Viator

—Because I know where I am. When I lived in Detroit, I was always confused about what was happening around me. Anxious all the time. Now I’ve been here for a while, I understand the same things go on in Kaliaska that went on back in the States. Detroit’s just a big Kaliaska. People coming in from all over. The difference is, in Detroit I’d never think to talk to those people. I wouldn’t want to, I’d be afraid of them. There were too many people. I couldn’t get a feeling for them, and so I didn’t trust them. Here the ships drop anchor, ships from everywhere. Japan, Russia, Norway. The crews come ashore for a day or two, maybe a week if the weather’s bad, and they tell me about themselves. It’s a richer life. And it’s less confusing, less fearful. Everyone’s so frightened down in the forty-eight. Maybe they’re right to be frightened. Life is frightening. But here…Okay. She turned onto her side, facing him, earnest, one hand touching his chest. Sometimes when they wheel out the big TV at the Kali and show a movie, I’ll be sitting there surrounded by thirty or forty people. Some don’t like me, because we’ve had business problems or whatever; some of the guys like me a little too much. But I know what to expect. I’m not worried. Knowing where I am, having that clear a view…It gives me a freedom I never felt in the States. It allows me to appreciate the people around me in a way I couldn’t before. And they’re not all like Roogie and Cat.

—No, some are like Terry.

—Terry’s a good kid. You have to get past the attitude. Look, I’ll admit the range of people here isn’t what you get in a city, but some of them are remarkable. It just takes time to see it.

—You’re very persuasive, he said.

—Apparently not. I can’t persuade you to come live in town.