29: A stone landed in the water . . .
29: A stone landed in the water . . .
Little Follies, “Do Clams Bite?” Chapter 6 concludes
A stone landed in the water near my feet, disturbing the surface of the water enough so that it hit my soles, too late, however, to require me to stuff clams into my bathing suit. I looked around and saw the boy who had interrupted my visit with Great-grandmother, the one she had called “rascal.” He was standing on the bulkhead, smiling at me. I smiled back and waved. When I saw him there, I saw also the possibility of having a friend, someone to hang around with. Seeing the possibility, I felt the need—for a boon companion, a roarer, a rowdy. I thought of asking Grandfather if the boy on the dock could come out clamming with us, but we were already past jumping distance from the dock, and Grandfather was never willing to turn back once one of these voyages was begun. I gave the boy another wave and watched him grow smaller as we chugged away.
Behind the boy, two suntanned and leggy little girls, blond girls, so alike that I blinked and rubbed my eyes when I saw them, came walking into view, turning the corner from the street where Grandfather lived. They were wearing tiny white shorts and yellow halter tops. When they saw the rascal, they nudged each other and whispered. I knew at once what they were plotting; they were going to push him into the water. He was watching Rambunctious, and they were so stealthy that he didn’t seem at all aware that they were sneaking up on him. I began making signs to warn him. I tried to be subtle, so that my gestures wouldn’t attract their attention. I cupped a hand and pointed my finger into it. That was supposed to mean “Look behind you.” He looked into his hand. I made a pushing motion with both hands. He looked at both his hands. I stood up on the stern and made the same motion. He repeated it. I made a much more exaggerated version of the shoving motion and then took the role of the victim, pantomiming losing my balance, waving my arms in a vain attempt to recover it, and falling into the water.
“Peter!” shouted my father. “Hey, Dad! Stop! Peter fell in!”
I was surprised, when I came up with a mouthful of water, to find that the water was sweet and clean. I looked across the river and noticed a small stream. The tide was going out, and I thought I could see the water from the stream flowing out on top of the receding mix of Bolotomy and bay water. It was smooth, soft, a coat of quicksilver poured over the gray-green and turbid water below it. I paddled around a bit, sampling the water from time to time. I heard applause, and found the rascal standing between the girls at the edge of the bulkhead, laughing and applauding me. I smiled and waved at them.
“Peter! Grab hold!” called my father. He was holding a crab net out toward me. Rambunctious was still chugging downriver, toward the bay, but Grandfather had throttled back so that she was barely moving. I knew that this was as close as he would come to turning back.
“Maybe I should swim to shore,” I said, hoping that Grandfather would think that this was a good idea, since he would not have to interrupt his progress toward the flats, and the clams.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said my father. “Just take a couple of strokes, and you’ll be able to reach the net.”
He was right. Reaching the net would be easy. I was able to imagine myself taking one, two, perhaps three strokes, and grabbing hold of the net. I was as easily able to imagine myself doing nothing. I could stop treading water and simply slip below the soft and silvery fresh water into the dark water of this stretch of the Bolotomy, fouled by so many boats. It was the darkness of that lower water and the certainty that the bottom would be a sticky ooze littered with rusting cans that made me decide against letting go. I began to take my strokes, and with each one I found myself repeating the question, “Do clams bite? Do clams bite? Do clams bite?”
“There!” said my father. I had taken hold of the net without noticing, and he was pulling me alongside Rambunctious. He helped me aboard and handed me a towel. I began drying myself. I saw the rascal standing on the dock between the girls, an arm around each of them. I wondered how that felt. He grinned suddenly, out of one side of his mouth, and the girls giggled. I felt doomed.
Next episode:
You can listen to this episode on the Personal History podcast.
Have you missed an episode or two or several?
You can catch up by visiting the archive.
You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you’ve missed.
At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of “My Mother Takes a Tumble,” “Do Clams Bite?” and “Life on the Bolotomy,” the first three novellas in Little Follies.