when he was not on tour, when he wasnactually with Lindsay and she cookednand washed for him and slept with himnand admired him, she could eat at hisnexpense. Otherwise she had to fend fornherself and her baby.nThe Folksinger showed up in earlynspring, with heavy boots and a bulkyncoat that belied his pampered middleclassnupbringing, and a big beard thatnhid his weak chin. He, too, gave me anfirm handshake. And a few days laternhe came out to my place and told mento come across the hill into the mainnharbor of the Old Cove for a “communitynmeeting.”nI was busy. I told him that in anyncase a meeting ought to be called bynAlec, the former mayor and the islandnstorekeeper, the descendant of five ornsix generations of islanders. ThenFolksinger told me not to be like that,nand that we must get our energiesntogether and make good things happen.nWhen I got to the hall I found allnthe Newfoundlanders sitting on thenright side, and the “heads” clusterednon the other side. I sat with the Newfoundlanders.nThe heads talked amongnthemselves, and one or the other camenover to lecture the locals. Some of thenNewfoundland women had moist eyes.nLindsay had just lectured them onnproper childrearing.nLindsay, who had determined not tonfeed her baby anything but bananasnand breast milk for the first year; Lindsay,nwhose baby was now about eightnmonths old and sat hunched and criednwhenever she saw someone eat; Lindsay,nwho now and then in anger stuffedna handful of nuts and raisins into thenbaby’s mouth to shut it up!nMary came to preach to us on hownwe must avoid s—t food—chips andnchocolate bars, etc. Mary, who lookednlike a character out of Dick Tracy, withnher big boots and her bulky black coatnand her big sunglasses and long hairnand no discernible face; Mary, whonhad been observed stealing candy barsnfrom the store.nDale, who had just been releasednfrom a mental hospital (oh how I wish Inwould have the space to repeat his lifenstory as he told it to me!), said that wenmust remove the labels from all emptiedntin cans, and must cut out bothnends, and must cut the cans lengthwise,nand flatten the tin and save it.nI had been waiting for some sort ofndemur from the Newfoundlanders.nBut none had come, and I could notnkeep my mouth shut any longer.n”What for?” I cried.n”The tin might be useful some day.nOne never knows,” was the airy reply.nThere were a few more such preliminaries.nThen the heads launched theirnmain proposal: the locals, myself included,nmust hand over to them ournlivestock and pasture and gardens, plusncash; and they would organize a vegetablenco-op for us. They had alreadynappointed Dale to the job of secretary/ntreasurer/manager of the co-op. Dale,nwho had moved into an empty housenand there in the middle of the kitchennconstructed from driftwood a floor-toceilingnthing that looked like modernnart but was, according to him, a combinationnbed/lunch counter/work bench/nclothes rack/bookshelf. Dale, whonswayed about drunk or stoned andntalked about how he would make us allnrich. The heads were talking about antractor, about sailing vegetables in thenyet-to-be-rebuilt schooner to Newfoundland’sncapital, St. John’s.nI did not want to have any part ofntheir vegetable co-op. I started to howl.nNo way would I give my two cows andnhay meadow and apple trees and moneynto their bloody socialist neofeudalismnin which the Folksingernwould be the lord and his friends hisncourt and the rest of us the peasants.nNo way would I hand over my propertynand tools to a bunch of people who hadnno money and tools and skills of theirnown to put into the venture, but feltnthey had a divine right to govern.nI cursed the idiocy of proposing tonship vegetables in an old sailingnschooner around two capes where itnmight be delayed many days by adversenwinds, when only six miles distant wasna road over which we could reach St.nJohn’s by motor vehicle in two hours. Incried:n”And where on the island can younplough a furrow longer than ten yardsnwithout ending up in a bog or on anrock or over a cliff? And how muchnwould it cost to get a tractor and anplough and other equipment, andnseedlings or a greenhouse, and to supportnDale till the harvest? And Dalenhas no experience in farming or businessnmanagement! And you haven’tndone a lick of work on that schoonernnnyet. All the old fishermen tell me it isntoo far out of shape to be rebuilt! I’llntell you what you can do!”nI told them, and stormed out.nThey came after me and told menwhat a bastard I was and how nice itnwould have been for poor Dale to benable to run something and how I hadndestroyed something beautiful that wasnabout to happen.nBarbara has married her man sincenthen, so I am told. He works for an oilncompany, his beard long shaved off,nand they live in a suburban bungalow.nDale did many weird and disquietingnthings on this island before disappearingnand being arrested at the St. John’snairport for trying to thumb a ride on andeparting jet. I really think he wantednto go back to a mental hospital; if so,nhis wish was granted. Paul is supposedlynsailing another schooner in the Pacific.nLindsay lost her prince and livesnin an apartment in a very run-downncity neighborhood. What became ofnMary and the King and the others Indon’t know.nThe schooner is still rotting on thatnsandbank.nThe Folksinger has been back here anfew times, once with his mother, andnonce with a strange woman who, whennthey were guests at my place, dishednout the salad with her hands, and anwhile later went into convulsions at thensupper table. “I’m a dancer, you know,nand must exercise!” she said whilenjerking and twisting in her chair, beforencoffee and pie. She had two sons withnher and bragged that the Folksinger gotnup in the mornings and made breakfastnfor the boys and got them ready fornschool. And then she got all worked upnover the fact that my wife brought menanother cup of coffee, and told my wifento assert herself against me, to be hernown person.nShe wasn’t with the Folksinger verynlong.nThe last time he was here, he toldnme that his and Lindsay’s daughter,nthen five, had hit another child in ancommune out in British Columbia. Hensaid, “Of course she learned that innNewfoundland” (she had left beforenher first birthday). And he sighed, “Wentried to help the people here, but theyndidn’t appreciate it!”nR.E. Lieb writes for the Canadiannmagazine Rural Delivery.nDECEMBER 1988151n