Fish for Dinner: Tales of Newfoundland and Labrador

FISH FOR DINNER

FISH FOR DINNER

TALES OF NEWFOUNDLAND AND LABRADOR

Paul O’Neill

Illustrated by Tara Fleming

FLANKER PRESS LTD.

ST. JOHN’S

2009

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

O’Neill, Paul, 1928-

    Fish for dinner : tales of Newfoundland and Labrador / Paul

    O’Neill ; illustrated by Tara Fleming.

ISBN 978-1-897317-35-8

    1. Tales--Newfoundland and Labrador. I. Fleming, Tara, 1980-

II. Title.

    GR113.5.N5O54 2009       398.209718       C2009-904616-4

© 2009 by Paul O’Neill (text)

© 2009 by Tara Fleming (illustrations)

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.

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We acknowledge the financial support of: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP); the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $20.1 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada; the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation.

This book is for those long-lost friends of boyhood days in Bay de Verde with whom I began my search for that gold mine in the sky far away.

My late, beloved brother John

My O’Neill cousins: John, Catherine, Sheila,

and Bernard

My dear friends and Emberly neighbours:

Viola, Dulcie, Phyllis, Virtue, Mervin, Billy,

Johnny, and Arch

As well as Jimmy Abbot, Eric Blundon, and,

one of the dearest of those gone, Maggie

Noonan (Sister Alphonsus)

All will be remembered forever. They have truly enriched my life with memories.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

Fish For Dinner

THE BAY DE VERDE TALE

The Lord of the Ravens’ Gift

THE TRINITY TALE

Mikatuk and the Water Spirit

THE SAGLEK TALE

The Good Merchant

THE FOGO TALE

How Finbar Beat Old Scratch

THE CORNER BROOK TALE

Mam’zelle and a Perfect Stranger

THE PLACENTIA TALE

The Boy Who Never Said A Word

THE NAIN TALE

Skipper and the Red Fox

THE PETTY HARBOUR TALE

The Witch of Path End

THE ST. MARY’S TALE

The One Hundredth Wife

THE L’ANSE AUX MEADOWS TALE

The Deacon and Auld Nick

THE RAMEA TALE

Weasel and His Better Half

THE MAKKOVIK TALE

The Wisdom of Solomon

THE HARBOUR GRACE TALE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

GLOSSARY

PREFACE

When day is done and deep shadows of twilight steal over the earth, people like to read and tell stories. Everywhere, the same ancient folk tales and fairy stories are repeated in different tongues and adapted to local customs and local settings.

The stories in this book tell of mythical happenings in Newfoundland and Labrador, in a make-believe realm filled with magic. You may grimace at some, you may smile at others, but in the end you will have discovered the witchery of life as it could have been in a world outside time. These stories speak of whimsical yesterdays, in which everyone sought to understand why a weasel's fur turns brown in summer, what produces the northern lights, and other mysteries of life on earth.

Like most tales set in mythic times these have been told and retold throughout the centuries in other accents and in many tongues. They were familiar to people everywhere, be they in China, India, England, Japan, Iceland, Ireland, or even the Isle of Man. They are retold here with the names of flowers, trees, fish, animals, and birds familiar to people in communities of Newfoundland and Labrador, such as Ramea, Bay de Verde, and Makkovik. You will also find a mention of such commonplace local things as sculpins, seal flippers, flakes, starrigans, and salt fish. If some of these words are unknown to the reader, there is a little glossary in the back.

A great writer once said that folk tales and fables were told at the sunrise of the world, and will be told at its sunset. Their plots, passed down over countless centuries, are universal and almost as old as speech, becoming the heritage of humanity. Myths have supported everyone’s experience of life throughout time. In them, we begin our spiritual and moral journeys.

If these tales contain acts of violence and death, wicked people and evil spirits, they also contain acts of love and forgiveness, caring people and good spirits. Should these tales contain vainglory and anger, in them there is also honour and courage. From the lore of our past, we learn that wickedness is universal just as goodness is timeless.

Paul O’Neill

St. John’s, NL, 2008

FISH FOR DINNER

Fish For Dinner

THE BAY DE VERDE TALE

If you are told this all happened very long ago, you will perhaps be more apt to believe it really is true than if you were told it happened yesterday, or even the day before. In that time, whenever it was, a young and handsome seaman named Pythagoras Goode served as captain of the Newfoundland brigantine Springbird, a three-masted sailing vessel. During the autumn and winter months, she was chartered to a fish exporter in Harbour Grace and plied the sea lanes of the North Atlantic, carrying fish to far-off markets in such Caribbean islands as Barbados and Jamaica. On the return voyage, she would carry rum and molasses.

One day in late August, the Springbird was tied up at the dock in Bay de Verde, a large and prosperous fishing community at the northern tip of Conception Bay. Her holds were being loaded with dry, salted cod, packed in wooden puncheons in Mr. Nail’s fish store for shipment. Captain Goode and his wife, Hebe, had invited the brig’s owner, Mr. Nail, the local parson, and a magistrate who was conducting a circuit court, to come on board for dinner. Hebe Goode gave the ship’s cook the afternoon off as soon as the dishes were cleared away, from the noontime meal. She wanted the galley to herself to prepare the dinner for their guests. It was not unusual at the time for the wives of ocean-going captains to sail with their husbands on long voyages. When at sea, Mrs. Goode would sometimes take over part of the galley and prepare special repasts for her husband and crew. She knew the galley as well as she knew the kitchen in her little house.

Hebe Goode set to work washing vegetables and making a dessert with rhubarb she had brought with her from her garden. Meanwhile, one of the young sailors was sent off in a rodney to jig her a cod for the main course. She thought there was nothing as nice as fresh fish stuffed with a bread and savoury dressing and baked in the oven. The afternoon was turning into one of those beautiful August days when the hot sun seems to linger as it crosses the sky. It smiled radiantly on the tranquil harbour like a doting parent beaming on a much-loved child. The warmth of its rays warmed Captain Goode’s bones as he stood at the rail of the Springbird. He was lulled by the sounds of the wharf hands and crew loading the ship’s holds with cargo. Their coarse cries told him it would soon be time to cast off the hawsers, spread the sails, and head out into the breezes and gales of the restless West Atlantic. He looked forward to another voyage to the sapphire and emerald calm of the Caribbean’s waters. Today, however, he would have to wait until after the visitors were served dinner.

Pythagoras Goode listened to the hypnotic voice of his wife, coming through an open porthole, telling the galley boy to wash the rhubarb carefully before he cut it in pieces. Captain Goode scanned the shoreline through half-closed eyes, guarding against the glare of sunlight that deluged his world with light and burned away what little was left of the morning mist. The day was hot for late summer, and Captain Goode began to perspire. He dropped his glance to the waters at the side of his ship. They were very clear and extremely inviting. When he was a boy, on hot days such as this, he liked nothing better than to strip off his clothes and dive into the harbour for a swim. The chill that seemed to linger all year in Conception Bay never bothered him then. In time he became a powerful swimmer.

Leaning over the rail, Pythagoras Goode could see clearly the green rocks that littered the bottom of the harbour. Tomcods and the odd flounder darted among them. Since his first days as a young seaman, he had always felt instinctively drawn to the shadowy forms of fish under water. The tomcods were full of mystery and a source of fascination. He often wondered what it would be like to be a fish. He imagined it would be nice to live in a place where water filtered out the ugly sounds of the workaday world – winches turning, men heaving and shouting, the shrill voices of children at play. The more he thought about it, the more the young ship’s officer felt himself drawn to the profound beauty beneath the surface.

Unnoticed by anyone, Captain Goode undressed and dived down into the harbour. At first he was momentarily numbed by the shock of the cold water. The temperature of his body soon dropped, and he became accustomed to the chill. He was lying face up on the bottom when something hit the water above him. It was a pan of scraps thrown over the side by the galley boy who was the cook’s helper. Herring gulls and other seabirds immediately swooped down to snatch up the scraps in their beaks.

The boy blinked and looked over the side a second time. Was that the captain lying on the rocks beneath the vessel? Puzzled, he climbed on a coil of rope to get a better view. When he peered down again, he saw nothing but the ubiquitous tomcods and flounder. While the gulls were snatching at Mrs. Goode’s galley scraps, the captain swam quickly under the brigantine’s keel. The boy with the scrap pail decided the sun’s rays had played a trick on him and what he thought was Captain Goode must have been an illusion created by shadows.

The skipper was still hiding under the keel when a very old sculpin swam up and stared him in the eye. The sculpin is a mean-looking fish, ugly and spiny. Because she was so old, this sculpin looked meaner and more spiny than most, yet when she spoke, her voice was kind, like that of a much-loved great aunt or grandmother. She trembled a little with age.

My dear man, the sculpin said, you are quite out of your element down here among us fish. You must go up for air immediately or you will surely drown.

This caused Captain Goode to reflect that the old saying was certainly true: you can’t judge a book by its cover, nor a fish by its skin. How I envy you, he said through a string of air bubbles, having gills that let you breathe under the water.

The sculpin’s wide mouth drew back in a smile. You should never envy another, the ugly old fish said, unless you have lived that other’s life. I possess magic that can grant you the ability to breathe under water like a fish for an hour or so, that you might know what it is to be one of us. What kind of fish would you like to be?’

How could he tell this kind old creature he would prefer to be a halibut darting through the ocean, or a beautiful salmon, instead of an ugly sculpin swimming along the bottom?

Staring him in the eye, the old sculpin laughed. I see what you are thinking, sir. I will not turn you into a sculpin, but into a fish of your choice.

I wonder if it would be possible to become something larger than a sculpin? he said, expelling the last of the air in his lungs in bubbles that floated up to the surface.

If you want to inhabit a body bigger than mine, so be it! the sculpin exclaimed and, with a flick of her tail, she swam three times around the captain’s waist.

He felt himself grow faint and thought perhaps he was drowning. Moments later, he regained his senses to find he was breathing through gills in his neck. His eyes were no longer in the front of his face but on either side of his head. His body was that of a halibut. In his transformation, the wedding ring he wore on one of his fingers had come off and was lying on the bottom. So as not to lose it he swam down, took it in his mouth and hid it beneath his tongue.

Before I leave, let me give you a few words of warning, the old sculpin said. The ocean is not without dangers. You must keep an eye out for larger fish that will want to swallow you, such as sharks.

There are people like that on land, and countries too. They go to war and try to swallow up each other.

No, my son. They are not like fish. People and countries attack those who are simply not of their tribe or race or those who do not think as they do, because of hatred and greed. That is evil. There is no evil in the ocean. Fish attack and kill other fish for need, not greed. It is the law of nature. If a shark should kill and eat me, it would not be out of hatred or greed but because the shark is hungry.

Pythagoras was beginning to see the difference.

I warn you also to be aware of human hazards such as nets and fishing lines. Young fish caught in these devices are inexperienced and foolish. Old fish are caught in them because age makes us overly confident and we forget to use caution. I am sure you know all about the peril of fish hooks, having caught many an unwary fish yourself with a hook and line.

Pythagoras Goode, now Pythagoras Halibut, sighed with remorse when he recalled the many fish he caught by hook and line.

Remember to conduct yourself with wisdom under water, warned the sculpin. A lack of caution could mean the death of you. Having completed her warning, the venerable sea creature flicked her tail once more as she swam away.

How long will I remain a fish? the captain called after her, having forgotten it would be for an hour. But she was already out of hearing.

Pythagoras Halibut found he was able to swim about the harbour with ease and grace. He glided along with the elegance of a skating champion on a sheet of ice. No longer did he have to slash through the water with clumsy arms and legs, gasping gulps of air. It was so thrilling, he forgot all about Mrs. Goode’s dinner and their guests. The captain explored the crevasses and caves of the underwater world, greeting the crabs and lobsters that crept and crawled among the rocks. He said a passing hello to rosefish, turbot, and cod. But when he came across two herring, they stared at him in terror and fled. Captain Goode had never been partial to herring. Now, however, he found himself longing to dine on the two who swam away at the sight of him. They seemed to be the most delicious thing his palate could desire.

A few moments later, he came across part of a herring. He was about to gobble it down when he remembered the sculpin’s warning to conduct himself with wisdom under water. He swam with caution toward the piece of herring to find it dangling from a line, the gleaming barb of a fish hook showing through the creature’s body. Caution had saved him from being hooked himself.

However, he still craved a taste of the bait. It was no easy matter to put temptation aside and swim away. As he circled the tempting bait, his desire grew worse and worse until hunger pangs gnawed at his insides. It seemed to Pythagoras Halibut that if he was cautious and nibbled at the tail end, away from the hook, he could avoid danger and satisfy his hunger. He swam to the dangling bait and looked up. He could see the bottom of a rodney, and leaning over the gunnel was the sailor his wife sent to catch fish for dinner. Pythagoras thought he would take a quick bite and be gone before the sailor could hook him. However, he miscalculated. Just as the halibut opened his mouth to nibble on the dead herring, the sailor gave the line a jig. The hook tore into the captain’s wide fish mouth. He struggled in vain to get away, but it was too late. In spite of every effort, he was being hauled into the boat. Like most people who are caught doing what they should not, he was very angry with himself.

Delighted to have done what Mrs. Goode asked, the sailor rowed back to the ship. The captain, now a halibut, realized he was about to be gutted and baked for dinner. You stupid imbecile. You idiot. You dolt, he cried.

The sailor watched the fish’s mouth open and close as the halibut gasped for air. Instead of throwing Pythagoras back in the water, the sailor hit the wriggling fish on the head with an oar to stun it and pulled the hook from its mouth. Holding the halibut up by the gills, he admired the fine catch. Mrs. Goode, who was looking over the rail, was pleased when the galley boy took the fish from the sailor and brought it to her. The captain came to and was mortified to find himself suffering the indignity of having a boy from his own crew carry him, a finger hooked in his gills.

A halibut! Mrs. Goode exclaimed with delight. You’ll make a tasty dish for my table.

I am your husband! But the halibut’s cries were in vain. As far as humans were concerned, his mouth continued to open and close in silence. He angrily flicked his tail as the galley boy held out the halibut in front of Mrs. Goode at the rail of the Springbird.

You must take the fish to the galley and get a sharp knife. she told the boy, Then I can split it from head to tail and stuff it with my bread and savoury dressing.

The captain cried out in an agony of terror. For pity’s sake, Hebe, have mercy! Surely you aren’t going to murder your husband. The fish pleaded with his eyes as he looked at his wife in disbelief. Think of the happy years we have had together. Think of the happy years ahead of us. Don’t – please – don’t kill me.

Captain Goode began to realize he could not be heard by people. As a fish, his cries would merely be the opening and closing of his mouth. Hebe noticed a strange expression on the face of the fish as the boy was about to take it to the galley.

Pass the halibut to me, she said to the boy. As Mrs. Goode took it in her hand and held it upside down by the tail, the exhausted captain cried, You are about to have your husband murdered! This time when he opened his