One Would Think the Deep

by Claire Zorn

  29

  Sam spent his days in the water because he wanted to, rather than because that’s where Minty was. Minty developed a bloodhound’s focus on the upcoming comp. It was all he talked about and when Sam, Shane and Minty weren’t in the surf, they were doing weights, or watching the videos Shane made of Minty when Lorraine was at work. If the surf was flat they drove for ages listening to tapes, hunting for a break. Shane came with them when he wasn’t working. One weekend Sam asked Minty where Ruby was and Minty shrugged. ‘Dunno, ay. Haven’t seen her for a while.’ Sam didn’t push it any further.

  Nana provided hot meals and talked about things she had seen on her walks, talkback discussions from the radio, football, anything. She didn’t ask him a single question about what he was doing with himself, how long he was going to stay with her or if he ever planned to get a job.

  Sam never went around to Jono’s. He did everything he could to avoid seeing him. If he were to dig deep enough into himself he would have found the knowledge that Jono reminded Sam too much of a person he couldn’t be, with a family he couldn’t have.

  When he walked past Gretchen’s house he told himself that he didn’t notice if her bedroom light was on.

  The approach of winter brought less partying. Minty said summer was the off-season. Winter was the game. On the headland with the wind blustering his hair and water trickling down his salt-licked back, Sam felt it: the satisfaction of a day in the water, the salvation of it, fierce and brutal and constant. The sea rolling, inhaling and exhaling them. Over and over. The crisp air, the salt, the sun and the water. Scalding showers, deep exhausted sleep and dark, early mornings. Sam was fully converted. He grew his hair past his shoulders, stopped shaving and regularly challenged Minty to twenty pull-ups on the monkey bars after a session.

  Sam formed the knowledge that people who weren’t part of that world didn’t understand it. The perception was that surfing was easy because surfers were lazy, degenerate, bludging scum. Outsiders didn’t recognise the devotion, the pilgrimage, the sacrifice of everything else: money, security, relationships. Outsiders didn’t realise the monasticism of a life in the water. On the headland after a long, cold day surfing it was beautiful in a way that no one says it is between mates: that easy silence, nothing needing to be said and no one really listening anyway. Everyone just watching the water.

  The black hole still opened up within him now and again, but he could dodge it for several hours at a time, as long as he didn’t let himself think about school, abandoned plans, his mother or Gretchen. As long as he didn’t let the snapshots enter his mind: his dead mother, or blood on his knuckles and a figure motionless on the ground.

  One evening they walked up to the shops. Minty went inside and ordered hot chips; Sam slumped in a white plastic chair. He saw Jono round the corner by the video shop, skateboard in his hand, trudging up the hill. There was no way of getting out of it. Jono saw him and gave a nod, looking about as keen for a catch-up as Sam was. Sam thought he might keep walking and it looked for a minute like he would.

  ‘How’s it goin’?’ Sam asked. It was too weird not to say anything.

  Jono stopped. ‘Long time no see.’ There was nothing friendly in his tone. His expression was indifferent.

  ‘How’s it goin’?’ Sam asked again.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘What’s goin’ on?’

  Jono looked away. ‘Not much. Getting a video.’

  Minty came out of the chicken shop. ‘Jono! How’s it goin, brah?’ He grasped Jono’s hand in greeting and Jono endured the gesture. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You know, nothing.’

  ‘Haven’t seen you round.’

  ‘Been busy.’

  ‘Oh sweet. No worries, brah.’

  ‘See you,’ Jono began to walk away. Then he stopped and turned to face Sam. ‘Hey, just so you know, Gretchen’s a friend of mine.’ He stopped and shook his head, ran his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘Not cool, man. Really not cool.’

  Sam wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. Blood pounded in his temples. Jono shook his head and stepped onto his board; Sam watched him glide away. Jono’s Movie Monday. Snapshots began to elbow their way into Sam’s head and he stared at a crack in the concrete pavement, trying to push them out again. He tasted the salt on his lips, felt the aching in his shoulders and tried to use them to anchor himself in the present, where he was okay, where he was a local, where he had a place.

  ‘Whoa!’ Minty laughed and opened the chips. ‘What the hell, dude? You pissed Jono off. Not easy.’

  ‘Hey, how come Ruby’s not around?’

  Minty shrugged and didn’t answer.

  ‘I just haven’t seen her around heaps. And she’s not working.’ Sam flicked his head to the door of the chicken shop. ‘I think she’s dating someone.’

  Minty’s shoulders squared. ‘Why? Why would you think that?’

  ‘I just … she’s been off the radar. She mentioned someone. She’s hot, she wouldn’t be on her own.’

  ‘You don’t know anything.’

  ‘I’m just saying.’

  Minty stood up and brushed off his hands. He started off down the street and Sam followed him.

  ‘Mint. I was just asking.’

  Minty stopped and turned around, chin up, inches away from Sam. ‘No you weren’t. You’re looking to get your head punched in. I’m not doin’ that for ya.’

  ‘You waste your time with other chicks, someone’s gonna get in there.’

  ‘Who? You?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He was riding the wave straight into the rocks but he couldn’t pull out.

  Minty’s jaw clenched. His nostrils flared with his breath. ‘Shut up. Shut the hell up.’

  ‘You should know.’

  Minty grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt and shoved him into the side of a concrete bus shelter. Sam didn’t fight back. Minty grabbed him by the throat, holding him by the jaw with one hand. He was much stronger than Sam and Sam felt the squeeze of pressure on his larynx. Minty pulled his arm back and curled his lip, ready to smash Sam’s face. Sam knew Minty could kill him with one punch. He waited. But Minty exhaled and shoved Sam’s face away with his palm. He walked off, leaving Sam crumpled against the bus shelter. Then he stopped and turned around, strode back up to him.

  His voice was hoarse. ‘You can’t make me be that guy. I’m goin’ home. Sun’s up at six-forty-five. I’ll pick you up at six for Nari.’

  Sam wandered up to the beach. It was always dark when Gretchen finished her run. He worried about her walking back to her house in the dark. She came to a stop next to the kiosk at 7 pm, the same every evening. He kept his distance, in the shadows up beyond the change rooms. He always made sure he was there, out of view. He followed her as she walked home, waiting until she closed the gate behind her. Was he the type of person he was trying to protect her from?

  If he was down on the beach or the concourse he could sense when she was nearby. He would know exactly where she was without looking in her direction. He couldn’t look at her or take his eyes off her. The force that drew him to her was unrelenting and he was always on guard and acutely aware of it. Yet he behaved as if he didn’t know her and he never had. If it was gutless, he wasn’t sure.

  He couldn’t handle the cheap sleeping bag on the floor of the caravan annex just yet. Instead, he walked to the grass on the headland, where he had lain next to Gretchen. He tried to find the exact spot. He lay down on the dew-damp grass and watched the stars, hugging himself against the cold.

  Minty pulled up the Datsun in front of the caravan before dawn. Sam was up. He downed a glass of milk and Minty helped him anchor his board to the roof racks. They skidded out of the van park, heading south toward Nari Bay.

  The radio was tuned to a commercial station. Sam leaned forward and turned the dial, listening as the red needle moved over the numbers. He stopped when he hit a Blur song. The announcer began to talk over the end of the song.

  ‘If
you’ve just joined us, we’re trying to confirm reports that Jeff Buckley has gone missing and is presumed dead. Reports are saying that Buckley went for a swim in the Mississippi River last night local time and has not been seen since. We will bring you more information as it comes to hand.’

  Sam felt like someone had a chisel and they were tapping the end of it with a hammer, prying open his chest. He felt hot and dizzy and his fingertips hummed with a horrible sensation. He gripped the seat as if in danger of being thrown from the car. He couldn’t find his breath.

  ‘Stop the car.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pull over,’ Sam said. Minty pulled the car off the road, the tires crunching over the gravel. ‘Did she just say Jeff Buckley died?’

  ‘Yeah. Can we keep going?’

  ‘No. Turn around.’

  ‘Brah, we’re goin for a surf.’

  ‘Please. Take me back to the van.’

  ‘For real?’

  ‘For real,’ Sam snapped. Minty held up a hand to placate him and made a U-turn. Sam turned the radio up, but the same information was repeated intermittently. Nothing new.

  Back at the van, Nana had already left for her morning swim. Sam slid the door open and sat on his sleeping bag. He switched the radio on and listened. They played ‘Mojo Pin’ and Sam felt as though he had to somehow hold onto himself to try and stop the plummet. He lay down and felt the silky coolness of the sleeping bag against his wet cheek; he drew his knees to his chest and made himself as small as possible. He was a pebble at the bottom of the sea, the current rolling him over and tossing him, skittering helplessly.

  Wiggle their tails and away they go.

  The announcer came back on, her voice was quiet and mournful. ‘We can confirm that Buckley is missing, presumed dead. A search for his body is underway.’ She kept talking but Sam wasn’t listening. His mouth was dry. The fabric against his face was wet with tears. He uncurled and stood, holding the walls to steady himself as he edged into the kitchenette. With trembling hands he took a glass and when he raised it to his lips it sloshed and spilled down his front. The door slid open and Nana bustled in through the annex and in to the kitchenette. There was barely room for two people.

  ‘What you doing here? Thought you’d gone for a surf with Michael? What’s wrong, love? You’re white as a sheet.’

  ‘Nothing. Someone died.’ Sam wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.

  ‘What? Who died, love? Who?’

  ‘No one, just … a singer, a musician.’

  ‘A mate of yours?’

  ‘No. I just heard on the radio.’

  Nana took a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard next to him. ‘Oh. You gave me a start. Thought you meant a real person. I remember when Elvis died. Everyone was very upset. Never mind. I’m going to put on the kettle. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  Sam turned and left the van without answering her. He walked along the concrete path, beyond the shower block to the beach. He never came this way, never walked on the beach like he had done with Gretchen that night, his jacket on her shoulders. He always took the route along the headland, straight down to the rocks. The wind was blustering, ripping and biting through him. The water was a shifting, churning mess. He sat in the sand and watched the waves. The wind stung his eyes and the sand grazed wherever his skin was exposed: the backs of his hands, his cheeks. He looked up the beach and saw a figure: female, long dark skirt billowing in the wind, curls whipping around her face. He recognised her, how could he not? He didn’t give a second thought to walking up to her. Gretchen turned and watched him, arms folded, the sleeves of her knitted jumper pulled down over her fingers. Her eyes were rimmed red and her cheeks were wet. She didn’t say anything, turning to look back at the water. He stood next to her and she didn’t move. They didn’t speak. After a long time she turned and walked away.

  WINTER

  30

  Sam was lying on the li-lo on the concrete floor of the caravan annex. The radio announcer told him that a witness had seen Jeff walk into the river fully clothed; a wave from a passing speedboat had pulled him under the water.

  No one had taught Jeff how to handle himself in the water.

  The radio was playing an interview with him from a few years before, punctuated with phone calls from bereaved fans. Some were still holding out hope Jeff was fine and was wandering the banks of the Mississippi writing song lyrics. Sam’s experience had taught him that the worst possible scenario was usually the true one.

  A rapping sound came from the door. ‘Sam? It’s Lorraine. Need a word.’

  He got up and slid open the annex door. Lorraine stood in her tracksuit and thongs, cigarette between her fingers.

  ‘Hey Aunty Lorraine.’

  ‘You coming to the comp tomorrow? Minty needs you. Says he wants us all there.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We’re leaving at six-thirty. Be there if you want a lift. Been in any more fights?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Minty tells me I should let you move back in. I’ve got bloody social services on the phone askin’ why you ain’t bin to school.’

  ‘They ask where I was living?’

  ‘Don’t you be smart with me, Samuel. What are you doing with yourself?’

  ‘Been surfing with Minty.’

  ‘Well. He’s gonna be world champ. What’s your excuse?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  Lorraine mimicked him. Unimpressed. ‘You’re a smart kid. I got bloody Shane.’ She pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. ‘Thick as two bricks. Can’t teach him anything. You, you, though. You got a future.’ Lorraine looked into the van. ‘Where’s Nana?’

  ‘Out. She goes dancing on Thursdays.’

  ‘Dancing? Bugger me. That woman.’ Lorraine sighed. ‘Where’s she dancing?’

  ‘Up the club. They do line dancing there.’

  Lorraine rolled her eyes. ‘Of course they do. I come here to talk to her about the prodigal bloody son: he’s at home, she’s out bloody dancing. She reckon you should be in school?’

  Sam shrugged and Lorraine mimicked him again. ‘Geez, between the two of you, it’s the bloody mafia, no one saying anything.’

  ‘I think …’

  ‘Oh yes? What you think?’

  ‘I think she just wants me to stay. So she’s, you know, she’s laying off me.’

  ‘That what you think I should do?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Lorraine took a drag on her cigarette and exhaled through her nose. Sam remembered how when he was small he and his mum used to call her Puff the Magic Dragon.

  ‘Your mum’s apartment has sold and the loan has been covered. There’s a bit left, together with her superannuation. I been moving her savings over into an account for you. Put it all in there. It’s yours. You’re only gonna get it if you get your HSC and sort yourself out.’ She pointed a pink fingernail at him. ‘I’m not gonna let you piss it away. Got it?’

  ‘It’s too late to start year twelve.’

  ‘Then you repeat year eleven. Look at me, Samuel. If you think we’re gonna stand around and let you piss away your life and everything your mother taught you, you got another thing comin’. God knows we had our problems, but she was still my sister. I love her despite it all.’ Lorraine dropped the cigarette butt and ground it into the dirt with the toe of her thong. ‘Go to bed. It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  He didn’t sleep. His mother was too close. He could see every crease on her face, every worry line he’d ever given her.

  Before first light Sam left the caravan and walked up to the Booners’. Minty was sitting on the front lawn, beanie pulled down over his ears. Shane was sorting wetsuits and organising the back of the van.

  ‘Hey Mint.’

  Minty was nervous, he nodded at Sam without making eye contact.

  ‘You sleep?’ Sam asked Minty.

  Minty shook his head.

  ‘Where’s your Walkman?’

  M
inty motioned toward the garage. Sam went in and found it on the bench press. He carried it over to Minty.

  ‘It’ll help.’

  Minty didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Think of the cash. Think of Hawaii.’

  Shane placed a hand on each of Minty’s shoulders. ‘This is yours, Minty. Yours. You got this. You’re gonna charge.’

  Shane nodded toward the boards lying on the grass. ‘Load her up.’ He whooped and slapped the bonnet of the car.

  Lorraine came out as they were loading the gear. She would drive in Minty’s Datsun with Sam. When it was time to go she took Minty’s face in her hands and pulled his forehead down to meet hers, talking softly to him. The gesture sliced through Sam.

  In the car Lorraine was quiet but distracted. She kept fiddling with the radio and darting from lane to lane for no reason Sam could make out.

  ‘Nana coming?’ he asked, knowing he probably shouldn’t.

  Lorraine shot him a furious look. ‘No, Nana’s not bloody coming. Jesus!’

  ‘I thought she might.’

  ‘Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.’

  ‘Sure … So … you’ve got funds put aside for me?’

  ‘If you go to school.’

  ‘Thought you’d pocketed it all.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought you were keeping all the money from Mum.’

  ‘Christ alive! What do you think I am?!’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I dunno. I saw her balance kept going down.’

  ‘What did she tell you about me? Geez. Well, I never.’

  ‘Nothing. Mum never told me anything about you … about what happened between you and her.’

  Lorraine leaned forward over the wheel, pointed her left index finger at Sam as she spoke.

  ‘It wasn’t my bloody fault. Everyone always assumes it was my fault.’ She shook her head and muttered to herself. ‘If only they knew.’

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘Look, you. All you need to know is I’ve done the right thing by you and if you go to bloody school, get your HSC and do university like you’re supposed to, you’ll be right. You’ll be set. And if you think I didn’t know you were helping yourself to a little spending money, you got another thing coming. I was draining that account to put it in a high interest one for you.’