I
was standing in the reception area of a muffler shop, a phone stuck
on one ear. "John Darling," I said into the receiver, "They
said eight hundred for the front end." I held the phone a foot
away from my ear, clenched my teeth and squinted my eyes.
I
cast my mind back to the many wonderful gifts
my husband had given me.
"Eight hundred dollars!" John yelled. "Eight hundred
dollars! Do what you want!" he slammed the phone down. I gently
replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned to the expectant-looking
man behind the desk.
"He said I could do what I want,"
I said, "so go ahead with the brakes too." I smiled subtly
and fingered the Visa card in my pocket.
I was on my way home, when struck by
a sudden urge, I swung past the turn-off and drove to Whippletree Junction.
I parked in front of a store called The Loom. The Loom is one of the
finest yarn stores in the district. Working brakes give me a lust for
sock yarn. I was sure to be demoted from first mate to disgraced crew
as soon as I got back to the Inuksuk anyway. I might as well be hanged
for mutiny as insubordination, and sock yarn would give me something
to do while I was in the brig.
What
other trouble could I get into on the way home?
Half an hour later I was back in the car clutching a large plastic bag
bulging with a brilliant array of sock yarn. Now what other trouble
could I get into on the way home? I stopped at a local gas station,
filled up the gas tank and recklessly bought two newspapers and some
packaged candy. My Visa card was white hot with overuse. Flashes of
guilt streaked across my psyche like bird droppings on a newly scrubbed
deck. Darling John, so excitable when the Visa bill climbs higher than
the mast.
I felt worse when I got back to the Inuksuk.
John had been worried about me-I'd been gone all day spending money-and
he wasn't at all angry, just pale and clutching his chest a little when
I told him what I'd spent. Then I did feel terrible. "Would you
like to go for a drive, Darling?" I asked humbly.
"No Catherine," John said weakly.
"I don't feel up to it."
"Shall I start a pair of socks for
you?" I asked. "Pick out any colour you like."
"Yellow, pink, mauve, whatever you
think is best," he said listlessly.
"Would you like to read a newspaper?"
"No."
"Candy?"
"Thanks, but I feel kind of sick.
Twelve hundred dollars. I think I'm going to lie down."
I felt low-as low as the barnacles on
the hull of the boat.
I
went over to John and put my arms around him. "I'm sorry, Darling,"
I said. I had danced with the dark side of The Force, and extinguished
the light from my love's bewhiskered face.
John got up and went into the aft cabin.
"Twelve hundred dollars," his
voice floated out to the main salon. "Do you know how many boat
parts you could buy with twelve hundred dollars?" He paused. "A
dinghy, a drogue, a secondhand single sideband radio or a tuner…"
his voice trailed off, then ghostily reappeared with a kind of solemn
rhythmic chant. "A solar panel, or a watermaker…" he
said, his voice sinking into a murmur. "First aid supplies, emergency
provisions for the life raft, a couple of GPSs and a spare radio or
two, part of a Sayes rig…"
"Darling," I called from the
main salon, "have you done?"
"Done? No," John answered mournfully. "A wind generator,
or a new set of hydraulic controls, one haul-out, new plumbing for the
water-tanks…there, I'm finished now. Finished. We'll never get
offshore at this rate."
I climbed into the aft cabin and put
my arms around him.
"We have the life raft," I
ventured. "Life rafts are good. And an EPIRB. EPIRBs are good too.
Our wind generator is secondhand, but it seems to work. And the boat
floats; it floats like mad. So there, we're further ahead than you think,"
I finished triumphantly.
"Want a radio," he murmured,
"want a single sideband radio." He sighed deeply and lay still.
I crept noiselessly out of the aft cabin, my heart full of pity. I recalled
the story of the poor little girl who prayed so fervently for scarlet
ribbons for her ringlets, and unconsciously I drew parallels between
the two situations, so similar in their pathos. I cast my mind back
to the many wonderful gifts my husband had given me, gifts that illuminated
my life with delight and enchantment like a giant highlighter penmark
on the pages of my diary. I remembered fondly the raincoat, and the
underwater goggles, and the electric toothbrush. The book on Vikings
chosen thoughtfully and with love, the earrings, the copy of PCs for
Dummies, and the wooden spoon. And over the years, what had I given
the man I love in return? A few paltry power tools and some flashlights,
socks and underwear, and a singing fish.
I took out my Visa card and looked at
it. A Visa card, cleverly used, might be able to balance the fear and
loathing of debt against the ecstasy of the single sideband radio. If
I used The Force to buy boat parts, would I be forgiven?
The next day I paid a surreptitious visit
to our neighbour's radio shop. "Fred," I said, "I need
your help…"
Christmas morning I carried the parcel
down from storage. John tore the wrapping from the box, then jerked
suddenly to a halt. "Icom!" he gasped. "A radio! A radio!"
He ripped open the box. The red wrapping ribbons flew to one side and
lay curled on the floor like ringlets. Joy had radiated the Visa card
out of my purse, and so I hid it in my sock drawer with the sock yarn.
Better not to unleash too much of The Force. A husband is a wonderful
and delicate being, and I must use my powers only for good. I returned
to the main salon, to John and his radio, and to the magic of Christmas
morning. 
