Unalaska, Alaska - the Novel

By Wolf Larsen

Unalaska, Alaska is closely based on Wolf Larsens experiences living and working on Americas final frontier. Unalaska, Alaska is about life on commercial fishing boats at the top of the world. The main character Jay works 115 hour weeks on the Bering Sea, which has some of the worst weather in the world. After a year and a half on the fishing boats Jay begins living and working on the island of Unalaska, Alaska which is one of the most remote corners of the North American continent. The novel Unalaska, Alaska is as wild as the island itself - an untamed frontier town where guns and groceries are sold side by side at the local supermarket.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2008
• ISBN: 9781452076072

Wolf Larsen

Wolf Larsen is an adventurer, novelist, playwright, and poet. He has traveled through 45 countries in Latin America, Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. For nearly twelve years, Wolf Larsen worked as a seasonal laborer in Alaska. Wolf was born and raised on the South Side of Chicago. He left home at the age of eighteen and has lived in Wisconsin, New York City, Ecuador, Alaska, Honduras, Brazil, and Peru. Wolf Larsen has written three novels, four books of poetry, a play, and a screenplay. Wolf Larsen dreamed up the idea of writing a run-on sentence while sitting in a café in Amsterdam, Holland.

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Endnotes

For my mother. The greatest woman in the world.

Acknowledgements

A special thanks to Maximo for saving my life, and James G. for saving my legs from getting crushed under a two ton load. I would also like to thank the gentleman who beat me to that job on a crab boat that later sank.

UNALASKA,

ALASKA

A Novel

Chapter 1

I was on a beach in San Francisco. Some guy I just met was telling me about jobs in Alaska. He said, It was hard for me to save money up there. I spent all my money on drinking and partying and coke whores and getting high. We’d work all day in some cannery in the middle of nowhere, and then we’d go to some bar in the middle of nowhere.

But what about the boats? I asked. You said there’s work on the boats too.

The boats! he exclaimed. You don’t want to do that! Boats sink!

But you don’t spend your money, I said.

Yeah, but you can’t spend it either if you’re dead! he said.

How do I get on a boat? I asked.

Go up to Seattle. All the Alaskan hiring is done out of Seattle, he said.

At that time I was working as a temp in an office (among other things). Nice clothes and the 9-5 and all that. I was bored. I wanted money to travel around the world. I had only been to three countries in my life. My stomach was full, but I was hungry in a way you can’t imagine.

Less than a week later I quit my job and I hopped on a bus to Seattle. There were hippies. There were backpacking travelers from all over the world. There was some Rastafarian dude that some of the white chicks wanted to sleep with. There was a Mexican family that didn’t have enough money to eat. And then there was me.

We reached Seattle late at night. I was relieved the youth hostel was not full. I didn’t have much money. I had no credit cards. I had no bank account – anywhere.

The next morning I was up early. I showered, shaved, and dressed in what I thought was the appropriate manner. In reality I probably looked more like a cross between a chain snatcher and an office worker.*

I was a broad-shouldered blond haired blue-eyed all-American young man from the Midwest that didn’t give a fuck about the American dream. I had my own dreams.

I walked out of the youth hostel and ate breakfast in a diner filled with blue-collar workers and homeless people and senior citizens and cops and people in suits and ties. Then I got on a bus. I asked the driver to let me know when we reached fisherman’s terminal. About forty minutes later he called out, fisherman’s terminal.

As I walked past him the big black man driving the bus asked, You looking for a boat job in Alaska?

Yeah! I responded.

That ain’t no game up there! he exclaimed. You can die!

I know, I said.

– and I walked down the steps and across some train tracks and there it was – fisherman’s terminal.

There were all kinds of boats. I had never seen so many different kinds of boats in my life. I walked up to the first dock. I didn’t know where or how to start, so I just jumped in.

Do you need a deckhand? I asked at the nearest boat.

No.

Then I asked at the next boat, Hello! Do you need a deckhand?

No.

Then I asked at the boat after that, Hi! Do you need a deckhand?

No.

Most of these boats were not big. They were small and overloaded with fishing equipment. I had heard that the North Pacific and Bering Sea area off of Alaska has some of the worst weather in the world. I could see that these boats were going to get thrown about a lot out there. I didn’t care.

Do you need a hand? I asked.

No, was the answer over and over again.

I didn’t care. There were a lot of docks in this harbor and there were lots of fishing boats on every dock. I was going to Alaska. I would make it happen.

Everyone in the harbor was hustling. Deckhands were fixing gear and painting boats and getting everything ready for the trip up north to Alaska. There was the high-pitched roar of power machinery all over the place – everyone on every boat was in motion. The air was tense and exciting and full of hormones.

Everyone was busy doing something. If they weren’t working they were looking for work.

Can I speak to the skipper? I asked at the next boat.

I know what you’re looking for. We don’t need a hand, was the response.

Can I speak to him anyway? I’d just like to let him know I exist, I said. I threw in a smile.

And he went and got the skipper. And the skipper said, No, we don’t need a hand.

And that’s the way it was over and over again boat after boat dock after dock.

There were others also hitting the docks looking for a boat job just like me. Sometimes I’d say, Hello! Who are you? What’s your story?

I said to one guy, You have blond hair and blue eyes just like me, but you talk like you’re black!

I grew up in a predominately black part of town, he said.

So did I, I said. But I don’t talk black. I’m white and I sound white.

Maybe I just blended in better than you did, he said.

How the hell did you blend in? I asked. Look at you man, with blond hair and blue eyes talking like you’re black! Where the hell do you fit in?

Once I get out there, he said – motioning to the ocean – it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. All that matters is how hard you work.

Well, good luck to you my friend! I said.

Good luck to you too! he said as friendly as ever.

I never saw him again.

I ran across many others – so many others – also looking for a boat job.

Then the sun went down. The skippers went home to spend a little more time with their wives and children before going out to sea. I jumped on the bus back to Seattle. Tomorrow I would come back and look for work again.

At the youth hostel I recognized two guys from the docks who had also been looking for a boat job. One of them looked like a pretty altar boy type of guy. The other one looked like a devil. We were talking away and drinking beers in no time.

There was a very sharp contrast between us and the backpacker travelers. Most of the backpackers seemed so dull and lifeless and conservative in comparison.

We were loud and raunchy and getting drunk. If we got the job we wanted we might not live. It seemed like a good idea to have fun now.

The altar boy guy was kind of cute. Or was that the beer? I said to him, You know something! You’re cute! Aren’t you worried about getting on a fishing boat with a bunch of horny guys?

He smiled and said, No.

But think how cute you’re going to start looking to all your crewmembers after a couple months at sea. There ain’t nothing to look at out there but a bunch of ugly fish and a bunch of ugly dudes. And then there’s you and you’re cute, I said. And then I winked at him.

He just smiled. He was so nice.

I knew that if I went to sea it would be a while before I would see any women, so me and a traveler woman from Europe got rather friendly. We started kissing and touching and caressing and hugging and kissing some more. But there was nowhere to go and fuck. How frustrating!

The next day a skipper asked me on board. We talked. He told me, Those shoes are for the office. They’re not for the boat.

I said, I like them. They’re comfortable.

Then he invited me to get off his boat.

Another skipper said to me, I have a problem. Half my crew are Mexicans.

I said nothing.

Then he asked, How would you like to make ten thousand dollars a month?

I said I would like that very much. I speak fluent Spanish, I added.

I don’t care – he said – If I yell out ‘duck!’ or ‘watch out!’ I want people to understand me.

I nodded.

Then he said, Come back tomorrow. But not in those shoes.

A job maybe tomorrow is not as good as a job for sure right now. So I kept searching.

I ran into the devil from the bunkhouse. The devil said, There’s not that many jobs and the boats are going to start leaving for Alaska soon. It’s getting down to experience!

The devil had experience on a fishing boat. I knew he was trying to discourage me, so that I’d give up and there would be less competition for him. I smiled in his face, said some blah blah blah or another, and then I moved on.

Do you need a deckhand? I asked at one boat.

The most stubborn looking man I’d ever seen in my life looked me up and down and then up and down again. The shoes visibly annoyed him.

I need someone to do some work around the boat. I won’t pay more than 8 dollars an hour.

He was giving me a chance! I knew that the 8 dollar an hour thing was just a ruse to try me out first before offering me a deck spot. I would work hard! I was going to show this asshole that I’d make a great deckhand!

And anyway, if I didn’t get the deckhand spot I’d still get some money to eat and drink beer!

What’s your name? he asked. He had a Norwegian accent.

Jesse, I said, Yours?

Everybody calls me Asshole! he said with a big grin. It was almost as if he was proud of it or something.

Oh fuck! I thought.

You know how to paint? he asked.

Yeah. I was sort of telling the truth. So then he dangled me over the water on some kind of rope kind of swing thing.

Now don’t fall in the water if you can’t swim. I’m not jumping in that dirty water to save you.

O.K.! I said.

And I painted. People passed by asking other boats if they needed a hand. For some reason nobody stopped at this boat. Hmmnnnn…

Then he fed me. I sat with the crew and ate. The first thing they did was look at my shoes.

That Asshole! Now we lost Henry. How is this greenhorn in office shoes going to work like Henry? said the really ugly one with the out of control moustache and the big nose.

Now wait! You need to give the guy a chance! Everybody has to start somewhere, said the fat guy.

What’s your name? asked the skinny effeminate guy.

Jesse I said.

My name is Whatever, said the skinny effeminate guy. I’m a greenhorn too. I’m the cook. Don’t piss me off unless you like sitting on the toilet all day!

O.K. I said.

The man was skinny and effeminate, and I could see he was worried about what might happen to him at sea. But something about him suggested his mouth could put up a pretty good attack.

How do you like Asshole? asked the ugly guy with the big nose.

He seems … stern, I said.

They laughed.

Is that your way of saying someone is a regular asshole, Jesse? asked the fat guy. Oh well, he’s kind of stern, he said imitating me.

They all laughed. I smiled.

Then ugly big-nose said, Wait to you start working at sea. The first mate will see you working and say, ‘Don’t do it that way! Do it this way!’ So you’ll be doing it his way when Asshole will come along and say, ‘You’re doing it all wrong! Do it this way!’ So then you’re doing it Asshole’s way and guess who comes along but the first mate and he yells, ‘HOW COME YOU’RE NOT DOING IT THE WAY I TOLD YOU TOO?!’

Suddenly, somebody starts laughing loudly behind our backs. We all turned and looked; it was Asshole from Norway.

So that’s the way it is here, Norway said smiling, maybe you already died and went to hell and I’m the devil!

Ugly big nose said nothing. Then Norway laughed like the devil again – it was like he couldn’t wait to get back to sea, so that he could torture ugly big nose some more.

So what do you all think of this new guy? asked Norway motioning to me.

He’ll make delicious crab bait, said ugly big nose.

But this is a dragger. We don’t catch crab, said the skinny effeminate dude.

He’ll make good crab bait anyway, said ugly big nose.

We’ll see whose going to be crab bait! I thought to myself.

It’s tough out there, Norway said to me, what makes you think you can make it?

I’m tough too, I said. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I’ve lived in Harlem. If I can make it in Harlem, I can make it anywhere.

What would you want to live in Harlem for? asked the skinny effeminate guy.

Cheap rent! I exclaimed. You ever lived in New York City? The rent is out of this world!

I looked around me. They were amused, but not very impressed, about the Harlem thing. All that New York City stuff wasn’t playing here.

When you get up to Alaska the boat’s going to be rolling all over the place and moving up and down and you’ll be puking your guts out and crying for your mommy. Norway was smiling as he said this. It seemed like he could already see me crying for my mommy in the middle of the Bering Sea, and the thought of it made him laugh and laugh inside.

I don’t care, I said. I’ll just puke and keep working.

There was silence a moment. Everyone seemed to like my answer. Lunch is over! Back to work you lazy bums! Norway said. He hung me over the side of the boat again in that rope ladder swing contraption, and I started painting again. Norway said, Don’t get any paint on your clothes. If you do, I’m not buying you new ones! I guess I had dressed a little too nice for boat work.

When the day ended Norway paid me and I went back to Seattle. I ate at the counter in this cheap place downtown. Sitting at the counter with me were senior citizens and workers and druggies and college kids and homeless who could only afford a cup of coffee and some dude looking for a boat job in Alaska (me).

The food wasn’t that good. It wasn’t that bad. It was cheap.

On Norway’s boat the next day they were doing gear work. I was helping out. I was having a little difficulty with something or other when Norway walked up and said, YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT IN ALASKA! YOU’LL NEVER EVER MAKE IT IN ALASKA! GO BACK TO THAT OFFICE JOB! GO BACK TO HARLEM FOR ALL I CARE! YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT IN ALASKA! GET OFF MY BOAT!

And off I went.

I went off to apply at some offices of big fishing companies. They had HUGE boats. Their boats were the size of a city block or more. Many of their boats were already in Alaska. When I opened the door I saw that there were a lot of people in the office applying for work.

I filled out an application. Then they showed us a movie.

In the movie the boat was going up and down a lot. Just watching it is enough to make you seasick, said some skinny dude who looked like he had done a little too much living.

The scenes from the factories inside the boat looked about as pleasant as being thrown in a jail cell. A voiceover explained, You’ll work over 16 hours a day 7 days a week. If you don’t work hard your co-workers will straighten out your attitude. The movie showed endless amounts of fish flowing down the conveyor belts. There were huge piles of fish all around the workers – it seemed like the workers were drowning in fish. It looked like a crowded sweatshop, except the people were working with squirming smelly fish instead of cloth.

That looks worse than slavery, said the too much living dude. Two other people walked out in the middle of the movie and never came back.

The next few days were much the same. I applied at other offices. I hit the docks and asked at one boat after another, Do you need a deckhand? And the answer was always the same – No, we don’t need a hand.

I started running out of money. I started going to the Christian missions to eat. You would have to listen to them speak and harass and beseech you with God and the Virgin and some guy named Jesus Christ for almost an hour so that you could eat. The homeless who ate at these places called the preachers head-bangers.

One evening at one of these missions the preacher was espousing away when I had to relieve myself. I walked into the bathroom and standing right there in the middle of the bathroom was some dude exposing himself. I could hear the preacher speak eloquently of the glory and joy of finding Jesus Christ our savior as the man openly stroked and stroked his penis. I got the impression he wanted to go into one of the stalls with somebody, and bless them with his God-given wonder hanging between his legs. I tried to piss and wash my hands as casually as possible. Then I got the hell out of there.

Homeless people got used to seeing me waiting in line at the missions. When I walked down the street the homeless stopped asking me for money, and started greeting me as if I were a colleague. I wasn’t homeless yet, but I was running out of money.

One day I saw the shelter part of one of these missions out of the corner of my eye. There were rows and rows of double decker beds. There were some pretty tough looking people hanging around in there. It didn’t look like a safe or even remotely quiet place to sleep. It looked like the kind of place where you might have to defend yourself, and in America if you defend yourself you can be locked up in jail. If I don’t get a boat job tomorrow, some place like this might be my next home, I thought.

That night I paid for my last night at the youth hostel. I was out of money. I tried to enjoy my last night in a nice warm bed.

The next morning the call came. One of the fishing companies – the kind with the big boats – wanted me to show up at their offices that morning. Hope!

At their offices the first thing they did was show me how to wear a survival suit. If the boat starts sinking you put one of these on, a wimpy looking guy said. Everything about him said wimp. His eyes were a bit nervous, but there was just a tiny hint of a deranged personality in them.

What happens if there isn’t time to put a survival suit on? I asked.

In that water up there you’ll die of hypothermia in fifteen minutes. If you’re lucky they’ll find your corpse, and you’ll have a nice funeral.

Then he snapped a Polaroid picture of me with a survival suit on.

I knew what the picture was for. It was proof that they had shown me how to wear a survival suit. Court evidence in case I didn’t make it back alive.

How long will the survival suit keep me alive? I asked.

Twenty-four hours if your inner clothes aren’t wet and no water gets in, and if there aren’t any leaks or holes. Good luck up there!

Then he sent me to a clinic somewhere for a drug test. He said drink a glass of water before you get there. I drank about fifteen.

That night I slept at the airport. The floor at the airport was a deluxe five star accommodation compared to the sidewalk downtown, or the shelter with god knows what kind of unwelcome surprise at 3 o’ clock in the morning.

Chapter 2

The next morning the flight from Seattle to Anchorage seemed normal enough. There were stewardesses and soft drinks and buckle your seatbelt signs and all that. The plane went up and then it went it down. Everything seemed normal enough.

Then I got to the gate for my flight to Unalaska. Nothing would ever be normal again.

A bunch of dudes stood and sat around the waiting area to Unalaska. The air around them was a mixture of gloom and desperation. Everyone’s face seemed to say, We’re going to the worst place on Earth!

After one month on land and you’re already going back to sea! one dude was saying to another. How did you manage to spend all that money in one month?!? What did you do? Snort a line of coke as long as the Earth’s orbit around the sun?? Or did you just spend the whole month in a whorehouse without leaving??

I had a good time, came the reply.

I certainly hope so! came the response.

Then the announcement came. We will now begin boarding flight number blah blah blah for Unalaska/Dutch Harbor.

No one moved.

Five minutes later there was another announcement. If you have a ticket for Unalaska/Dutch Harbor please board the plane now.

Still, no one moved.

I had never seen anything like this before. Usually people all pile up like a herd of cows before the door.

"This is the last announcement for Unalaska/Dutch Harbor. All Unalaska/Dutch Harbor passengers must be in line at this time."

A few people stood up – groaned – and headed to the door. Others headed to the door like there was some huge burden on their shoulders. Is it that bad?? I thought. It can’t possibly be that bad! I thought.

On the plane I noticed that the only women were stewardesses. I asked the guy next to me, Are there many women in Unalaska?

Don’t worry, he assured me, there’s one behind every tree.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

When the plane started to land I looked out the window, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. There were no trees. Not a single one.

It was the most barren place I had ever seen in my life. The South Side of Chicago didn’t even come close.

The South Side of Chicago has whole empty blocks where only one abandoned building is standing, but Unalaska was much more barren than that.

I had never seen anything like it. The island was volcanic mountains sticking up out of the ocean all over the place. It was beautiful! But it was the most brutal kind of beauty that I had ever seen in my life.

People from our boat met us at the airport.

Are you Jessie? some dude with a clipboard asked.

Yes, I said. But people call me J, I lied. I was starting a new life for myself, so I was starting a new name for myself.

Is that ‘J’ as in J-a-y? he asked.

Sure, I said. New name. New life. It was that easy.

We all got into a van. The van drove. Outside it was gray and dreary and miserable. The weather couldn’t decide whether it wanted to snow or rain, so it settled on some miserable cold wet in between. The van stopped at the Alaska Commercial Company. Everyone got out to buy something except me. It was going to be a long time before anyone would have a chance to go to the store. I stayed put in the van because I didn’t have any money to buy anything.

Everyone got in the van and the van drove. No one said much.

The boat was big. We walked up the plank. They showed us our bunks. I was in a room with eight guys. Then we went to the galley.

The guys were all talking about how much fun they had had on their vacations.

I had so much fun I probably got AIDS, said one laughing. He was just a little fat and very greasy looking. The kind of guy that can eat fifty hot-dogs in a row at the state fair competition.

Almost everyone appeared to be white trash. There was some trash from other races thrown in the mix too. I was all ears.

These guys – most of them – had been on vacation for months and months. They had walked off this boat with a nice chunk of cash, and had done whatever they felt like every day, until they ran out of money. And now they were back to get some money to go back on another nice long vacation. The idea of walking off this boat with a big chunk of money excited me! Although what I planned to do with all that free time and liberty was a bit different than these others.

The boat steamed out to sea. Everyone spent most of their time sleeping. They wanted to sleep now because they expected to be real tired all the time real soon.

Within a day or so there was a horrible roaring sound. It woke me up. I went into the galley. I asked someone, What’s up? What’s all that noise?

Haulback, came the response, get ready to go to work.

I went to the change area. People were putting their work clothes on, which were thick rubber boots and thick plastic raingear pants (that went from our feet to our chests), and thick cotton gloves which we put plastic gloves over, and then up to the deck we went.

We went out on deck to watch the haulback. A huge round mechanical drum struggled and creaked and groaned with the difficulty of pulling up the tremendous load up out of the bottom of the ocean. As the big roller pulled and pulled there was endless banging and creaking and more banging while the machine roared and roared. When the net came up it was huge! There were so many different kinds of fish and many of the fish were struggling and fighting against their destiny – and their mouths were opening and closing and opening and closing as they suffocated in the air.

There’s so much fish! I exclaimed to the guy next to me. How much fish is that?

It’s only about 15 tons. Not much, he responded. He was a tall skinny man with a big coke nose that leaped out of his face.

Fifteen tons is not much! I thought – Wow!

What kind of fish is that? I asked.

That’s mostly Pollock, said skinny tall coke nose. All the freezer sections in every supermarket from Japan to America is filled with Pollock, Pollock, and more Pollock! And we’re the ones who catch it.

We went down into the factory. There was a whole big mess of fish pushing out of something they called the live tank. The smell was awful. Up until that time it was the most intense smell I had ever experienced in my life. It wasn’t so much the fish as the factory. And the factory was clean! However, it was obvious nothing could rid the factory of the smell of the endless tons of fish that had rolled through here.

One of the other greenhorns threw up on the spot. Then one of the crewmen grabbed a fish and bit its head off. Then he spit out the head of the fish at the feet of the guy who had just thrown up.

Don’t worry – said the fish head eater to the greenhorn that threw up – You’ll be able to do the same in a month… or in a week if you ain’t a pussy!

Oh Alex! That’s nothing! When you bite a fish head off you’re supposed to chew it! said another guy standing nearby.

Well, let’s see you do it then you big talker! responded the fish head eater.

So the second guy grabbed a fish and bit its head off and chewed it up, and then he spit it out at the feet of the guy who had just thrown up.

The guy looked down at the chewed up fish head at his feet. Then he threw up all over again.

I went to one of the conveyor belts which was filled with fish rolling through the factory. You grab the fish, a guy with a shrieking voice explained to me, and you grab this knife. The knife was thick and big and huge and sharp. It looked like a cross between a kitchen knife and an executioner’s axe. If a kitchen knife and an executioner’s axe ever met and had sex this would be their baby. Hey! Pay attention! shrieking voice said. You grab the fish like this, and you chop its head off like this.

The decapitated fish’s body went down one conveyor belt still squiggling and wiggling. The chopped off head went down a different conveyor belt, its mouth still opening and closing and opening and closing.

It seemed easy enough.

And then I tried to do it. I made a massacre of that fish. It was a big mess. When I got done with that fish it looked like some kind of abstract sculpture.

No! Chop it off in one big swoop, he said showing me how it’s done. And off went the headless body wiggling and squiggling down one conveyor belt, and off went the bodiless head opening and closing and opening and closing just as beautiful as before.

Now try again, he said. I tried again. It was a little better. Well, shrieking voice said, the bad news is that you suck! The good news is that you’ll have 16 hours a day 7 days a week of practice to get better, he said laughing. I tried to smile. I tried to chop off the fish heads as best as I could. I tried as best as I could not to chop off my own hand. Obviously, I succeeded in the last part or otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about it.

As I began working the misery of the job began to really eat through me. Surrounded by all this dead fish and all these white trash people and the blaring machinery and the blaring music and that horrible smell all I wanted to do was quit. It was only the first hour of my first day working and all I wanted to do was walk out of this factory and never come back! I wanted to quit! I wanted to quit!! I WANTED TO QUIT!!! All I wanted to do was quit and get out of this big horrible mess I got myself into. But what was I going to do now – swim home? Half of me wanted to quit, but the other half of me wanted the money. Half of me wanted to walk out of this factory right now! But the other half of me kept saying, Don’t quit! Stay right where you are! Keep working! Make that money!

Working next to me was a white trash farm girl named Sally. She had a slightly less trashy friend working across from us. There was something about them – I thought maybe they might be lesbians. Then again, maybe not. Maybe dick or pussy it was all the same to them. I was curious because Sally sure had a nice ass. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have given a damn whether they were lesbians or not, because they weren’t anything close to pretty.

So you’re from San Francisco? Sally asked me.

No, I’m more from New York, I blurted out. I’m not homophobic, but I didn’t want to be pegged as the fag from frisco on this boat.

You’re a New Yorker then, Sally said.

No, not really. I was born in Chicago, I said.

Oh the windy city! she exclaimed.

(I hate it when people say that. Everybody says that. It’s like everyone talks in broken records.)

Maybe he’s from Mexico, Sally’s girlfriend said, I heard him talking to Pablo in Mexican.

And then somebody hit me in the side of the face with a fish. What the… was all I could say before one of the skinniest runts I had ever seen was SCREAMING at me from across the factory, STOP CUTTING THE ROE YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! AND HAUL ASS! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STANDING THERE LOOKING AT ME FOR! HAUL ASS! WORK!

I kept working. I said nothing. I figured there must be a reason why the skinniest runt in the world was bold enough to yell like that.

This is the roe, Sally said as she showed me. Whatever you do don’t cut through that, because cutting through the roe is cutting through our money. Don’t forget – we’re getting paid by the fish, not by the hour!

What is roe? I asked.

Eggs. The Japanese love it.

Who’s that guy that yelled at me? I asked.

Sally smiled. Oh that’s Cueball, she said.

"Cueball is his name?" I asked.

Yeah, because he shaved his head, so everybody calls him Cueball.

Is he an assistant foreman or something? I asked.

No, he’s a processor just like you, she said.

At that moment I felt rage surging inside of me. But I held my tongue. The last time I vented my rage at someone that confidant I almost got shot.

Then the fish ran out. We started cleaning. We were cleaning and cleaning and cleaning for a small forever before the foreman said, You’re done.

We sat in the galley to eat. The food wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good. It was heavy and filling – perfect for manual labor. Pick and shovel food was what the fish head eater called it.

The female cook was a fat dumpy blond. She was fucking one of the deckhands. He was a big fat guy. She showed me a picture of her fiancée back in Louisiana while a fuck flick moaned and groaned on the television screen above us. Her fiancé looked like the responsible type. If she got knocked up at the beginning or the end of the trip by the deckhand, the guy in the photo looked like a good father and husband type. But if she got knocked up in the middle of the trip, the guy in the photo looked smart enough to figure it out. I said something pleasant to her about the man in the photo, and she smiled.

I was kind of surprised that the fuck flick played on as everybody both men and women ate at the table. There weren’t a lot of women on the boat – there were some – but they didn’t seem to mind the fuck flick at all. Maybe it was because all the male actors were nice and handsome, and they all had very big dicks.

Sitting at the table was Lisa. Everybody on the boat wanted to fuck her. She was a blond haired blue eyed big the-meat-all-went-to-the-right-places kind of milkmaid girl. She wasn’t my type. I’m not into blonds. But I wanted to fuck her anyway.

The boat steamed somewhere else. We dropped net. We didn’t catch much fish at all. It’s like all the fish said, Oh no! Here comes that big bad fishing boat. Let’s hide!

Then the fishing boat steamed somewhere else and dropped net and a few hours later pulled the net back up. As we stood on deck shrieking voice exclaimed, Fish! Fish! We got fish! Yippeeee! After all, we weren’t being paid by the hour – we were getting paid a percentage of the catches.

This time the net was so much fuller than the last time. It seemed like all the fish in the world had happily jumped into the net as they sang, Yippeeeee – we’re going to be eaten!

I asked the skinny guy with the big coke nose leaping out of his face, How many tons of fish is that?

About 80 tons, he answered. That’s a good size net for a smaller boat like this one.

Other boats pull up more? I asked.

Yep! he said. Some boats pull up to 150 ton nets.

Jesus Christ is that a lot of fish! I thought to myself.

I started chopping fish heads off. One fish after another struggled and fought and squiggled to get out of my hand as I grabbed it. Each fish fought and squiggled and struggled even more as it felt the huge knife severing its head from its body. When the decapitated fish head went down the conveyor belt with its mouth moving and moving it seemed to be saying over and over again, Fuck you asshole! – Fuck you asshole! – Fuck you asshole! Its decapitated body would be moving and squirming about as it was going down the other conveyor belt, and it almost seemed like it was looking for its head. Killing each fish took only seconds. It was a 16-hour day. I killed a lot of fish.

Then the foreman walked up and said to me, Go help pack!

So I went to the back and started packing fish into these tray things. I was packing flatfish whose heads weren’t chopped off. Each one of them had two eyes on one side of their head, and no eyes on the other side of its head.

The urge to quit kept growing and growing inside of me. I was surrounded by all these disgusting mounds of fish and this disgusting fish smell and all these assholes and the huge roaring noise of the factory all combined to make me want to quit! I wanted to quit! It was all I could think of! God, I wanted to quit! I wanted to quit so bad! I wanted to quit and I wanted to quit and I wanted to quit!

Besides being freaky looking, there was another problem with these flatfish: a lot of them weren’t dead yet. The fish kept squirming and moving around in those trays and messing up my packing.

What the hell is wrong with these fish?? I exclaimed. Why don’t they stop moving dammit! They’re messing up my packing!

The fish head eater said, Yeah these fish need to be more motivated. They should be more excited about being packed away and eaten.

EXACTLY! I said. And then I started grabbing any fish that moved and banging it against the wall over and over again. DIE FISH GODDAMMIT! HURRY UP AND DIE! I yelled as I smashed and smashed the head of the fish against the wall.

Big coke nose said, I think that greenhorn Jay is a little psychotic. He just might make it on this boat!

Hey I don’t think that’s a bad idea, Sally said, and she started grabbing any fish that was uncooperative and banging it over and over again until it was real dead. Others started to do the same.

DIE FISH! DIE NOW! the fish head eater said.

Hey I think that Jay is contagious, said somebody named missing fingers.

Then the foreman came by. He saw people banging fish against the walls and whacking the fish against the table and whacking the fish against trays and one was even whacking the fish against each other. He said, What’s going on?

We’re killing the fish really good! said missing fingers.

He looked at the fish more carefully. You’re bruising the fish, he said. Stop doing that.

Then he grabbed me by the arm and he showed me a big huge bin with lots and lots of fish in it. In the middle of the bin was a guy in fish up past his knees. There was very little water in there – it was almost all fish. He asked the guy, Would you like to pack fish? SURE! the guy exclaimed with a big huge smile suddenly jumping unto his face. He leaped up out of that bin so quickly, it seemed like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Get in there Jay, the foreman said.

I got in. It felt strange. I had never stood in fish up to my knees before.

Start shoveling, the foreman said.

So I started shoveling the fish unto the conveyor belt. It wasn’t easy. The shovel was small. The fish were endless. The fish were falling into the big tank from a chute faster than I could shovel the fish unto the conveyor belt. I was getting deeper and deeper in fish. Soon the fish were almost up to my crotch! Suddenly I started working faster and faster! Anything to keep those fish (many were still living) away from my jewels! I was really motivated now! The foreman came by. Hey! I do believe we found a good position for you! he said smiling as he watched me frantically shovel the fish away from me unto the conveyor belt. Then he laughed and walked away. He was always smiling. He was always laughing.

Then, as I struggled and shoveled and sweated and cursed at all the goddamn fish that were almost up to my crotch I remembered something; it was my birthday. It was my 23rd birthday.

Hours later the fish stopped coming. The level of fish got lower and lower until the tank was empty. I stood there thankful and all sweaty and tired. It was a moment of well deserved rest, I thought.

HEY YOU! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING JUST STANDING THERE! HAUL ASS! HAUL ASS! somebody yelled.

THERE’S NO FISH! THERE’S NOTHING FOR ME TO DO! I yelled back.

In less than a minute they found something for me to do.

Some guy that looked like he had just jumped out of Southern California and landed in Alaska led me to a hole.

Crawl down there, he said, "we’ll send the boxes of fish