Cousette Copeland's "LITERATURE"

PHANTOMS

The first time she saw him she had smelled the odor of dead fish in wet burlap bags laying in the sun. She watched as he swung the bags high into the air, letting the fish fall with dull thuds onto the metal table. One hand was gloved. The other hand was bare, holding the knife. He was a big man. But he was fast with his hands, fast with the knife. He held the fish by the tail. He stabbed behind the gills. Some fish, swollen, deflated with a sigh. Others curled in rigor, collapsed gently. His blade responded with quick cuts and slices. The head and tail were removed. The vital organs lurched into the gaping mouth. He discarded fishheads, bones, tails in piles by his booted feet. he separated the silvery sides from the naked flesh. He flipped the sides onto the crowded ground and the flesh was tossed into a wooden box. He paused and his hands slowed as he held his knife to the steel. He curled his back and lowered his head as he sharpened the blade with slow caresses. She was wondering if he held women like this, bent and gentle, when his eyes met hers. They were cold, wet and grey.

That evening, she dreamt about the man. She could see him with the sun to his back. He was barechested and brown. The muscles stood out in his arms, across his back, and along his neck. He bent over the edge of the boat. He reached down with long, strong arms. He was pulling women out of the cold, grey sea. His hands held them under the jawbones and he lifted them, wet and slippery, out of the water. He threw their heavy bodies onto the slick deck. He drew her body out of the mass and threw it on a grey-sheeted bed. He held her by the throat and drew the blade close to her face. She awoke bathed in sweat, with her tongue thick and choking in her mouth.

A week later, she went back to the wharf. When the boat came in, she joined the people ringed around the metal sinks. Men from the boat carried the heavy, wet bags and dumped them by the table. There were two men cleaning and filleting the fish this day. There was the young man she had seen before, and there was an older man. The older man struck picturesque poses for the tourists. He wore a black beret at a jaunty angle on his white winglike hair. A red scarf was knotted at his throat above his black and white striped shirt. his clean blue denims were tucked carefully into his shiny black boots. His face crinkled into smiles and he joked as he worked with the fish, one at a time.

The younger man glanced through the crowd. He looked at her, recognized her. He gave her a small nod. Then he turned to his quick work. This time she noticed his mthodical manner. He cut the head and tail off of the fish first. Then he sliced the flesh from the central bone. He discarded heads, bones, tails onto the ground. a small cut removed the dorsal fins. Flesh was separated from skin. Though he worked with speed, he did not sweat. His honey-colored hair blended with the deep honey color of his flesh. He wore a dark cap jammed on his head. Its short brim hid the upper portion of his face. He was barechested again. A thick rubber apron covered the faded jeans. Thick rubber boots nudged fishheads, bones, tails out of his way. She left when he finished. He was talking to small boys and using a broom to push the fish parts into a hole in the wharf.

The following week, she went to the wharf every day. Sometimes she would stand with the tourists around the sink. Other times she would stand at a distance by the wooden rail of the pier. The young man always looked at her with recognition. Each time, the look was longer. Some days, she would stop only for a moment, then walk down to the end of the wharf. She would look down into the water and watch the seals. Their doglike faces looked up at her and they barked loudly. At the end of the week, she told herself that she would not go back again.

But after the weekend, she returned to the wharf. This day, only the young man was working. There were few tourists this day. She stood with the small boys, watching. He looked at her. He stopped for a moment. He spoke in a quiet voice and told her his name. It was a harsh, hoarse voice, as if unused to speaking. He lowered his eyes and attacked the fish. She shivered and wanted to walk away. But she didn't. This time, she waited until he had cleaned the last of the fish. She waited while he swept the fish parts away. She waited until the last of the small boys walked away. He took his hat off. His hair was dark and wet where it had been hidden. He took a hose and held it close to his head and face. He drenched his upper body with water. The water streamed over his back, chest and arms. It sheeted over his rubber apron, and fell in dark streams along the back of his jeans.

He threw the hose down and turned the faucet off. He grabbed a cloth and threw it at her. She caught it with a startled movement. He grabbed another cloth and began drying off his chest and arms. He moved close to her and turned his back towards her. She reached up hesitantly. Lightly, she moped up the back of his damp neck. She had to move closer to reach the top of his shoulders. For the firt time she noticed some flakes of silvery fish scales on his skin. She tried to rush them away with the cloth. She watched one shiny scale drift to the ground. She drew the cloth in long strokes along the long planes of his back. When her hand stopped, he turned to face her. One hand moved to hold her under the chin. He lifted her face. His other hand moved to her cheeks. The broad flat edge ofhis nail lifted a stray fallen scale from her face.

The End