The Coming of the Whirlpool by Andrew McGahan Page A

and that Nathaniel would take it so hard . . .’
    Dow’s mouth was dry. ‘He doesn’t want me.’
    And that was all that really mattered. The hope that these men had placed in him, fair or unfair, had already come to nothing. Nathaniel wanted no new son. And if that was so, then of what use was Dow to Stromner? No use at all. Perhaps now they would simply send him back to the highlands. Dow felt a sharp stab of homesickness, and for an instant would have actually welcomed the excuse to leave and go home to his family.
    But Boiler only shrugged. ‘Well now, he didn’t want you last night. He was far gone to drink and sadness and even further from his right mind than usual. But he remains a man of this village all the same. And in Stromner, what the village decides upon, everyone obeys. We’re like the crew of a ship at sea – no one man can go against all the others. Even Nathaniel does not dare.’
    Realisation dawned upon Dow. ‘You’re going to make me go back to him? After he tried to drown me?’
    Boiler shifted uncomfortably. ‘Make you? No, lad. We’re going to ask you. Although it’s true to say that if you refuse, then I don’t see how you would be able to stay here and learn the ways of the sea, for no other fisherman in this village needs a son. We believe still that fate has decreed it is Nathaniel who must take you, in the place of the family he lost. We have talked with him at length this very afternoon, now that his drunken- ness has past. He has declared himself willing to bow to our command and accept you into his home. Grudgingly perhaps, but with promise that he will not seek to harm you again, and that he will teach you the skills of fishing. Ethan has gone to fetch him now, so that you may be reconciled in our presence. Nevertheless, the final choice in this is yours.’
    Dow stared around at the men in growing disbelief. Could they be serious?
    â€˜Ha!’ Mother Gale was licking her lips, her white eyes rolling. ‘It’s a fine choice you’re giving him. To crawl back to his home in defeat, or to put his life in the hands of a madman. What fair and just men you are.’
    Dow almost nodded in agreement. What kind of folk were they indeed, these fishermen? How could they ask such a thing? How could they load all their old guilt and shame upon a stranger in this way? When Dow had first spied the great ships sailing from the headland, he had imagined the sailors on board as the boldest of men, fearless in the face of wind and wave. He had expected even these humble fishermen to be the same. But the men of Stromner were all looking away from him now, studying their drinks, or the walls, as if the anger of a mere youth was more than they could bear. Only Boiler, sad and silent, held his gaze.
    The outer door clapped open, then the inner, and amid a swirl of cold air the man named Ethan returned. Behind him came a tall figure, yet gaunt and hunched, paused unwilling in the doorway.
    â€˜Nathaniel Shear,’ said Boiler. ‘Welcome.’
    The old fisherman lifted one eyebrow to consider the room, not bothering to hide his disdain for everyone in it. ‘I’ll not bide long, Boiler Swan,’ he said in a parched voice. ‘So make this quick.’
    â€˜It’s up to the lad here,’ the innkeeper responded. He turned to Dow. ‘Well? Is it the life of the sea that you’re craving still? Or not?’
    Dow stared from Boiler to Nathaniel. He had expected to loathe the very sight of the old man, but in light of his disappointment with the other fishermen, and after all he had heard of the maelstrom, Dow found himself regarding Nathaniel less harshly. The weak, raging drunkard of the previous night was gone. In his place was a more sober figure, haggard maybe, but enduring, with an air about him of habitual silence, as befitting one who had lived long alone. There was still great bitterness