“Your little boy is sleepy,” he said.
“Actually, I think he’s sleeping. I should get him home to his father. He likes to see his father in the afternoons. Waits for him, you know, to come home from fishing.”
“He’s a handsome boy.”
“We think so. We love him.”
“Naturally you do. He is your son.”
Ruth sat up straighter. Then she said, “I should get back to the harbor now, Mr. Ellis.”
“You won’t have a cup of tea?”
“No. But we are in agreement, yes?”
“I am enormously proud of you, Ruth.”
“Well.” she smiled broadly and made an ironic little flourish with her left hand. “It’s all part of the service, Mr. Ellis.”
With some effort, Ruth got herself up out of the deep chair, still holding David. Her son made a small noise of protest, and she shifted his weight, trying to hold him in a way that would be comfortable for them both. At this point in her pregnancy, she shouldn’t have been carrying him around, but she enjoyed it. She liked holding David, and knew she only had a few more years of it, before he got too big and too independent to permit it. Ruth smoothed back her boy’s fair hair and picked up her canvas bag, which was filled with snacks for David and co-op files for herself. Ruth started toward the door and then changed her mind.
She turned around to confirm a suspicion. She looked over at Mr. Ellis, and, yes, just as she had expected, he was grinning and grinning. He made no attempt to hide his grin from her. Indeed, he let it grow wider. As she saw this, Ruth felt the oddest, the most unaccountable fondness for the man. So she did not walk out. Not just yet. Instead, she walked to Mr. Ellis’s chair and-leaning awkwardly around the weight of her son and her pregnancy-bent down and kissed the old dragon right on the forehead.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I WOULD LIKE to thank the New York Public Library for offering me the essential sanctuary of the Allen Room. I also extend my appreciation to the staff of the Vinalhaven Historical Society for helping me sift through that island’s remarkable history. While I consulted many books during this project, I was most helped by The Lobster Gangs of Maine, Lobstering and the Maine Coast, Perils of the Sea, Fish Scales and Stone Chips, the collected works of Edwin Mitchell, the unpublished but thorough “Tales of Matinicus Island,” and a disturbing 1943 volume called Shipwreck Survivors: A Medical Study.
Thanks to Wade Schuman for giving me the idea in the first place; to Sarah Chalfant for nudging it along; to Dawn Seferian for picking it up; to Janet Silver for seeing it through; and to Frances Apt for straightening it out. I am profoundly grateful to the residents of Matinicus Island, Vinalhaven Island, and Long Island for taking me into their homes and onto their boats. Special appreciation goes to Ed and Nan Mitchell, Barbara and David Ramsey, Ira Warren, Stan MacVane, Bunky MacVane, Donny MacVane, Katie Murphy, Randy Wood, Patti Rich, Earl Johnson, Andy Creelman, Harold Poole, Paula Hopkins, Larry Ames, Beba Rosen, John Beckman, and the legendary Ms. Bunny Beckman. Thank you, Dad, for attending U. of M. and for remembering your friends after all those many years. Thank you, John Hodgman, for taking time from your work to help me in the final moments of mine. Thank you, Deborah Luepnitz, for going lobster-by-lobster with me, right from the beginning. And God Bless the Fat Kids.
Elizabeth Gilbert
Elizabeth Gilbert is the author of a short story collection, Pilgrims (a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award), The Last American Man (a finalist for the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award), and, most recently, the #1 New York Times bestseller Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. For five years she worked as a journalist at GQ, where her feature writing earned her three National Magazine Award nominations. She lives in New Jersey.
