I Got His Blood on Me: Frontier Tales

by Lawrence Patchett

  But I had a system and I stuck with it. First I swam thirty strokes freestyle, then turned over and kicked back, then trod water for sixty paces to watch the crowd, then settled to a mix of sidestroke and floating on my back. This I repeated every ten minutes, in the last phase keeping my arms clamped against my sides to preserve warmth.

  It was not a good system. I knew I’d soon exhaust myself. But I had no choice. I was not at ease in the water. I couldn’t just loll and float. I had to move about. Already I’d suffered two bouts of seizing cramp in my right calf, and in the water this was hard to counteract. It is very hard to float while holding one leg up high and straight, to pull a cramped muscle out.

  In the twilight I heard Frank crying. My head snapped up; I looked for him; then swam another grim and halting length. There came a time when, every moment that I stopped in one place, I shivered horribly. I circled and talked aloud. I built it into my system, this shivering talk. Don’t give up, I said. Helen. Frank. This became my mantra. It accompanied each cold stroke. It occupied my head.

  Drawn as if by their gravity I came closer to the champs. These three were resting in a nucleus, floating on their backs. Every now and then they lifted their heads and swapped some talk, their conversation disjointed and aimed up, as if spoken for the sky’s sake. As I sidestroked nearby, they talked of their nieces and kids.

  The swimmer I’d seen earlier laughed at something, rolled over and ducked her head. Coming up near me, she wiped her face and blinked.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘I saw you come in, I think. How’re you finding it?’

  I trod water for a moment. ‘It’s colder than I expected.’

  She watched my shiver, my laboured tread, then rolled onto her back for tact’s sake. From there she introduced us—Mercedes and Lily and Katerina, herself.

  I smiled and said my name, gave each a wave in place of shaking hands. Right away they switched to sidestroking gently so we could talk, moving to general topics with the grace of dinner guests. They asked how long I’d been in, and they gave advice.

  For my part I couldn’t say much. It was not easy to talk. I couldn’t hear when on my back, and sidestroke tired me out. By now even just to float was hard work.

  Turning away I saw Helen walking the perimeter with Frank. I checked the poolside clock. It was time for food; she was collecting the broth and pipes.

  I excused myself. ‘I need to see my wife,’ I said.

  Easily the three rolled their heads.

  ‘Which one is she?’ said Katerina.

  I pointed to the hurrying thin shape.

  She took this in, the bundle that contained Frank.

  ‘That’s nice,’ she said, at length. ‘Give her our best.’

  I nodded my thanks.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘Don’t be afraid to come back. We’ve almost run out of things to talk about.’

  I glanced at the others. She turned and smiled to show it was a joke.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to talk. Swimming’s not my natural sport.’

  She was on her back again; she lifted her head. This time her voice had a different note. ‘Good luck, Doug—you and your wife.’

  A new set of wavelets came from some faraway source and I braced for them. Beside me Katerina adjusted, letting them go underneath. It was so natural to her. She hardly seemed to compete.

  Away on the poolside Helen was coming back. She had the pipes. I ducked my head and swam towards her. The waves were against me, pushing gently but insistent. When I came up for breath, saltwater clapped against my mouth and face.

  The pipe warmed my hand, the circle of thumb I’d stopped it with. Helen crouched above with the full jar of broth; in the seat just back, Frankie slept.

  ‘Have you had yours yet?’ I said.

  ‘The attendant said to feed you first, then be discreet.’

  ‘I won’t take much,’ I said.

  ‘Take what you need,’ she said. ‘That first feed filled me up.’

  I nodded at this but resolved to take no more than half. I lifted the pipe to my mouth and a dollop of leftover broth eased down my throat. Immediately it perked me up. Then Helen lifted the jar of broth and slopped it in the funnel. I rose up to take it and the liquid cannoned in to choke my throat. Wrenching out the pipe I coughed and broth sprayed my face, then the sea at my side. Involuntarily I reached out to scoop it, dashing the diluting liquid at my mouth. At the same time, Helen upended the jar and funnel to save what was left. Broth splashed the concrete.

  Something was lodged in my throat. I coughed and said, ‘God’s sake.’

  Helen was wringing broth from her shirt-sleeve to the jar, saving what had been soaked up.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Doug,’ she said.

  ‘Have the rest,’ I said. The aftertaste was briny in my mouth.

  ‘No, you’ll need the strength. There’s about a quarter left,’ she said.

  ‘Have it,’ I said. ‘I’ve had enough.’

  With the pipe still in her hands she looked down helplessly, remnant broth spilling from the pipe in drips and globs. ‘I’m sorry, Doug,’ she said.

  ‘It was an accident,’ I said. ‘You should drink that while it’s hot.’

  Seeing her so upset I tried to soften my expression, but I was cold now and working hard to tread upright. I felt the crowd behind Helen, straining to catch our talk.

  ‘You’re very pale, Doug. Are you all right?’

  I’ll do a length, I tried to say, but lost it in the chattering of my teeth. Like my shiver it came like this in periodic outbreaks.

  Helen watched me very close.

  I nodded towards the seats, to Frank. I meant it to ask how she would get on up there at night in the seats.

  ‘Dougie,’ she said.

  I turned and tried sidestroke.

  ‘Doug, when will you come out?’ she said. ‘Those ladies have got two days on you, plus a night. They’ve got it all tied up.’

  ‘I’m not giving up.’

  ‘You’ve won us food already, Doug,’ she said. ‘You’ve done enough.’

  I lifted my head to repeat myself, I won’t give up, but lost it as my teeth clacked and bounced.

  ‘Doug,’ said Helen. ‘Don’t risk your health.’

  I sidestroked slowly, keeping my head above the salt. Beneath the surface my right arm pushed against the depth.

  ‘Helen,’ I said, ‘drink the broth.’

  As it came on for dark I heard the three champs preparing for the night. Across the water their voices came like campers beside some creek.

  ‘Where are you tonight? North end or south?’

  ‘South.’

  ‘And who’s in the benches?’

  ‘The same as last night.’

  With my senses somewhat distant I felt less cold now than I had been some hours back. The worst violence of my shivering had stopped. I was more relaxed. It was easier to float on my back, although when I came to swim proper strokes my arms wouldn’t reach to their full extent, and my calves were numb and tight.

  The pool was half-lit by poolside lights. In this changed gloom I lost sense of distance and depth, and could not anticipate the approach of wavelets; several times a wave broke over my face and I had to cough. Each time I cleared my face and muttered, Don’t give up. Mostly I floated and did a restricted sort of sidestroke.

  At some point I felt the shape of someone floating not far off. When it came the voice sounded very close.

  ‘Is that you Doug?’

  It was Katerina. I tried to answer but only a cracking noise came from my throat.

  ‘Are you all right, Doug?’ she said. ‘How’s Helen? How’s Frank?’

  I kicked a bit with my legs.

  ‘Doug? Are you staying in all night, Doug?’

  I hope to be, I tried to say, but my voice wouldn’t work.

  A few moments passed, small waves lapping between us.

  ‘Hang in there, Doug,’ she said.

  Shortly a
fter this I heard someone swimming towards the lights. The strokes were slow and solid; submerged, my ears caught their metallic underwater punch. Above, the floodlights cast silver on the water, shadowing the ripples and troughs. Still on my back I closed my eyes and fancied I might sleep. Two waves came across my face and I coughed, then again sank comfortably back.

  I had a long-forgotten song in my head. It came in fits and starts. A song Helen had sung once. In between the waves and song fragments I heard someone calling through the dark. I heard Helen’s voice in it. Helen, I thought. I turned my head and across the pool I saw her silhouette. I saw her holding Frank.

  ‘Doug,’ she said. She beckoned me across.

  I floated in the same place while underneath me the waves lifted and slopped.

  ‘Doug,’ said Helen. ‘It’s time for broth. Midnight.’

  Stiffly I rolled and began to sidestroke. I couldn’t manage well, my arms no longer having the reach. Slowly I came towards her shape.

  ‘That’s it, Doug,’ she said. ‘Can you see Frank?’

  I lifted and peered up. I couldn’t see the jar and pipes. I kicked harder with my legs, came up for a moment and sank, rose up again and sank. My arms were reaching out, holding the water to keep me up.

  I heard Helen’s voice. I saw another shape. I couldn’t make it out. I smelt the chicken broth.

  ‘This is the attendant,’ said Helen. ‘He’s got the broth. I’ve already had mine. He’s here to make sure I don’t spill the rest.’

  I heard them murmur something. I saw them as they knelt. I sank in the water and choked and rose and coughed. My arms ran out hopelessly in front.

  Helen said something distant. I heard her voice crack.

  The water seemed to want me. It was very hard to kick up out of it.

  ‘Doug,’ said Helen. ‘Oh Christ.’

  I saw the attendant reach. ‘All right, mate,’ he said. ‘Come up for broth. ’

  ‘It’s enough, Doug,’ said Helen. ‘You’ve done enough.’

  ‘Helen,’ I said.

  ‘Can you see Frank?’ she said.

  I sploshed and tried to make him out.

  The attendant had his arms right out. ‘Come on, mate,’ he said. ‘Come up and have some broth.’

  *

  Once I’d been rubbed warm and wrapped in clothes and fed, we slept in the manager’s office, Helen close against me, Frank curled into her chest. My sleep was instant and deep but short.

  I woke into deep night. Light from the pool bounced in the room and danced. Helen was still asleep. My limbs were heavy but my mind very alert. I lay for a moment, then stood from the blankets and went out.

  Still two shapes floated in the oblong of silvered dark. Only Mercedes Gleitze and Katerina Nehua were left.

  Like a man of wood I walked with stiffened joints back to our camp. People were lying asleep in the seats. From the other side someone occasionally called out. He shouted to the swimmers the hours they had been swimming. In his voice I thought I heard a note of panic.

  I’d been seated for a time before I saw Helen coming with Frank. Scanning the dark seats she found me and wearily came up.

  ‘What are we doing?’ she said. ‘What was wrong with the office?’

  ‘Is this all right?’ I said. ‘Can I watch these two while you sleep?’

  With Frank she stood above. Nearby someone sleeping groaned and turned; Helen sat down and set about feeding Frank. It was strange to be out in such a place at night—the pool-sounds, the city mostly quiet beyond the fence, sometimes swishing with traffic or people shutting doors.

  I watched the swimmers for a long time. Small down there, they made their circles in the dark.

  ‘What have they got?’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Helen blurrily, finished with Frank now and already almost asleep.

  ‘How can they last?’ I said. ‘How are they doing this?’

  Helen grumbled and went back to sleep.

  Gliding on her back through the patchy dark, Katerina swam nearest us. The faraway voice called out her hour thirty-eight. I watched her slow progress.

  Frankie stirred and woke up. He burbled and I took him up. He didn’t cry and wriggle back. Instead he pawed at the button on my chest. He’d been strangely placid through most of the contest, Helen had said—perhaps the water, she had said, perhaps being close to so much water had calmed and helped him sleep.

  Now at his tiny noises she woke and watched him for a few minutes. Then she wiped her mouth. ‘Doug?’

  I adjusted the blankets round Frankie’s face.

  ‘How are we getting home?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I can’t think about it.’

  ‘We’ve got no money left.’

  ‘I know that,’ I said. My eyes went from Frank to the pool’s dancing black.

  Helen looked that way, then settled back. ‘I’ll fix it in the morning,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to that attendant.’

  She burrowed to get more comfort against my side. I watched Katerina float. Down in the pool she kicked lightly in a circle on her back. Surely by now she must be exhausted. Surely the cold had clamped her legs and back. She’d arrived hungry too, the attendant had said. She was just like us, but in her strokes there was no sign of panic. What was it? What was in her head?

  Within the first hour of daybreak a new crowd began to cram the seats. They called out and pointed, some called support. All leaned forward to see these last rites.

  And now the swimmers were tiring. Finally we could see it. I felt it like relief. Katerina was worst—she’d entered in worse state, hungrier, and now it showed at last. She floated continuously now, seldom standing to tread water or vary her stroke. At moments she seemed to slip and sink and the crowd would shout—twice I stood up, hand at my mouth. She’d been in so long, and by now she was the crowd favourite. Her story had got out—her lack of food, her five kids. Still fatigued myself, it drained me to watch her, yet I couldn’t tear myself away from it. Now that she struggled she seemed more like us. She thought of her kids. Surely that was part of it. She was fighting past her endurance.

  Transfixed I watched as she took the morning’s first food-break. I saw her take the pipe. Standing up to tread water she gave three or four kicks, then sank, her hands still above water, holding the pipe. Down and down she sank. Her legs had given out.

  ‘Doug,’ said Helen. ‘Doug.’ She was pulling me down—I’d leapt up in panic.

  Katerina couldn’t tread water; she rose and sank. She was just like us, she couldn’t take the pipe. Turning on her back she kicked towards the pool’s centre. The attendant pleaded with her but she ignored him, even as she struggled to keep a flat-out shape.

  ‘Doug, sit down,’ said Helen.

  ‘She’s had it,’ I said. ‘I can’t watch.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Helen. ‘She’s exhausted—that’s all. She just needs to come out.’

  ‘She has a nine-week-old,’ I said. ‘She’s got kids.’

  ‘Sit down, Doug. She’s won a hundred pounds. She’s safe now. She’s won second place.’

  I stared down at Helen.

  ‘She’s done it,’ Helen said. ‘She’s safe.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘She’s done it.’

  ‘Sit down, Doug,’ said Helen. ‘You’ll spook Frank.’

  I remained standing up there. I watched the attendant talk to the fading swimmer, trying to cajole her out.

  ‘Here,’ said Helen. ‘Take Frank. I need the toilet.’

  Without waiting for my answer she thrust him up at me. Ripped away from the pool, I looked in his face, still partly covered by the blanket. He was dozy, his lips cracking at the corners as he moved his mouth. I expected him to bawl for Helen but he did not.

  Down by the pool the manager was with the attendant now. Both were trying to persuade Katerina out. Still she refused to come out. Holding Frank I exulted over it. I joined the shouting crowd. Now everyone was standing up. She circ
led in the centre, not giving up. This was her hour forty-six.

  ‘You see that, Frank,’ I said, holding him up. ‘You see this? This is it. This is a triumph.’

  *

  Helen and I had packed and were standing by the attendant’s desk. At last Katerina was coming out. She was being helped up. I tried not to look. I tried to give her the privacy of that last moment, but I couldn’t help it—I craned to see her come up through the hoop of staff and journalists. I saw her whitened palms on the pool side, her black hair and drained face. Once free of the water she slumped to the concrete. After a few moments she roused herself and smiled, and the applause was raucous.

  Again I held up Frank so he could see it, although I knew he was too young to make anything out.

  She murmured something to O’Neill, who immediately stood to loudhailer it. ‘She says she wants to sleep.’

  Another roar went up.

  She’d won second place. Behind her in the pool Mercedes Gleitze was still swimming backstroke. It didn’t matter somehow. It didn’t count.

  The attendant sidled up. He stood at my shoulder, spoke while we both looked straight ahead.

  ‘You know she’s going off in an ambulance,’ he said. ‘Katerina has to go for doctors’ checks.’

  ‘I suppose that’s right,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I ordered two,’ he said. ‘Two ambulances.’

  I nodded to this, still watching the swimmer and the journalists, not comprehending what he’d said.

  ‘Two ambulances now, and one later for that Mercedes, who’s finishing later, in first place.’

  Now I understood. I glanced at him, not making it obvious.

  He smiled and said, ‘That means one whole empty ambulance, with spare seats. Whoops.’

  I faced him directly now, and something inside me collapsed with fatigue and relief. Numbly I watched a cigar pass from his hand to his mouth.

  He smiled as he saw me look at it. ‘This is number fifteen,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ I said.