clamming

Young Earl leaned on his clam rake and stared out across the almost unbroken expanse of Great Salt Pond. There was activity around the Block Island Boat Basin on the other side of the pond. The boats would start coming in this weekend, and by God he was going to get his clams for his chowder before they started flushing their sewage into the pond. He tugged at the straps of his hip boots and went back to work.

        “Let me see your license.” He startled up but relaxed when he saw the young woman, pants legs rolled up, wading towards him. “You’re lucky I’m not the shellfish warden,” she said.

      “You’re lucky I’m not. Or the cops, neither.” He made a show of sniffing the distinctive scent that clung to her. “Course the cops have other fish to fry today, what with a murder and all.”

    “It’s legal now, get with the times, old man. More legal than these clams.”

     “When did murder become legal?”

     “Don’t be disingenuous, Earl. Weed. But what do you hear about the murder?”

      “There was one. That’s all I know. Found the body on the Winfield property next door. Heard the sirens. And the chopper. Didn’t know what was going on.”

     “Have you talked to Merideth?”

      “That woman? We haven’t spoken for years.”  He bent over his rake. A “newcomer” of some 15 years, she hadn’t known. On this island you never knew when you were going to put your foot in it, she thought. The icy water lapped around her ankles. A gull cried.

      She lifted her foot out of the water and dropped a clam into his wire basket with her toes.  “Got one.”

      “Where’s your damn clam license? Just want a few more. Hold me through season. I freeze them for my chowder.”

      “Hard shell clams for chowder. What a waste! I just eat them raw with a little bit of lemon.”

       “At my age you can’t be too careful. Pain in the neck to shuck, too. Anyway, they’re what’s in my backyard. Soon enough it will be floating mobile homes and those damn skidoos. They make a helluva commotion.”

   “Mopeds of the sea. Yesterday when I came clamming, I heard a loud boat, like a cigarette boat. Must have shot away fast. Did you see it?”

     “One of those rich toy boats. Low. Mean looking. I saw it when I was fixing my dinner. Olive loaf sandwich, same as I have every day. She sure did cut out of here fast, whoever she was. Never heard her come in.”

     “Little early in the season for drug dealer boats,” she said. Her toes had located another clam. She scooped it up and dropped in his basket.

    “Tithing?” he asked.

    She chuckled. “Just because you have your own path doesn’t mean you own below the high tide line. But I do appreciate your letting me park in your yard. Need a hand getting these to the house?”

    “Nah. I may be old, but I’m not dead yet!”