ow do, Skipper.

  (Skipper Pete nods back without turning his head.)

  Skipper Pete: ’Ow do.

  (John moves up to the splitting table, swings the can from his shoulder. Puts it squarely in the middle. He comes and stands by the stove, rubbing his hands. A moment’s silence.)

  Uncle John: Fine morning.

  Skipper Pete: Seen worse.

  Uncle John: Better than yistiday.

  Skipper Pete: Not so good as Wednesday afore last.

  (A pause. John ponders this.)

  Uncle John: No. I grant you that. Not as good as Wednesday afore last.

  (A pause)

  Uncle John: Last Saturday weren’t too bad neither. Got a gallon of berries.

  (Skipper Pete pauses in his work. Turns and looks at John. Spits thoughtfully.)

  Skipper Pete: Partridge?

  Uncle John: Marsh.

  Skipper Pete: I allow. Last Satiday weren’t too bad.

  Uncle John: Sunday were half decent. Act of God I s’pose. For the Bishop.

  (Skipper Pete begins at the net again. Spits.)

  Uncle John: I saw the Bishop.

  (Without waiting for any kind of reply he goes into the gloom stage right and emerges with an armful of birch chunks. He puts two on the stove. Places the remainder carefully at its feet.)

  Uncle John: Did you see the Bishop?

  Skipper Pete: I didn’t bother. No arches.

  Uncle John: No. It’s not the same.

  Skipper Pete: I mind when we used to make ’em all along the path ’e’d come. T’ree, four arches … bigger’n old church door they was. And all the maids wid flowers.

  (Uncle John goes to door stage right. He throws it open. Looks for a moment. Then from the side of the door where it has been leaning takes a gaff, and props the door open, in such a way that it makes two triangles of the entrance. Stands framed in the door.)

  Uncle John: He’d come by boat.

  (No response. A pause. He raises his voice. Skipper Pete is slightly deaf.)

  Not the same by road.

  Skipper Pete: No. The road’s not the same.

  Uncle John: Might a meant something then.

  Skipper Pete: It did. We made the arches for’n to go under. All the way up the road. Past the houses. It meant something.

  Uncle John: I remember the Bishop standing up in the boat in his robes. The cross in front of him. The whole place turned out in their best. The harses and sheep driven to top pasture. (Chuckles) The hooman sheep to the wharf. (Chuckles) Even the pigs clean. Old dogs on chains. (A pause. Scornfully) This one now. Didn’t matter how much shit was on the road. Came by car. (Indignant. Strides across to Skipper Pete.) A Bishop. Can you imagine that now. Confirmation by car. Where’s the God in that I’d like to know.

  Skipper Pete: No arches. That’s what it was. (He suddenly drops the net. A pause.) Time for a mug?

  Uncle John: Aye … (Half absently) Aye.

  (Unhooks a kettle – ancient black kettle from the beam. Goes back stage right. Dips kettle into barrel of water. Brings it still dripping back to stove. Takes off lid of stove. Places lid to one side. Puts kettle on hole thus exposed. Turns upstage to his can on the splitting table. Extracts the makings for tea. Brings them back to stove. Moves downstage right of door. Hanging on two hooks are four mugs. He brings back two mugs to stove. Stands thinking. Goes back. Gets the other two mugs. Skipper Pete moves left. Selects a barrel. Rolls it towards stove, between the net and the stove. Sits, taking his cap off. Watches John preparing tea. Suddenly sees the other two mugs)

  Skipper Pete: Where’s Absalom?

  (A pause. John is uncomfortable.)

  Skipper Pete: Should be here.

  (John busies himself with tea.)

  Skipper Pete: (Getting angry. He begins to twitch.) He’s never late. Ye are. Often. That woman of yours I s’pose. Useless as the day ever was. God damnedest child I ever did raise. Glad to be rid of ’er. But Absalom.

  Uncle John: (Sharply) He’s gone.

  Skipper Pete: Gone?

  Uncle John: Fishing.

  Skipper Pete: Fishing? (Half rises, turns to window. A pause)

  Uncle John: Lard Jesus Christ, where else ’as the poor bastard got to go?

  Skipper Pete: But dey’s no fish.

  Uncle John: You knows it, I knows it. And he knows it.

  Skipper Pete: But what’s he coddin about at … (Sits slowly. Puzzled. Pained)

  Uncle John: (Bitter) He ’as dreams. Didn’t you know? Dreams of all the fish once. Of the mackerel thicker’n on the water than moonlight, whispering together. Then ’e ’as to go. Here’s your tea.

  (Hands Skipper Pete his tea. Goes back to stove. Takes kettle off. Puts in two birch chunks. Replaces stove lid. Puts kettle on floor. Takes up his own mug. Walks across Skipper Pete to the net. Looks at it thoughtfully. Turns.)

  Uncle John: You’ve nearly finished.

  Skipper Pete: Should’ve finished yesterday.

  Uncle John: Wednesday.

  Skipper Pete: I allow as how Thursday’s all right.

  Uncle John: It’s a civil enough day.

  Skipper Pete: How’s the killick?

  Uncle John: Binding to do. That’s all.

  Skipper Pete: Should finish together then.

  Uncle John: Celebrate then eh? Bit o’ shine. Just like the old days.

  Skipper Pete: Aye. We’ll have a time!

  Uncle John: If Absalom’s back.

  Skipper Pete: Can’t understand it. We agreed. Next year. New nits. Gear. Four’n us. We’d manage. We’d show the youngsters.

  Uncle John: (Walks back to stove. Sinks on his haunches.) Aye. They’re useless. Bloody great boats they can’t handle. Can’t hold their liquor. Feared of animals. Like the fella said, wed to music and misery.

  Skipper Pete: My Absalom. Fishing! Without me! Jesus. The lad’ll … (Pause)

  Uncle John: What will he do?

  Skipper Pete: Nivir did grow up, see. Had to lead’n all the way. That time he fell off the harse on the way out of the woods …

  Uncle John: (not without sardonic mirth) And ye sent him back in, didn’t ye. “’Ow many sticks boy” ye said. “Ninety-five” he said, and it fifteen below and blowing and coming on dark. I remember it now. “Holy Christ” ye roared … I was just coming from the stage hid then and I heard ye. “Holy Christ. Get back on that damn harse and git another five or by God I’ll leather you.” And him already taller than you.

  Skipper Pete: All right for ye to talk now John. But ye knows ye had to bring ’em up ’ard else they wouldn’t survive. Look at ’em now – they’s nothing to survive against. I had to do it, John.

  Uncle John: I remember the harse coming back on his own. And it blowing a blizzard then. And us saying we’d better go in and look for’n. And ye saying: “Let the young bugger get here by hisself.” (Chuckles) I remember it well. “Let the young bugger get here by hisself.”

  Skipper Pete: (Gets to his feet and glares at John malevolently) My Jesus John. Ye watch. I’m not past giving ye a punch in the mout’.

  Uncle John:
Don’t be so Jesus foolish. Ye’d die of a heart attack. (Pete sits again, breathing heavily. Ancient leader of a savage pack with the instincts still there but the ability in pitiful disrepair)

  Uncle John: And what’d be the pint. I got nar tooth left anyhow … (He laughs) Eh boy? (Goes across to Skipper Pete and punches him in the shoulder. Skipper Pete begins to laugh. They laugh together. Cough. Fall out of breath. Breathe heavily. Suddenly outside – a sudden explosion of gulls)

  Skipper Pete: Blast them gulls. Seems as if they do be mocking a man. All the time. Time was … (Memory fades – comes back) Time was … Got me own back on a few of ’n though.

  Uncle John: Aah! Bit of bait on a bobber …

  Skipper Pete: Down they’d go. Greediest buggers in the sea …

  Uncle John: (Screeches like a gull – raises his arm) There they’d be. The hook in their t’roat. (A pause. They both remember meals of seagull.)

  Skipper Pete: They never seemed to mind it once the wings was broke … Tame as chickens some of ’n, and the bread they’d eat … Get fat as a goose.

  Uncle John: Aye. Seems the law’s agin anything a man might do to help hisself to a good meal. (Gulls screech) Listen to’n. Got worse since they was protected. (Gulls screech) Dam’ sight worse.

  Skipper Pete: Not so bad as the Funks – even now!

  Uncle John: No, not so bad as the Funks.

  Skipper Pete: I stayed there once all night. For a bet.

  Uncle John: I ’lows I heard that.

  Skipper Pete: Screeching. All night screeching. Up to me arms in shit.

  Uncle John: (Laughs). I’d like to have seen that. (Pete glares. JohnV laugh dies slowly in his throat. Uncle John moves back toward rear door.)

  Uncle John: S’pose I’ll go get the killick then. (No reply from Pete.)

  Uncle John: Will I git the killick? (No reply.)

  Uncle John: Finished wit yer tay? (No reply.)

  Uncle John: Is ye finished wit yer tay er what?

  Skipper Pete: Eh?

  Uncle John: Is ye finished wit yer tay? (No answer.)

  (John crosses. Takes Pete’s mug. Goes back and picks up his own. Places both mugs on the hatch. Goes back. Comes back with bucket on the end of a rope. Moves mugs. Lifts hatch. Lowers bucket. Draws up water. Closes hatch. Washes mugs in bucket. Lifts hatch. Pours water away. Is about to close it. Pauses. Decides he wants to urinate. Raises it. Turns back to Pete, facing right. Lowers zip carefully. Is about to commence …)

  Skipper Pete: (Savagely) Can’t you go outside.

  Uncle John: (Startled) Eh?

  Skipper Pete: Can’t you go outside. Always was a dirty bugger. Tanned your arse once on the Labrador for pissin’ into the wind. Sprayed all on us. Dirty little bugger ye was.

  Uncle John: (Defensive – a child as then) I were only fourteen then.

  Skipper Pete: Aye. And you’ve got the same habits now. There’s things better done in private. That’s why they’re called privates.

  Uncle John: I never called ’em privates. They’s in the army.

  Skipper Pete: What do you know about that, eh? Never was in the army. I was there. Beaumont Hamel. The Somme. You’d never have survived there. Unless I was wid yer. Ye might have stood a chanst then. Privates. What do you know about privates?

  Uncle John: If ye’re talking about the same thing I’m talking about I knows as much about ’em as any man. An ’right now I want to know what business it is of yours where I pisses, when I pisses and how I pisses.

  Skipper Pete: I told yer. There’s a lot of things done better in private, an’ pissin’s one of ’em. Dey’s places in the world you’d get arrested for doing that. I know. I was there.

  Uncle John: Same sea in’t? Sea’s a big place.

  Skipper Pete: Not the pint. I ’low the sea’s a big place. Now a man’s a small place. You’ve got to have order. Decency. There ’as to be a way of doing things. A man’s way. That’s why we’re here isn’t it? They’s only we left.

  (Uncle John grumbles and fumbles with his fly. His sense of order has received a setback. He begins to move backstage.)

  Skipper Pete: Hatch.

  Uncle John: (Turning) Eh?

  Skipper Pete: The hatch then. You’ve left the hatch open.

  Uncle John: Jesus Christ!

  Skipper Pete: S’pose a sea hove in. What then?

  Uncle John: (Turning back disgusted) Sea. It’s like a bloody pond. (He slams the hatch down.)

  Skipper Pete: Ye never know. I mind the time – thirty-two was it, or three? Me’n your father was bringing the schooners back from St John’s. Ye was on my boat. Not yet twenty-one ye were. Ye were safer with me. ’Twas as well I took ye. Yer father an they was so god-damned drunk after selling the catch they nearly hit the Battery on the way out through the Narrows.

  (John moves as if to protest but Pete waves him away. John moves stage right and urinates out over the diagonal across door stage right and stays there, a sullen shadow)

  Skipper Pete: Your father, mind, was a Godless man.

  Uncle John: (Interrupting) Ye old hypocrite.

  Skipper Pete: (Unmoved) A man without a decent sense of order. I mind he had a couple o’pigs aboard. And for sport they run ’em up the mainmast in a barrel and let’n go. Down come the pigs – I saw it, ye didn’t. Ye was down below cooking. The worst cook I remember, as was ever sent aboard a boat. Smash! All over the boat. Barrel. Pigs and all. An’ they laughing, drunken fools, the guts flying. I tried to hail ’em. “Look out to your trim John b’y. They’s weather coming.” None of ’em took no heed. Shouted back over the water, “Don’t ye mind us Uncle. We’s all right. Just knock some fear and God into that boy of mine and leave us be.” (Pete gets up. Goes forestage … staring out… reliving the event..) “Damn fools,” I shouted, “Damn fools. Go to Hell then.” (He’s almost dancing with self-satisfaction) “Devil’s bait,” I shouted. “That’s what ye’ll be afore marnin’.” Then the first gust came an’ she with all canvas flying … ripped her mains’l off and she keeled over. An they still laughing and staggering. I’d a prayed then and there, but I reckoned it would ’ave done no good. Aye. (He stomps slowly back to his seat) Saw no more of’n after dark. Wind came on Nor E. Driving snow an’ a sea raging like a barren woman. She got fed that night … (Grim satisfaction) Not a body ever found. Not a spar.

  Uncle John: (Turning in from door) Not even a piece of pig eh? But Skipper Pete, the Iron Man, come through. Never lost a ship; lost one man in fifty years. Ice and fire, storm and flood – Skipper Pete come through. The legend of the coast! Trips to St John’s. Signed pictures of Joey Small-wood – God knows why, he couldn’t stand drinking water! CBC cameras and wet-eared pups praising ye on yer birthday. And what for, eh? What for? (In a sudden movement almost throws himself face to face with Pete) It was for ye, wasn’t it. Not the ships. Not the men. Ye didn’t give a damn for none of it, but for yer own pride.

  Skipper Pete: I saved you, boy. Don’t ye forgit that. More than once. And many another walking the world because o’ me.

  Uncle John: (Anguished) I would to Christ Jesus ye’d let some of the poor bastards drown. Like me father and they. Drown free. But ye broke ’em ye did. Like bits of driftwood. Ye saved ’em all right. But not to stand up. Not to walk the world. Crawl! Ye made ’em crawl. Ye made me crawl. (Turns back upstage. Turns back. He is crying.) We should have hung you. But no. I remember me father saying – saying … We escaped the rule of others. And exchanged it for the rule of our own kind. No escape, boy, he said. No escape. Except to kill ’n or run away agin. And they’s nowhere to run. Merciful God!

  Skipper Pete: (Roaring) God is not merciful. (He gets up trailing the net after him. Goes to John) Don’t ye ever forgit that. “The Lord is a strong-hold to him whose way is upright, but destruction to evildoers.” Isn’t that what I’ve just told ye? “He who spares the rod hates his son.” Can ye say I didn’t love ye?

  Uncle John: I’ll give ye back your Proverbs. “A man’s pride will b
ring him low, but he who is lowly will gain honour.”

  (A pause. Pete turns back, slowly pulling the net together)

  Skipper Pete: Ye can’t say I didn’t teach ye neither.

  Uncle John: (Coming after him) But what does it mean? What does it mean? (Grips him by the shoulders and turns him. They face each other. Still in command, Pete throws John’s hands off. They stand facing each other)

  Skipper Pete: It doesn’t matter what it means. It’s enough that it’s there.

  Uncle John: It’s not enough. Ye use it when it’s convenient. Like people. But I knows ye well enough. When ye wants to cuss ye cusses. And when ye wanted a woman ye took’n. And when ye wanted a drink ye got drunk like the rest of us.

  Skipper Pete: No. Ye damn fool. I did those things when I had to …

  Uncle John: When ye had to! Why – you’re making an excuse! An excuse!

  Skipper Pete: No. It was to show ye it was possible for a man to fall and rise. (Suddenly chuckles) An’ it kept ye all guessing. (Goes back to his seat)

  Uncle John: (A light dawning) So that’s it. When ye’d druv us to the point o’ mutiny ye’d always do something – human. You bastard.

  Skipper Pete: It has to be done! Ye just agreed yourself. To survive. I did what was best. An they was order to it. Like ye said. About the Bishop. And the youngsters. They’s got no arches now ye see. Just space. And they flop about like broken birds hither and yon, lost. I made an arch for ye. Aye – an’ I wasn’t the only one either. They was others.