summer because youâll have that bond with the place.â
âCyril, Mercedesâ husband, says it comes only about once every two or three years.â
âWell, itâs coming this year for sure. And itâs going to make up for the winter.â
âSounds like an apology.â
âA request for forgiveness. If the good weather continues, weâll have one of the best summers on record.â
âBest by Newfoundland standards.â
âBest standards there are. How many other islands can boast their own dictionary, encyclopaedia, dog and pony?â
âOr hexagons, Ray Hardings, three-pawed foxes, birds on crutches?â
She laughs, lays down her glass then runs her fingers through her hair. She stares out the window into the darkness. âOnce youâve been this close to the ocean, youâll never want to live anywhere else. We call it the sea. Ever hear the folk song?â She sings while she taps the one-two-three rhythm on the arm of her rocking chair. âThe sea, the sea, the wonderful sea. Long may she roam between nation and me. And everyone here should go down on one knee. Thank God weâre surrounded by water.â
I applaud.
âOnce you have its salt flowing in your veins, youâre never the same,â she says. She closes her eyes and hums to the music.
I close mine. Before long, the rocking makes me sleepy. I stand then go to the kitchen. âIâve had more fresh air in the last five or six hours than Iâve had in years. Iâm going to âgive âer,â as they say here.â
âGiver?â
âCyrilâs been giving me lessons in local sayings. Iâm sure hetold me that give âer as in âgive it to herâ means speed on, go on or to go.â
âI hope your friend isnât charging you too much for those lessons. You canât use give âer in that sense. You can say, âIâm going to take offâ or âIâm going to hit the roadâ or âburn some rubberâ but not give âer. Anyway, it wouldnât sound right coming out of you.â
âI told you I could never be a Newfoundlander.â
âItâs not about the accent.â She pours the last of the wine. âWe should meet again, share stories, music,â she says. âWho knows? By that time, you might have learned your book of fables off by heart.â
âIf you donât mind waiting years.â
âI was thinking of this coming Saturday.â
âFine, as long as you donât expect me to have it memorized by then. I have a busy week ahead.â I open the porch door. The dogs get up off their beds. Three tails wag and swat each other.
Norah squeezes in past me, opens the door and they rush outside. âI know the perfect place,â she says. âIâll send you an email with the information. In the meantime, what about your lost boot? Iâd lend you one of mine but I doubt it would fit.â She laughs. âIâd say that fox is wearing your boot over his wounded paw. Heâs strutting around with the new prosthesis, showing off to everyone.â
I step outside. âThey were too tight. I was thinking of returning them to the shop.â
âYou could still try,â she says. âSorry. I bought a pair of boots here. Iâd like to return one. Can I have half my money back?â She calls to me as I limp to my car. âWatch out for the moose and the foxes, especially the ones with boots. Theyâre fast.â
The road is dark until I reach Shea Heights and look out onto the glimmering lights of the city. I negotiate the curvesdown the steep hill. Maybe the eight hundred dollar brake job was a fair deal. âDeflated, impotent, prick of a car.â I pass the mural of the whales, the Welcome to the Waterford Valley sign, the Railway Museum, drive across the harbour-front with the crab vessels, the rusted Russian trawler,
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