Love for a Deaf Rebel, Derrick King [funny books to read .txt] 📗

tracks faded into the bush, and we could drive no farther.

“No sunlight here. See those cedars? They thrive in swamps. See the bracket fungus on those alders? It also loves swamps. You’d never be able to drive the damp out of a house here. You couldn’t even build a house here—you couldn’t get a building permit because there is no road.”

Pearl and I looked at each other in despair.

“Do you know any other places?” I signed and said.

“I know another property, the Thaxter place, on the other side of this hill. It’s been for sale for years, down to about $100,000.”

We left the Suzuki and walked until we reached a clearing. In it stood the skeleton of a two-story house. Plastic hung from window openings, flapping in the breeze. The house was impressive, the location ideal. Pearl and I stared at each other.

“There is a driveway to the trunk road. The roof shakes were split from cedar trees logged on this property. Bowen Island is part of this house.”

We walked through the house, our boots thundering on plywood. Piles of manure and scraps of lumber lay scattered inside. A chipped and dirty electric range stood in the corner.

“Boy Scouts put that there; they camped while the power was still on. The Thaxters inherited the land from Great-granddad, one of the settlers. They mortgaged their land to buy construction machinery, but interest rates went sky high in 1981 and wiped them out. Fran Thaxter lives on the other side of the trunk road.”

“This will be an amazing house in the future,” signed Pearl.

Rokus led us up the hill behind the house. We gazed down at a barn and two horses standing in an unfenced field. The barn was decorated with moose antlers and antique farm tools. I felt like I was dreaming.

“Only an hour from Vancouver, and look at this.”

We walked down to the barn.

Pearl pointed at the sign over the door: DE MAL EN PIS. “What does that mean?”

“From bad to worse. It’s a curse.”

The horses followed us into the barn. Rokus opened the feed room, took two flakes of hay, and fed one to each horse.

“With four stalls, concrete floor, hayloft, and feed and tack rooms, this is surely one of the best barns on the island. And you can’t smell it from the house,” Rokus chuckled.

Rokus led us down a path winding through seven-story fir trees. A lake came into view, the water reflecting the trees swaying in the breeze like waving hands. Trout breached, sending circular waves to the blue herons standing on the shore waiting for their chance to strike. Rokus scooped a handful of water into his mouth. Pearl and I stared at each other, dumbfounded, as if everything we saw was too good to be true.

“This is the reservoir for the cove. Swimming isn’t allowed, but we do it. Horses aren’t allowed to piss in it either, but they do that, too. If it weren’t for the trees, you could see the lake from the house.”

We could see that this was a project waiting to reward someone with health, money, love, and the time to enjoy them. We’d fallen in love with each other, and now we were falling in love with Bowen Island, too.

We drove back to Rokus’s home. Pearl played with the children while Jenny cooked rabbit casserole.

“If you join us on Bowen,” said Jenny, “you’ll love it because the happiest people here are city converts. We know where the grass is greener.”

“The city converts are the happiest because they have the money to enjoy it,” said Rokus. “If you start here, you can’t afford to stay here—it’s the country-city paradox.”

“It makes me happy to see that land by the lake,” signed Pearl. “Derrick and I have a lot to discuss.”

“Watch the time,” said Rokus. “If you don’t catch the nine o’clock ferry, you’ll have to sleep here. That’s another country-city paradox: the Bowen Islander with his ferry schedule. Leisure with a quartz watch!”

Rokus used a flashlight to show us the way to our car. Because there was little light pollution, thousands of stars sparkled. Pearl had grown up under a sky like this. To me, the night sky was stunning; to Pearl, it was like going home.

Neither of us could stop thinking about that property. I called the agent who listed it. After I hung up, I signed, “It’s $120,000.”

“Can we afford it?”

“No. Do you want to see it again? We have nothing to lose.”

“Why not?” Pearl grinned.

A week later, the agent, Luisa, met us at the ferry terminal. While we sat in her car during the crossing, she showed us the blueprints.

“The house is designed in two wings around a harvest kitchen. The master bedroom, library, and living room are in one wing. Two more bedrooms and the family room are in the other wing.”

“This bathtub will be wonderful for babies,” signed Pearl.

“That’s a hot tub.”

“Fancy.”

“Yeah, too fancy. Thaxter ran out of money.”

As we drove up the driveway, Luisa pointed at the fenced garden.

“The septic field’s under the garden. To get a building permit, they first needed to ‘prove the septic.’ All the permits have expired, but you can get new ones. For the septic permit, you dig a hole in the garden, pour in a bucket of water, and time it percolating down. Then ignore your result, and write the legal requirement on the form. The soil is rocky here, so everybody cheats.”

We parked at the house. Luisa led me around the house while Pearl walked around the property.

“Thaxter started out first-class. The walls are fifty percent thicker than code, and the shakes are triple-thick. When they ran out of money, they went cheap. The sheathing is quarter-inch and thinner than code—illegal, in fact.”

“How much would it cost to make this place livable so we could move here and finish the rest ourselves as our money allowed?”

“Maybe forty grand.”

Pearl returned. “Look at this.”

Luisa and I followed Pearl down the gravel half of the circular driveway to a pair of hemlock and alder trees spiraling around each other like a four-story DNA helix.

Pearl hugged me. “The love trees.”

“You get a forest and a lake. Well, the lake ain’t yours, but it might as well be. The price started at 180 two years ago, then 150 a year ago, and now it’s 120. You can get another appraiser to try to pull the price down some more. Call Chang’s Appraisers, and tell them you want the lowest possible valuation. Then put in an offer.”

Pearl and I studied the blueprints and made a budget. “Can we afford it?” signed Pearl.

“Barely, with both salaries, my night-school pay, a first mortgage, a second mortgage, a personal loan, and a loan from my father. But $120,000 is the most we can pay, including construction.”

Because the price had crashed and builders had little work in 1985, we could afford it—but not to make mistakes.

Pearl grew excited. “What if we rent the barn? Grow food? Have a business? I can sell my uncle’s jades. Deafies get a seventy-five percent handicapped discount on property tax.”

“That will help a lot, so we should put your name on the documents.”

“What if we move there and finish the house ourselves?”

“We could never build a house there and work downtown at the same time. We can’t live in a house without a permit. A permit follows inspection. The inspection follows water, lights, toilets, and septic.”

“What if we pay to finish part of the house and, after we move in, finish the rest?”

I drew a line down the middle of the plan. “Interesting. The kitchen, family room, two bedrooms, and laundry room on this side are all we need. I’ll call the appraiser. Then we need construction quotes for half a house.”

“Soon, we will have a beautiful home with a big garden and horses and farm and dogs and children on Bowen Island.”

Chang’s appraisal was an almost-affordable $92,000. I made appointments with two contractors and drove to Bowen Island. After I reached the house for the first appointment, Ross, who was our nearest neighbor, wandered up the trail from his house. I gave him a set of plans, and we walked around the house.

“About $50,000 without sundecks,” said Ross.

“We can’t afford it.” Then I gave him our sketch of half a house. “What do you think of this? You wall off and finish half of it, so I can finish the rest myself. But no paint and no carpet for now. We can only afford $30,000. What can you do for that?”

“You’d be living in a construction site, but a lot of people here live in unfinished houses. Let me think about what I can do. I’ll get back to you next week.”

An hour later, Edmund arrived. I gave him a set of plans, and we walked around the house. “Around $70,000,” he said.

“We can only afford $30,000.” I gave him our sketch of half a house. “You wall off and finish half of it, so I can finish the rest myself. No paint and carpet. What can you do for that?”

“Let me get back to you—business is terrible.”

A week later, I received quotes from Ross for $28,000 and Edmund for $30,000 for half-finished houses. Pearl and I were overjoyed. We offered $90,000 for the unfinished property.

While awaiting the outcome of the foreclosure court, I continued to work, teach, and study. During an MBA coffee break, I mentioned our house activity to a classmate.

“Why don’t you ask Frank for advice?” he suggested. “He lives on Bowen. He’s an architect. He must know the builders there.”

I was astonished. “I didn’t know Frank lived on Bowen Island!”

Frank was five or ten years older than me, well dressed, and reclusive. He barely spoke in class, and we had rarely spoken to one another even though our class had just twenty students. I approached him for advice.

“I heard you live on Bowen. How do you attend school while living on the island? The last ferry sails before our class ends.”

“I stay with my parents on class nights. Everyone on Bowen has an arrangement with city friends. We stay with them, and in summer, they stay with us.”

The blueprints and quotes were in my briefcase, so I told Frank about the house and showed him the plans and quotes.

“Which of these quotes would you choose?”

“Edmund might do a better job, but your neighbor, Ross, won’t do anything poorly.”

A week later, Frank approached me after class.

“I walked around the Thaxter place on the weekend. Hire me. I’ve finished two houses on Bowen, and I’m finishing off the house we live in. My son and I work more cheaply than Ross or Edmund. I can deduct the cost of materials for my house from my taxable income if you choose the same materials.”

“How can you build my house while you work, study, and build your own house?”

“My son will work full time. I’ll work weekends and take two weeks’ vacation. My house can wait. Come to my place this weekend with your wife, and see for yourself. You’ll like our materials. In the meantime, give me copies of your plans and quotes.”

A week later, Frank handed me his quotation for $24,000.

Pearl and I visited Frank and his family in their three-story house. The upper floors were finished and appeared to be of high quality. After the tour, Frank’s wife showed Pearl her antiques while I discussed insulation with Frank in his study. On our way home, we drove past Frank’s previous houses.

“Frank’s house was beautiful,” signed Pearl.

“I found out Frank isn’t a registered architect even though he said he works as one. He dropped out of university. He only admitted it when I didn’t see a degree on his wall, only some certificates.”

“Frank’s wife is sweet. We talked about kids and cooking. Frank is strange. Most hearies move their hands when they talk, but Frank doesn’t do that.”

“If Frank can build us a house that looks like his own house for $4,000 less than Ross, then we should take it. Even if he makes some mistakes, it will be cheaper.”

“How can you be sure Frank will do a good job?”

“He lives there, so he can’t afford a bad reputation.”

“Ross and Edmund can’t afford a bad reputation because they don’t have another job. Frank has another job. He knows what he is doing, but we don’t know what he is doing. But you decide. You know more than I do about houses.”

We accepted Frank’s offer. I took a day off to apply for the