The cannery boss said, “Try Sam; he has a gas boat and comes from Greenville. That’s Sam over there–the Indian in the striped shirt.” I came close to where Sam was forking salmon from the scow on to the cannery chutes. “Sam, I want to go to Greenville. Could…
Millie’s stare was the biggest thing in the hut. It dimmed for a moment as we stood in its way–but in us it had no interest. The moment we moved from its path it tightened again–this tense, living stare glowing in the sunken eyes of a sick Indian…
The sound of waves came in at the open door; the smell of the sea and of the sun-warmed earth came in too. It was expected that very soon death would enter. A row of women sat outside the hut–they were waiting to mourn and howl when death…
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