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Absence of Grace
Excerpt
GERRUM KIRSEY - 1980
"Seems to me, only thing worse than some native acting like he's good as you is a native who's a goddamned lawyer." The man who had spoken, leaned on the bar with his back to Gerrum. He'd obviously raised his voice on purpose--to make sure it was heard by the one person present he had to be talking about.
Gerrum's gut tightened with familiar angst. He turned to John Jeffers with a questioning look.
John tipped his chin toward the man's back and spoke without attempting to muffle his voice either. "That's Elmer Cantrell. Man thinks there's a conspiracy behind every bush, even if it damn well looks like a bull moose."
"They ain't going to be satisfied till they get it all," Elmer countered, without turning around. "That there Native Claims Settlement Act." He hawked, the sound every bit as disgusting as the disgust it was seeking to convey. "Don't make no difference. And what makes them think they're special anyway. Wasn't I born here, too. Seems to me, that makes me as native as some half-assed Indian lawyer."
The man who was the recipient of these confidences caught John Jeffer's eye and sidled away from Elmer. John threw a ten on the table and motioned Gerrum to follow him outside.
"Are Native claims still an issue?" Gerrum asked as they walked away from the bar toward Wrangell's harbor. "I thought all that was settled in the seventies."
John shrugged. "Oh, there's still a loose end or two. Makes some people nervous. Especially your garden-variety bigot like Elmer."
"Well you can pass the word, that isn't why I'm here."
"You and Terry agree to fish together, should take care of it."
Gerrum hoped so. Elmer had been right about one thing, though. Gerrum might not want to think of himself as a half-assed Indian, but that sure described this idea of coming to Alaska. Something that had become abundantly clear early on as he checked out the Inside Passage communities. As he went from port to port, he quickly discovered the time of golden opportunity had already passed--a hundred years ago.
He'd pretty much decided to take the Ever Joyful back to Seattle and either sell her and live as long as possible on the proceeds, or keep the boat and live on it. Do some freelance legal work to keep food on the table and pay the docking fees. Beyond that, he didn't need much. Just a better reason to get up in the morning than he currently had.
But then he'd met John Jeffers who extended a hand in friendship and told him about a local fisherman who'd just lost his boat. Gerrum figured he needed to at least meet this Terry Borges of the fishing permit.
Terry had a good handshake and an open, sunny countenance. "Kind of a different name you got."
"Same as Jeremy without the y." He'd found that was the easiest way to explain his name. It was supposed to have been Gerald, but that got screwed up by the poor penmanship of the person who filled out his birth certificate, something he was profoundly grateful for. Give him "Gerrum the Jap" over "Gerald the herald" any day.
"Nice boat." Terry broke off the handshake to begin his perusal of the Ever Joyful. Gerrum watched him check out the gear, the radio, the wheelhouse, and the galley of the thirty-foot wooden troller.
"Don't make em like this no more," Terry said, coming back on deck and thumping the rail.
He asked several questions about the engine, hold capacity, and Gerrum's experience. Then he stuck out his hand. "If you're willing, you've got yourself a permit and crew."
Gerrum took the proffered hand and nodded. "And you've got yourself a boat."
