Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More by Brian Peckford Page B

me, to have you fellers come and see
     me today. Everyone is so busy since we moved out from the bay that no one is
     very interested in spending time with an old feller like me. There’s a real good
     sign of fish. The boys were out yesterday, and in a few hours with a makeshift
     trap got seven or eight barrels, and big fish, too.”
    “This has always been a good place for fish,” Bert said.
    “I looked at the records about this place since my arrival,” I noted. “This is
     an industrious place. No welfare here.”
    “Oh no,” said the skipper. “We got good fishing grounds and good fish
     killers.”
    “I am getting a little thirsty,” Bert said. “Have you got a bottle of homebrew
     around?”
    “I was about to ask,” the skipper said with a sly look in his
     eye, “whether you would like a little libation, but I was holding off a bit
     because when you got a government man around, you got to be careful.”
    We all laughed, and realizing (a little late perhaps) that this was really a
     question directed at me, I hastily exclaimed, “No problem! I would love a drink
     right now. Man cannot live by bread alone!”
    “I have some ‘controllers’ liquor left from last year’s final coastal boat run,”
     the skipper said. “Some good dark rum!”
    Our eyes told it all, and soon we were sipping the good stuff and animated
     discussion ensued. And the lies that were told . . . I suppose the right
     question would be, What questions or issues didn’t we cover? There was
     the weather, which meant at this time of year the wind, since this factor
     largely controlled whether you could get out fishing or not; there was
     Smallwood—no one talked of the government—it was all Smallwood and that he never
     visited (well, he didn’t have to, what with old-age pensions, family allowances,
     widow’s allowances, disabled allowance, and that was it); and the fishery, where
     on the coast there was a good sign of fish and where there was no sign at
     all—and this was all cloaked in second- and third-hand accounts. There was one
     piece of news making the rounds that both Bert and the skipper had heard about
     recently: there was a new net—a nylon gillnet, known to catch lots of fish and
     not to deteriorate like the other nets—and it was getting a lot of talk around
     the fishermen. Some saw it as a godsend while others figured over time it would
     hurt the fishery, given that many nets would get lost in storms and would
     continue netting fish that were never brought ashore.
    Well, before we knew it, it was evening and now too late to get back to Mary’s
     Harbour. In any case, we were in no condition to navigate at dusk and after
     dark. Skipper was overjoyed that we had stayed so long, and scraping around the
     kitchen in Aladdin lamplight, we helped him find some bread and some salt fish.
     A few dry pieces of wood in the stove (we had let the thing go out hours before)
     and a kettle of water and some black tea, and we were in business for a good
     mug-up. We laughed at our situation as we staggered about,each
     telling the other two of similar circumstances like this that we had all
     experienced.
    Sleep came easy in the featherbed in Skipper’s upstairs bedroom. When we awoke
     at six the next morning, the skipper was up and the fire crackling downstairs.
     Peering out the window, we saw that the weather was ugly with a cold nor’easter
     blowing mist and fog. Down the narrow, squeaky staircase we stumbled into the
     warm kitchen. The kettle was boiled, the teapot was heating, and some leftover
     fish and brewis in the pan on the stove told us breakfast was being
     served.
    “There’s a nice wind blowing,” the skipper said. “No one got out this
     morning.”
    “No,” Bert said. “I figure the fish are safe for a few more hours, but it
     looks a bit ugly, all right. We have got to get back. I told the missus we’d be
     back this morning for sure. Sort of thought we might get away late