Ruth tried to forget that Thomas had returned. She told herself Thomas had become another man. But she looked for him around every corner, through every window and door, her eyes constantly searching. Still, she kept to her stand against whaling. Because of this and because she had inherited some of the old whaling implements, her mother’s house, where she sometimes stayed, was searched and razed, torn apart by angry men. Aurora, distraught, sent for Ruth. When Ruth saw the damage, she fell into despair. Realizing she’d underestimated some of the men, their desperations, and even forgiving them, Ruth said, “They are not angry, Mother. They search for the past. They have lost it. They are needy.” But they did not find the old whaling items they were looking for. The lid of an old ship’s trunk was torn off its hinges, the ceiling at her mother’s was taken apart and left in ruins. They took an old drum that had been given to her father by their cousins up north. It was painted with an octopus by the last few members of the Octopus Clan. Numerous things in Aurora’s house were broken, including her figurines. “They broke them on purpose,” said Aurora, who had been home at the time and afraid of the men even though she’d known nearly all of them since they were first born. She’d watched them grow up. She’d given them cookies. Later, even though she was crying, Ruth’s mother said, as she ate the strawberry-rhubarb pie at Linda’s restaurant, “It’s okay. I’m trying to pare down anyway. I’m going Zen.” Linda sat next to her and took the pins out of her dark hair.

Ruth laughed. “I’ll stay around for a while and fix your ceiling while you meditate.” She stayed at her mother’s for two days until she’d managed repairs and Aurora was no longer afraid.

When Ruth returned to the boat where she lived, just as she feared, they had gone through her things, too. The whalebone mask was gone. The bank of her son was broken. Her nets were torn. Hoist sniffed the deck, smelling the feet of the men.

Ruth and her mother pretended nothing had happened. The two women, seemingly undaunted, kept their chins up and never mentioned the incident in public. Alone, both of them wept, and each day they discovered more missing, a ring, a wooden whale carved by Witka, the old master whaler, even Marco’s fishing rods and reels, and their woven baskets. Ruth’s nets and winches were ruined. She had repairs to make and her hands already hurt.

In addition there was Thomas.

“He hasn’t said a word to me or Marco,” Ruth told her mother, “I don’t understand. His own son.”

One morning she woke and found sweet Hoist bleeding on her boat. Hair matted with blood. She bent over him and ran her fingers through the fur, looking into the eyes as life stepped out of them. She prayed her little spotted dog, so rambunctious, hadn’t suffered. Nothing equaled the killing of her dog and it only made her more adamant against the hurt. There was nothing else to lose.