Authors Note:
Fisher Berry started as a poem. In fact, many of you may have already read it! It was the first poem I ever published. What? You forgot? Well, it’s time to revisit Silence Over Partridge Island from my September, 2022 Reflections post here: September Reflections
From there, I expanded it into a short story. From there I expanded it to… Well, I guess you’ll have to wait and see.
The take away here is- always jot down your thoughts, you never know where they will come in handy in the future.
As always, you can also listen to me read this short story to you below. It’s fun to pop in a good set of earphones and listen in.
The original art for this project was taken along a pier in Göteborg, Sweden.
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And now, please enjoy…
Listen to Fisher Berry Here?:
Read Fisher Berry, Part 1 below:
Derrik Berry’s phone lit up. U better have left already, the text read. Leaning back in his bus seat, he typed, B there soon.
Three hours ago, Derrik sat in Professor Gabilian’s statistics course at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire. Statistics was the third-to-last class of his final semester. Come May, he would don his cap and gown, receive his diploma and pause for pictures with his overjoyed parents. Then it would be on to his first job as Finance Manager. Derrik’s boss would be Henry Berry, his father.
Derrik, was perfectly groomed for the position, having interned there since his freshman year. He had all but the keys to the office door until yesterday when he received a text from his friend and former college roommate, Sam Stout. The text read: I need a weekend greenhorn. Come to ME.
As sophomores, he and Sam took a summer trip to Cape Elizabeth, Maine where they met a couple of lobster fishermen. After going out to sea, one of the lobstermen offered them jobs as greenhorns. Sam jumped at the opportunity; and Derrik returned to Hanover accompanied only by an unwelcome void in his soul. A void so wide, he sacrificed his weekend of studying for statistics just to meet up with Sam.
By the early evening, Derrik was in Cape Elizabeth. He found his way to the Portland Head lighthouse, where he and Sam Stout, visited two years prior. The stone lighthouse towered over a rock outcropping, and the white-capped waves crashed mercilessly below. Derrik inhaled the salty air as a cold March wind blew across his youthfully clean-shaven face.
At the far end of the lighthouse, near a fence, stood a man Derrik almost didn’t recognize. “Derrik!” Sam called out.
They met at the gate. Sam’s lips were cracked and bleeding. The short patchy stubble on his face was barely visible. His eyes were vibrant with life and intensely green. He turned the brim of his baseball cap backward and looked at Derrik.
“Wouldn’t ya know it,” he said. “Derrik Berry came after all.”
Derrik stood tall and straight. “I hear you’re looking for a greenhorn.”
“And what makes you think you’re qualified for that position?” He gave Derrik a hearty hug. Sam released Derrik, turned his hat forward and looked him up and down. “Look at your scrawny neck. I need someone strong.”
“You hired me for my mind,” Derrik responded. “Can’t have it all, ya know.”
Sam smiled; his teeth looked coffee stained. “I don’t know,” he chuckled. “I don’t think you have enough experience. Do you have the time to develop your sea legs? Or are you gonna leave me in two days in favor of some old school books?”
A cold wave crashed over the pier and a gentle spray coated Derrik’s face. “College is almost done. This is my last semester.”
“Finally,” Sam said. “You gonna work for your old man?”
“Yeah. That job is still lined up for me. All I have to do is finish statistics.”
“You don’t need stats here,” Sam answered. “Thank God I left school before I had to take a boring class like that.”
“You have more nerve than I do. How did you manage to get a boat, anyhow?”
Sam motioned across the street. “Tell ya what. Join me for a drink and I’ll fill ya in.”
The bar smelled of cigarettes, and a shallow cloud of smoke floated all around the tavern. They found two unoccupied stools and sat belly-up at the counter. “I’d like a beer please,” Derrik said to the burly bartender.
The bartender glanced closely at Derrik’s face, shook his head, and poured a beer for him anyhow. Derrik swiveled in his stool. Across the bar, a couple played darts, and two women hustled a pair of drunk men at the pool table. The juke box played a Blue Oyster Cult song Derrik thought he heard his father spinning on a record player once.
Sam ordered a double scotch and slammed it back. “You want one?” He raised his finger to the bartender.
Derrik took a long swing of beer. “Nah. I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”
The bartender handed Sam his scotch, and Derrik a fresh beer. “So, you want to know what I’ve been doing this past two years?” Sam asked.
Derrik finished his first beer and sipped the head off his new one. “Of course, my friend.”
“Well, that greenhorn position I took was for a commercial lobster vessel based off of Rhode Island. It was a big boat, and we basically patrolled the same seas for six months, droppin’ pots and reelin’ ‘em in. It actually got kind of boring.”
Derrik wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Man, I still can’t believe your dad let you do this.”
A smile stretched across Sam’s face. “Well. He’d kill me, if he knew where I was.”
Derrik’s mouth hung open. “You didn’t tell him?”
“All he knows is I left college. I called him from Rhode Island. Told him I’d found a job in Providence. Haven’t talked with him since then.”
“Do you think he’s worried about you?”
“I don’t know. You know my dad, though—consumed with his law firm. Doubt he’s even thinking ‘bout me.”
“How’d ya afford a boat?” Derrik asked.
Sam slammed his scotch and ordered a beer. “Don’t you worry about that.”
The couple playing darts finished their game and walked away. Sam headed to the board, grabbed the darts and lined up a shot. The dart stuck black thirteen. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.
Derrik laughed and reached for a dart. “Tell you what, Sam. You call my shot.”
“Twenty, inside ring.”
Derrik steadied his hand and threw the dart on-target. “Call another.”
Sam’s piercing green eyes stared at Derrik. “Okay. Double bullseye.”
Derrik downed his beer and took aim. The dart left his hand like a scoped bullet and directly into the center of the cork—double bullseye.
Sam shook his head. “You’re kidding. I see you’ve still got that patient eye. I could use that eye to line up my gaff and pull traps out of the water.”
Two years ago, while on their lobster expedition, one of the crew allowed Derrik to handle the gaff. It was nothing more than a long stick with a hook on the end. As the captain drove close to the bobbing buoy marking their string of pots, Derrik had to catch it by a single, small ring. It wasn’t easy, but Derrik hooked it and reeled the line in without any help from the crew. “I can pull ‘em first try,” Derrik said.
Sam raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Good enough. Come with me.”
Outside the bar, Sam hailed a cab.
“Where’re we goin’?” Derrik asked over the loud hum of traffic.
“To the boat,” Sam said, sliding into the back seat of the taxi.
A few minutes later, the cab arrived at the wharf. Water clapped against docked boats as they rocked in the hard sea breeze. They walked to the middle of the pier and Sam motioned to one of the smaller vessels. Sam paused and absorbed the air. His eyes looked upon the vessel with an intensity strong enough to ignite a flame. “There it is.”
The boat had red and white horizontal stripes and an enclosed forward cabin. Other than some ropes wound carefully in a circle, the aft deck was barren. There was a pulley system with hydraulic hauler rigged port side.
“I call it, Reggio Emilia.”
End of Part 1