Excerpt from Sweetland by Michael Crummey, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

1

He saw the government man walking up from the water. The tan pants, the tweed jacket and tie. The same fellow who came out for the last town meeting, or one exactly like him—there seemed to be an endless supply on hand at the Confederation Building in St. John's. The briefcase looking for all the world like something that was in his hand when he left his mother's womb. Sweetland turned away from the window, as if he could hide from the man by not looking his way. Glimpsed a flash of him as he went to the front door of the house, heard the knock.


No one in the cove ever knocked at a door. He thought to ignore it, but the knock came a second and then a third time and he pushed away from the table, went out through the hallway. No one in the cove used their front doors, either. Sweetland's hadn't been opened in years and he had to jimmy it loose of the frame. The man standing there lost in the sun's glare, a voice from the nothing where his mouth should be. "Mr. Sweetland?"

He waited until the figure resolved out of the light, until he could see the eyes. "Just come off the ferry, did you?"

"Just this second, yes."

Sweetland nodded. "I must be some fucken important."

The government man smiled up at him. "You're at the top of my list." Sweetland stood to one side to let the man by. "Cup of tea?"

"You don't have coffee by any chance?"

"I got instant."

"Tea is fine," the government man said.

Sweetland moved the kettle onto the stove while the young one took a seat at the table. He tried to think of when a stranger sat there last, seeing the kitchen for the first time. Low ceilings, the beams an inch or two clear of Sweetland's crown. Painted wood floor, a daybed under one window, a Formica table with chrome legs pushed up to the other. His mother's china teacups on hooks below the cupboards. All so familiar to him he hadn't noticed it in years.

The man's briefcase was lying on the table in front of him like a placemat and Sweetland set a spoon and the sugar bowl on the flat surface of it.

"No sugar for me," the youngster said, setting the bowl to one side.

"A drop of milk if you have some." He put the case on the floor beside his chair.

"No fresh," Sweetland said. "Just tin."

"Tin is fine," the government man said. He took a BlackBerry from his coat pocket and held it to the window a moment.

"You're not the fellow was out last time around."

"I just took over the file."

"You won't get a cell phone signal out here," Sweetland told him. He shrugged. "The edge of the civilized world."

"They was talking about putting up a tower years back. Never got around to it."

The government man gestured past him to the counter. "You have a laptop there."

Sweetland glanced over his shoulder, to confirm the fact. "We got the internet for long ago. Does my banking on that," he said. "Bit of online poker. Passes the time." Sweetland poured the tea and took a seat directly across the table.

"You're not on Facebook, are you?"

"Look at this face," he said and the government man glanced down at the table. "Now Arsebook," Sweetland said. "That's something I'd sign up for."

"I'm sure it's coming."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Given the state of things."

It was an easy road into the subject at hand and he was surprised the government man didn't take it, smiling out the window instead. Perfect teeth. They all had perfect teeth these days. Careful haircuts, accents Sweetland couldn't place. This one might be from the mainland somewhere, for all he could tell.

"So," the younger man said abruptly. "Are you coming to the meeting this afternoon?"

Sweetland almost laughed. "Not planning on it, no."

"I couldn't talk you into it?"

Excerpted from Sweetland: A Novel by Michael Crummey. Copyright © 2014 by Michael Crummey Ink, Inc. First American Edition 2015. With permission of the publisher, Liveright Publishing Corporation. All rights reserved.