Marina with her unbuttoned shirt hanging loose about her shoulders.
She turned away from him, fastening buttons but not making a meal of it. What he had seen he had seen.
‘I thought I heard you,’ Marrek said.
‘I switched on the generator,’ she said.
‘I left it for you to do,’ he said. ‘I’m not up to much, these days, not since the missus went, so I thought I’d leave it, weather like this, in case I did meself a mischief.’
‘Yes,’ she said, thinking lazy old bastard, sooner freeze to death than lift a finger.
He was watching her, she knew. Knew, too, that he’d seen her, which had certainly not been the plan.
She stood, moving casually. ‘I’ll just get out of these wet clothes.’
He did not move as she walked past him to her bedroom door, as she opened it and went in, but she sensed his awareness of her. She might have locked the door had there been a key, but there was not.
As quickly as she could she dropped her wet garments on the floor. She rubbed herself all over with the towel. She put on fresh clothes and felt more comfortable for having done it. She went back out to the living room where she found Marrek sitting in his chair. He did not look up as she came in but stayed as he was, big hands on his knees, eyes fixed on the fire. So that was all right. For the moment, at least.
‘I’ll get us some tea,’ she said.
They ate and listened to the house creaking in the wind. The storm’s continuing assault stole the words from their mouths, so they hardly spoke. Marina’s face was rosy in the firelight. Eddying draughts drove shivers down her back but her face and the front of her body were bathed in heat.
She thought of Jory, at sea in weather like this. She studied the logs rotted by fire, the mysterious turrets and canyons of flame, and ached for a time beyond storm, a place where she and her husband could find peace and a future unsullied by fear. She wanted that so much, for them to travel together, as one, to a silver dawn where fear would be unknown. That was her dream: a silver dawn of love and peace and freedom from care.
She was praying without speech or even conscious words. Praying for Jory’s presence. Praying that he should be safe. That he should be safe in her arms. Her body, even her soul, ached from wanting him so much: now, this minute, by her and on her and in her; even her breath cried out its fear and longing. That she should not be alone in this wind-wracked house on this shore where even the stones would eventually be turned to sand by the insatiable waves. That she should not be alone. In the house. In the bed. In herself.
Her body was exhausted by its battle with the storm, yet her nerve ends writhed with the need to ease the tensions that plagued her, and she was afraid if she went to bed too soon she would not sleep.
Eventually, though, weariness overcame her, so she said goodnight and went into her bedroom, undressed and climbed into her cold bed. She wrapped her arms tightly about her. The longing was still there, the ache, yet soon warmth drove out the cold, her limbs relaxed and she fell asleep …
… to wake some time later, senses screaming, knowing she was not alone in the dark room.
Usually the last thing she did before going to bed was switch off the generator but that night she’d had enough of the storm and, with the wind still buffeting the house, had been unwilling to face it yet again, which meant that the power remained on. She reached out her arm and switched on the light.
Marrek was sitting on the chair by the door, which he must have closed behind him when he came in, because closed it certainly was. He was staring at her. Jory’s father was staring at her. It was a look that no woman, especially a young woman, was likely to misinterpret.
At once she was fully awake. Awake and frightened.
‘What are you doing in my room?’
‘I was wondering …’
‘Wondering what?’
She should have said nothing; she knew it as soon as the words were out. He had no business to be there; they both knew that. Having a chat about it changed nothing.
‘Wondering if you’d mind if I laid down beside you. On the bed. Just for a spell. Easier to get warm that way.’
Of course she minded. Permit that and what else might he try?
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?’
She hoped her voice did not show how the nerves were jumping under her skin. Either way, her words seemed to have no effect on him.
He stood. He walked slowly towards the bed.
‘Just to get warm,’ he said.
Her breathing was unsteady. There was no one else in the house. Surely he wouldn’t try anything? His son’s wife? But could she take that chance? She had to stop him now, while there was still time.
‘Please …’ she said.
His smile could have eaten her where she lay. ‘Bloke needs somen warm to hang on to, weather like this. Cold as a stripper on an iceberg,’ he said.
Fright got the better of her. ‘Keep away from me!’
He stopped. He was not more than two yards from her yet he stared now as though he’d never seen her before.
‘You got it all wrong,’ he said. ‘You think I was comin’ on to you? Me own son’s woman? Strewth! What kinda bloke you think I am?’
It was good to hear, if he meant it, but Marina was still uncertain. He must have had a reason to come into her bedroom and she’d be beggared if she could think of another explanation.
At least he’d backed away from the bed, which made things easier, but instead of leaving the room, as she’d hoped, he went and sat on the same chair as before. While the bedroom door remained closed.
She watched him, still cautious, and saw his eyes staring out of the hatchet-shaped face. Yet now she thought they were no longer looking at her at all but at something only he could see.
He’d been right, the room was cold, yet she could see the sweat shining on his forehead. His mouth was working and he looked scared, which frightened her most of all.
‘What’s the problem?’ Marina asked with the blankets high to her chin.
‘My ancestors out of Coverack. The wreckers. I told you about them.’
‘What about them?’
‘Nights like tonight, pictures come back. Memories. You’ll think I’m mad but I’m not mad. I see them as clear as I see you. Them and the people they drowned.’
She had strayed into nightmare, or he had.
‘It’s the middle of the night, Dad. Go back to bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’
He took no notice. ‘Used to kill ’em. The ones that made it to shore. Had to, see? Dead men tell no tales: isn’t that what they say? But sometimes the dead come back.’
Under the pillow Marina had taken hold of the knife. Worn wooden handle; razor-sharp blade.
‘Go to bed, Dad.’
‘Nights like this, I see all them drowned faces looking up at me from under the water. I’ve read somen about the sins of the fathers being visited on the children.’ He was looking at her properly now. ‘You reckon there’s any truth to that?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t. I don’t think things that happened two hundred years ago—if they happened at all—are anything to do with us.’
‘Then why do I see them?’
‘Imagination.’
‘What about you? Are you imaginary, too?’
It was her turn to stare.
‘Marina,’ he said. ‘That’s your name, right? Means someone from the sea, right? You think that’s just chance, do you? Having a name like that?’
Was that what all this had been about? Her name?
‘Of course it’s just chance. The only times my dad’s seen the sea is when he’s been to Burnie. My mum never. They just fancied the name, that’s all.’
‘But—’
But nothing. She’d had enough of Marrek’s sick fantasies. ‘Dad, I got a long walk in the morning. A long, wet walk, if it’s still raining. I’m sorry you’re having these nightmares but I got to get some sleep. Oka
y?’
She was exasperated but relieved, too, now she understood his reason for coming in was so different from what she’d feared.
What kinda bloke you think I am?
But he’d said something else, too: You’ll think I’m mad …
It seemed both their imaginations had been working overtime. Blame it on the storm, she thought. She even managed a weak smile as he stood and opened the door.
‘Hope you sleep better,’ she said. ‘And don’t worry. I never been to Coverack. Don’t even know where it is.’ She was troubled how he would feel in the morning for having confided in her, whether he might not twist things around and blame her for it. ‘We’ll talk about it some more,’ she said. ‘I promise you. Any time you like. But not now. Now I need my sleep. Okay?’
He nodded but at the last moment paused and looked back at her over his shoulder, expression troubled. ‘What if it wasn’t two hundred years ago? What if it was a lot more recent than that?’
He did not wait for an answer but went out and closed the door behind him. Leaving Marina staring after him.
1993
CHAPTER 32
On the day after Charlotte’s visit the dawn came, little by little.
When Marina woke she was for a few moments unsure where she was because, instead of the familiar sound of wind and surf, there was silence. She opened her eyes; her bedroom was barely visible in the three-quarters dark but beyond the pale rectangle of the window she could see that the daylight was slowly gathering strength. She lay for a while, watching the coming dawn and listening to the stillness, then got out of bed and walked into the living room. The complete absence of sound created a sense of nakedness in that place where the clean bright air was habitually filled with the voices of sea and wind.
Tamsyn was coming that day, in her wretched helicopter. Charlotte the day before and now Tamsyn: all of a sudden she was the centre of her daughters’ attention. What a coincidence. Except she didn’t believe in coincidences. She had no doubt their visits were connected with her dratted illness and the fact that she’d walked out of hospital. They both wanted her to move closer to them. No doubt they were motivated by the best intentions, but her answer to their concerns was simple. She had no plans to move. She wasn’t going to move. Finish.
She made herself a cup of coffee, opened the door and went outside into the strengthening light. Behind the house, the sun was still hidden below the Wombat Ridge. The shingle beach was in shadow, but further out the ocean blazed with blue and silver light. The sea, normally so tempestuous, was still, its surface a shining shield extending to the horizon. Birds flew: a screech of gulls overhead, with gannets fishing far out, the water bursting in plummets of spray as the heavy bodies crashed into it.
All this was a marvel to Marina. She had been restless when she was young yet in truth had never expected to leave the forest country where she’d been raised. Then she’d met Jory with his different ideas and had followed him to this west coast which ever since had been her home. She’d been back twice, when her parents died. That was all. The forested mountains were a foreign country to her now. When they went she’d been the only one of the family still alive, so she’d rented out the land. It meant she had a bit of money coming in every month, which was handy. Otherwise she had no connection.
Before and after they married, she and Jory had lain here together more times than she could remember, and been happy to do so. She’d given birth to her three children here, had endured the horrors of the war years and their sequel, so that now she found it impossible to imagine living anywhere else.
‘I shall die here,’ she said, raising her voice to challenge the stillness. She would perhaps have said more but instead laughed in amazed delight as a pod of dolphins, far out, lifted their backs in tribute to the dawn.
It was a magical moment of affirmation emerging from the ocean before which Marina, weeping now, raised her locked hands to her mouth in silent worship.
The moment passed although its significance, deeply rooted, remained. Marina dried her eyes, returned to the house and began to make ready for the day. She hoped it would not be too much of a challenge, for this was the day that Tamsyn had decreed she’d be coming to lunch, when she would no doubt try to lay down the law about the problems Marina was causing her children by staying on in this remote place, so unsuitable to someone of her years and dodgy health. It was a challenge that Marina, her will strengthened by the morning’s revelation of the dolphins rising from the ocean’s depths, was determined to resist.
Charlotte’s visit had been something of an ordeal; she hoped things would go more easily today. In her younger days she’d been quite good at laying down the law herself, as Tamsyn would no doubt be more than willing to remind her, but with advancing years had come tranquillity: the first step along the road to senility or to a philosophy better suited to her age?
She wouldn’t try to answer that question. Tranquillity might be a challenge today, in any case, because she suspected that Tamsyn was coming for a purpose, and Tamsyn with a purpose could be formidable indeed.
She would deal with that as and when it happened. In the meantime, she would put such unworthy thoughts aside and concentrate on making lunch.
Things were well advanced by the time she heard the coffee-grinder roar of what Tamsyn had named Charley Chopper. Marina had never been much for dusting and polishing but when she looked around the living room she thought it looked all right, the old furniture with its built-in lustre, its windows open to the breeze that had come up in the last hour, the bunches of flowers re-arranging themselves, as flowers did, in glass jugs filled with water. Comfortable, welcoming, the ideal place to come home to, with the range warming air that was nicely scented with roasting duck, a bottle of Keebunna merlot—one of her favourites, and Tasmanian at that—standing open on a side table, and not a hint of senility or neglect anywhere to be seen.
She went out of the house as Charley Chopper flew low overhead, the noise of its engine shaking the house. Noamunga didn’t run to its own landing pad but there was a patch of level ground behind the generator shed that Tamsyn had used on previous visits.
Marina watched as the helicopter hovered before settling finally on the grass. The sound died as Tamsyn shut down the engines. One engine? Two? Marina the fuddy-duddy didn’t know. She supposed it must be a generational thing but she still found it hard to come to terms with her daughter not only being capable of flying a helicopter but of using it as casually as in the old days she and Jory had used a bus or train.
The canopy opened and Tamsyn climbed out. As always, she was carrying a carrier bag bulging with goodies: food and wine for the mother who she seemed to think might be in danger of starving to death without her daughter’s assistance. One big smile as she strode across the grass.
‘You really are the ultimate criminal woman …’
Now there was a greeting to warm the heart, but that was Tamsyn.
‘Yes, dear.’
‘Discharging yourself from hospital. That poor doctor …’
‘I agree. I thought he was very poor. Trying to order me about … A very foolish man.’
‘I’m sure he was only trying to do what was best for you.’
‘Yes, dear.’
The usual pantomime, repeated every time they met. They looked at each other and laughed, then walked hand in hand to the house. Before going indoors, Tamsyn stopped and looked at the sea, rippled now with golden light.
‘What’s with the weather?’
‘I laid it on specially,’ Marina said.
‘You must have done. I’ve never known it so calm.’
They went into the house. Tamsyn sniffed appreciatively. ‘Wow!’
‘Wild duck,’ Marina said. ‘I picked them up from Bill Philpott’s shop, the day before yesterday. We’ll have a drink while they finish cooking.’
It wasn’t often they could sit out of doors at Noamunga but today they could, so they carried two folding chairs and
set them up on the most level place they could find. Knowing that Tamsyn would be wary of alcohol when she had a helicopter to fly, Marina had squeezed some oranges that morning and now served the juice with a spoonful of sugar and mint leaves from the plants she had grown in a tub behind the house, coaxing them into flourishing life in defiance of the gales.
‘Yum,’ Tamsyn said.
All the children had loved fresh orange juice when they were young. It was nice to think Tamsyn still did; it provided a welcome link with the days when they’d all been so much younger and perhaps more carefree than they were now. The price of what people chose to call success, something Marina suspected she and her daughters would have defined differently. Not Gregory, though; he was so often a trial, but was perhaps closer to her in that way than the others.
‘You didn’t think to bring Esmé?’
‘She was doing something with her friends. She has her own life now.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it? But you still see quite a lot of her?’
‘I do. I like to think we’re close.’
‘No one special on the horizon?’
‘If you mean does she have a boyfriend, I think she’s had quite a few. With her looks it’d be surprising if she hadn’t. But as far as I know, no one special, no.’
‘Plenty of time,’ Marina said.
‘She’s thirty-one.’
‘Women seem to be marrying later, these days.’
They sat peacefully side by side, sharing the grandeur of the sea.
‘I love this place,’ Marina said.
‘I’ve always known it means a lot to you,’ Tamsyn said.
But …
Marina watched the sea as she waited for her daughter to continue.
‘We all want what is best for you,’ Tamsyn said.
‘Of course you do, dear.’ Impervious as any iceberg, yet smiling, placidly determined to avoid confrontation. ‘The wonders of the deep,’ she said.
She felt Tamsyn look at her. Felt the frown. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I saw a pod of dolphins this morning. So beautiful. You know,’ Marina said, ‘there are times when I think that we lose more than we gain by wanting too much out of life.’ She stood, still smiling, still placid. ‘I think I hear the ducks quacking,’ she said. ‘Time to eat.’
Stars Over the Southern Ocean Page 19
