Sweetland by Michael Crummey

Author:Michael Crummey [Crummey, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-385-68221-3
Publisher: Doubleday Canada
Published: 2014-08-18T16:00:00+00:00

It was difficult to say, looking back, when he’d made up his mind to stay. He didn’t announce or discuss it, barely acknowledged the notion in his own head. Simply carried on with his life like it was just another summer, hauling up his seaweed and planting his garden, cutting and stockpiling firewood. People dismissed the activity as simple bloody-mindedness. Sweetland eating against his end.

As well as his own, Sweetland planted the old garden at the keeper’s house, driving out to tend it through July and August, weeding and watering and picking the cabbage bugs off by hand. It wasn’t a practical spot for a second garden, but it offered an escape from the draining misery in the cove. And saved having to explain himself to everyone and their dog.

Less than a dozen people were still resident on the island at the beginning of July. Pilgrim came up to the house occasionally to sit an hour with the radio, to report on the latest plans to move into St. John’s. Their departure date kept being pushed ahead while Clara tried to arrange a spot for Pilgrim in some kind of assisted living facility.

Assisted living? Sweetland said.

That’s what they calls it.

Some stranger comes in to wipe your ass, is it?

Don’t be a bastard, Pilgrim said.

Sweetland shook his head. I hope to Jesus I’m dead before I comes to that.

Clara was planning to find a place to live nearby, Pilgrim told him, and she was applying to do a master’s degree in some field that involved digging up the ancient dead and guessing at how they styled their hair and what they ate and how they came to their unexceptional ends. It seemed a ludicrous thing to devote your life to.

You haven’t said nothing about where you might be shifting, Pilgrim said one afternoon.

I’m not going anywhere, Sweetland told him. Even to himself it was a surprise to have his mind stated so plainly.

What do you mean, you’re not going?

I still got title to my property.

You took the hundred grand.

I’ll give it back.

It don’t work like that, Moses.

Look, Sweetland said. What if I leaves on the ferry in September and comes back on my own a week later. Where’s the law says I can’t do that?

Pilgrim worked his mouth a few moments. There’s no law.

Well I’m just skipping that step.

Skipping it?

I’m not getting on the ferry.

I don’t know, Pilgrim said. Seems to me there’s nothing that simple about it.

And the blind fucker had been right about that.

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