anywhere. Anywhere you want. I’ve got a boat. And I’ve got two engines. 35 horses each. 70 horses!” His face was flushed, he was getting excited talking about his 70 horses. “ I used to scare my wife,” he said proudly, “ used to just roar over those waves, used to come in like a roller coaster, she thought she was going to her death for sure! She’d scream for me to slow down.” He laughed, lost in the memory of his wife’s screams. “ I miss her,” he said. “ I miss her so much. I just haven’t gotten used to her not being here.” He wiped away the tear that had popped up. “And I have no idea how to do for myself. I need a woman to do for me, I need a woman to take care of everything. Marlo and I absorbed Audley’s communication quietly. I asked about access to the ocean. It was the first time I opened my mouth to speak. “There isn’t any,” he said. “ It’s fenced off. The dunes don’t belong to Pine Shores. The land belongs to somebody else. So you’ve got to go a few miles either way for access.” Heshrugged. Obviously it made no difference to him. “ Still,” Marlo persisted, “what did happen? To the last person here?” I was musing about her daily life? Never mind about her ultimate fate. “Aw,” he said, “ she was one of these floaters. You know .. .so many people, girls, are nothing but floaters living here on the coast. She only worked enough to buy herself a junk car for $600. Then she left.” Time for us to leave. I told Audley I’d have to think about it a day or two. I’d call. Out of sight at the stop sign we howled squealed shrieked laughter. “ I knew," Marlo gasped, “ before we walked in that door, I knew you would never, could never ever live there. Never. Not for a moment.” Wiping away my own tears of laughter, “ Hey,” I told her, “ it’s tough being a por- per. ” Porper was our word. Jack had coined it—poor and pauper, poor pauper, poor person, porper. “ You’re telling me!?” Her voice was way up there. “ It’s tough being a porper!” We turned toward Port Orford and she put her foot down on the accelerator. We had sobered when Marlo said slowly, “Why would she have left her loom? Why would her loom be lying there? In Audley’s backyard? Part of his trash?” Writer Maia Penfold lives in Port Townsend, Washington. This is her first story in CSQ. Artist Barbara Sekerka lives in Portland. Her last CSQ illustration was a water color triptych for “White Stones.” PAPA HAYDN AT YOUR OFFICE PAPA HAYDN AT YOUR HOME Dur ing the coming holiday season we’ll be bringing good food,good cheer and of course great dessert, your place or ours For catering information or banquet reservation, please ca ll: 232 -9440 Ask for Evelyn MUSIC MILLENNIUM EAST PORTLAND NW PORTLAND 32nd & E. Burnside NW 23rd & Johnson 231-8926 248-0163 Clinton St. Quarterly—Fall/Winter 1988 37
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