Every Man for Himself Part 32

Jehoshaphat Rudd of Satan's Trap was shy-able-bodied, to be sure, if a gigantic frame means anything, and mature, if a family of nine is competent evidence, but still as shy as a child. Moreover, he had the sad habit of anxiety: whence tense eyelids, an absent, poignant gaze, a perpetual pucker between the brows. His face was brown and big, framed in tawny, soft hair and beard, and spread with a delicate web of wrinkles, spun by the weather-a round countenance, simple, kindly, apathetic. The wind had inflamed the whites of his eyes and turned the rims blood red; but the wells in the midst were deep and clear and cool.

Reserve, courageous and methodical diligence at the fis.h.i.+ng, a quick, tremulous concern upon salutation-by these signs the folk of his harbor had long ago been persuaded that he was a fool; and a fool he was, according to the convention of the Newfoundland outports: a shy, dull fellow, whose interests were confined to his punt, his gear, the grounds off the Tombstone, and the bellies of his young ones. He had no part with the disputatious of Satan's Trap: no voice, for example, in the rancorous discussions of the purposes and ways of the Lord G.o.d Almighty, believing the purposes to be wise and kind, and the ways the Lord's own business. He was shy, anxious, and preoccupied; wherefore he was called a fool, and made no answer: for doubtless he _was_ a fool. And what did it matter? He would fare neither better nor worse.

Nor would Jehoshaphat wag a tongue with the public-spirited men of Satan's Trap: the times and the customs had no interest, no significance, for him; he was troubled with his own concerns. Old John Wull, the trader, with whom (and no other) the folk might barter their fish, personified all the abuses, as a matter of course. But-

"I 'low I'm too busy t' think," Jehoshaphat would reply, uneasily. "I'm too busy. I-I-why, I got t' tend my _fis.h.!.+_"

This was the quality of his folly.

It chanced one summer dawn, however, when the sky was flushed with tender light, and the shadows were trooping westward, and the sea was placid, that the punts of Timothy Yule and Jehoshaphat Rudd went side by side to the Tombstone grounds. It was dim and very still upon the water, and solemn, too, in that indifferent vastness between the gloom and the rosy, swelling light. Satan's Trap lay behind in the shelter and shadow of great hills laid waste-a lean, impoverished, listless home of men.

"You dunderhead!" Timothy Yule a.s.sured Jehoshaphat. "He've been robbin'

you."

"Maybe," said Jehoshaphat, listlessly. "I been givin' the back kitchen a coat o' lime, an' I isn't had no time t' give t' thinkin'."

"An' he've been robbin' this harbor for forty year."

"Dear man!" Jehoshaphat exclaimed, in dull surprise. "Have he told you that?"

"Told me!" cried Timothy. "No," he added, with bitter restraint; "he've not."

Jehoshaphat was puzzled. "Then," said he, "how come you t' know?"

"Why, they _says_ so."

Jehoshaphat's reply was gently spoken, a compa.s.sionate rebuke. "An I was you, Timothy," said he, "I wouldn't be harsh in judgment. 'Tisn't quite Christian."

"My G.o.d!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the disgusted Timothy.

After that they pulled in silence for a time. Jehoshaphat's face was averted, and Timothy was aware of having, in a moment of impatience, not only committed a strategic indiscretion, but of having betrayed his innermost habit of profanity. The light grew and widened and yellowed; the cottages of Satan's Trap took definite outline, the hills their ancient form, the sea its familiar aspect. Sea and sky and distant rock were wide awake and companionably smiling. The earth was blue and green and yellow, a glittering place.

"Look you! Jehoshaphat," Timothy demanded; "is you in debt?"

"I is."

"An' is you ever been out o' debt?"

"I isn't."

"How come you t' know?"

"Why," Jehoshaphat explained, "Mister Wull _told_ me so. An' whatever,"

he qualified, "father was in debt when he died, an' Mister Wull told me I ought t' pay. Father was _my_ father," Jehoshaphat argued, "an' I 'lowed I _would_ pay. For," he concluded, "'twas right."

"Is he ever give you an account?"

"Well, no-no, he haven't. But it wouldn't do no good, for I've no learnin', an' can't read."

"No," Timothy burst out, "an' he isn't give n.o.body no accounts."

"Well," Jehoshaphat apologized, "he've a good deal on his mind, lookin'

out for the wants of us folk. He've a _wonderful_ lot o' brain labor.

He've all them letters t' write t' St. John's, an' he've got a power of 'rithmetic t' do, an' he've got the writin' in them big books t' trouble un, an'-"

Timothy sneered.

"Ah, well," sighed Jehoshaphat, "an I was you, Timothy, I wouldn't be harsh in judgment."

Timothy laughed uproariously.

"Not harsh," Jehoshaphat repeated, quietly-"not in judgment."

"d.a.m.n un!" Timothy cursed between his teeth. "The greedy squid, the devil-fish's sp.a.w.n, with his garden an' his sheep an' his cow! _You_ got a cow, Jehoshaphat? _You_ got turnips an' carrots? _You_ got ol' Bill Lutt t' gather soil, an' plant, an' dig, an' weed, while you smokes plug-cut in the suns.h.i.+ne? Where's _your_ garden, Jehoshaphat? Where's _your_ onions? The green lumpfis.h.!.+ An' where do he get his onions, an'

where do he get his soup, an' where do he get his cheese an' raisins?

'Tis out o' you an' me an' all the other poor folk o' Satan's Trap. 'Tis from the fish, an' _he_ never cast a line. 'Tis from the fish that we takes from the grounds while he squats like a lobster in the red house an' in the shop. An' he gives less for the fish 'n he gets, an' he gets more for the goods an' grub 'n he gives. The thief, the robber, the whale's pup! Is you able, Jehoshaphat, t' have the doctor from Sniffle's Arm for _your_ woman! Is _you_ able t' feed _your_ kids with cow's milk an' baby-food?"

Jehoshaphat mildly protested that he had not known the necessity.

"An' what," Timothy proceeded, "is you ever got from the grounds but rheumatiz an' salt-water sores?"

"I got enough t' eat," said Jehoshaphat.

Timothy was scornful.

"Well," Jehoshaphat argued, in defence of himself, "the world have been goin' for'ard a wonderful long time at Satan's Trap, an' n.o.body else haven't got no more'n just enough."

"Enough!" Timothy fumed. "'Tis kind o' the Satan's Trap trader t' give you that! _I'll_ tell un," he exploded; "I'll give un a piece o' my mind afore I dies."

"Don't!" Jehoshaphat pleaded.

Timothy snorted his indignation.

"I wouldn't be rash," said Jehoshaphat. "Maybe," he warned, "he'd not take your fish no more. An' maybe he'd close the shop an' go away."

"Jus' you wait," said Timothy.

"Don't you do it, lad!" Jehoshaphat begged. "'Twould make such a wonderful fuss in the world!"

"An' would you think o' that?"

"I isn't got _time_ t' think," Jehoshaphat complained. "I'm busy. I 'low I got my fish t' cotch an' cure. I isn't got time. I-I-I'm too busy."

They were on the grounds. The day had broken, a blue, serene day, knowing no disquietude. They cast their grapnels overside, and they fished until the shadows had fled around the world and were hurrying out of the east. And they reeled their lines, and stowed the fish, and patiently pulled toward the harbor tickler, talking not at all of the Satan's Trap trader, but only of certain agreeable expectations which the young Timothy had been informed he might entertain with reasonable certainty.

"I 'low," said Jehoshaphat, when they were within the harbor, "I understand. I got the hang of it," he repeated, with a little smile, "now."

"Of what?" Timothy wondered.