SHARKMAN CRIED WHEN HE was honored at the Dance Palace event. He gave a brief speech, in which he thanked all of the elasmobranchologists who came before him and paved the way for his own work. He was wearing a dress shirt and khakis and a pair of polarized sunglasses hung around his neck. Many things in the town were up for debate, but Sharkman’s work, it seemed, was universally respected. Everyone from Daryl Shapton to Sharon Lopez to Uffa wanted to shake his hand. There were rumors swirling that he was going to enter the race for District Assemblyman. Uffa believed he would win if he did.
“He appeals to so many different demographics,” he explained.
After the award ceremony, there was a raffle. Among the things raffled off were casks of wine from the Shapton Ranch, a three-course meal at Gary’s Oysters, and an introductory package at the Korvers’ Pilates studio. One of the better prizes was a dory that Alejandro had built. Freddie Moltisanti came away with it.
The money from the raffle would be donated to the Talinas Humane Society and, at the end of the night, Tom Nunes, the organization’s director, got up and gave a speech thanking everyone for their contributions. He also let them know about the ongoing animal registration project that the organization was working on.
“We ‘re looking to register animals in the event of a disaster,” he said. “We are talking about large animals here, horses or other companion animals. I had a call last week from a woman asking about the tule elk out by Dillon Ranch. This is not for tule elk. We cannot register elk.”
During dinner, Walt approached their table and told Uffa and Berg that he could knock down the price of the stadium. As long as they cleaned up everything afterwards, he was willing to rent it to them for a hundred dollars. He felt the town wasn’t doing enough to help support its young people, and he wanted to do what he could. After he told them this, he stuck around for a few more minutes to speak to Demeter.
“I’ve gotta get you and your mom to come do some Pilates with the team,” Walt said.
“Oh yeah,” Demeter said. “It would be great for their balance.”
“I saw that film you acted in with little Petey Johnson,” he said. “What a heartrending tale. I felt the emotion, the hurt, the hope to keep the relationship together, despite your character’s lack of interest in the Pepper Kings’ music. When I saw your mother the other day I told her, I said, ‘Demeter’s going to be a star.’”
“I don’t really want to be a star,” Demeter said. “I just want to act and make enough money to survive.”
“You’re going to be a star,” Walt said. “I’m sure of it. Get ready to be a star.”
A few days after the Dance Palace event, Berg went out on a Horse Island charter with Garrett and Woody. Woody had picked up most of Berg’s shifts by that point. Berg rarely went out on the boat anymore and it was even rarer that he went out with Woody. Berg was still considered a second mate, like Woody, and he was usually paired with someone who was considered a first mate: Simon or Shawnecee, for example. But on occasion they assigned Berg to a charter as a first mate, and that was the case today. He was proud of this, proud of how much he’d learned from Alejandro and Uffa and all of the Fernwood people. He had known nothing when he got there and now he was a first mate.
The client that day was a wealthy man from Denmark named Rasmus. He came with his wife, his thirteen-year-old daughter, and the daughter’s best friend. They were on vacation, staying at a bed and breakfast in Five Brooks for the weekend. On the trip over to Horse Island, the two girls posed on the bow, taking selfies and posting them online. Their internet identities and their real lives appeared to have meshed: everything they did was captured for social media and, in many cases, done for the sole purpose of being represented on social media.
“Give me strength,” Woody said, shaking his head.
It was around 2:30 p.m. when they left Horse Island and headed back toward Fernwood. The wind was blowing a consistent twenty knots with gusts up to thirty. The tide was ebbing, and the boat bounced across the small, choppy waves. All four passengers were on the foredeck but the girls were no longer taking selfies. In fact, one of them seemed to be feeling sick. She was sitting on the windward side of the boat looking pale and uncomfortable. Then, suddenly, she lurched forward and vomited all over the deck.
“Motherfuck,” Garrett said, peering over the dodger with a look of disgust on his face.
This had happened before and Berg knew what to do. He took the fire bucket and dragged it off the stern of the boat, picking up salt water. He would use this water to wash the vomit off the deck and into the bay. But after he’d hauled the bucket up, he turned around to see Woody struggling to furl the jib. The furling line had somehow been released and the jib sheets were whipping around on deck. Garrett was reaching for the sheets, yelling at Woody, and the Danish couple and the two girls were huddled on the foredeck, covering their heads, trying to protect themselves. Berg tied off the fire bucket on a stanchion and rushed over to help Woody with the furling line. As he did so, he jumped up on the cabin top and, moments later, Garrett accidentally jibed.
Berg had not been struck by the boom itself, they all agreed after the fact. If he’d been struck by the boom, he would have been in the water and probably knocked out. And he hadn’t been knocked out. He had never lost consciousness. He’d stumbled backward, dazed, and then continued to help Woody furl the jib. Only afterward did he realize how out of it he was. He tried to do some arithmetic in his brain but he felt slow. The water looked strange to him, chaotic in its movements, extra reflective. He must have been struck by the block or the mainsheet, they concluded.
“I’m so sorry,” Woody said, once they’d docked and the client had left.
“It’s okay, Woody,” Berg said.
“Are we going to report this to Mangini?” Garrett said. He was nervous, pacing the galley, clearly afraid that reporting the incident might endanger his job.
“I don’t know,” Berg said.
“If we’re going to report it, we need to report it now.”
“I’d say let’s report it,” Woody said.
“Berg’s going to decide,” Garrett said. Berg looked at the floor. He felt unable to process what had just happened.
“Let’s wait until tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.”