Something Fishy

by Derek Hansen

  Yes, de Benke thought, it was up to him. To go or not to go? In the end, it was the lack of pressure or any suggestion of a come-on that decided things for him.

  ‘It is easy to believe that sea serpents don’t exist,’ said Ian Kenny,‘but not so easy to believe that they have never existed.’ He reached over with the bottle and topped up de Benke’s beer. De Benke didn’t object. The afternoon was pleasantly warm so they sat at a table outside, beneath an extension of the veranda roof. ‘Sea serpents occur in literature from too many different cultures, in too many different places and over too great a time span to be simply dismissed.’

  De Benke was happy to let Ian do the talking while he tried to get a measure of the man.

  ‘A sea serpent is mentioned in the Old Testament,’ said Ian. ‘It was named Leviathan or Rahab.’

  ‘Some believe the names refer to a giant dragon,’ said de Benke softly.

  ‘True,’ said Ian.‘I can’t mount an argument either way. But a sea serpent also occurs in Babylonian literature.’

  ‘Marduk, perhaps also a dragon,’ said de Benke.

  ‘I’m prepared to concede both are probably myths,’ said Ian. ‘Along with Jormungandr, the Norse serpent that is supposed to have encircled the world. But there are more recent sightings that are not so easily discarded.’

  ‘Olaus Magnus?’ said de Benke.

  ‘1555,’ said Ian.‘History of the Northern People. He described a sea serpent that routinely terrified fishermen along the coast of Norway. Bishop Hans Egede described a giant sea serpent he encountered on his way to Greenland in 1734. There are endless reports of sightings among the Nordic people and I’m not prepared to dismiss them all as flights of fancy. Are you aware of the report from Captain McQuhoe of HMS Daedalus in 1848?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why would a captain in the Royal Navy risk his career and livelihood if he wasn’t convinced of what he saw? And his description of a hairy mane around the serpent’s neck matched the description given by Olaus Magnus three centuries earlier.’

  ‘Have you always been interested in sea serpents?’ asked de Benke.‘You’ve obviously done your research.’

  ‘I wasn’t interested at all until I saw one. That’s what got me interested. I wanted to know what I saw.’

  ‘Are you certain it wasn’t Architeuthis you saw?’

  ‘Absolutely. The waters off the rise are two and a half thousand metres deep. We’ve seen giant squid here before. Besides, Architeuthis is estimated to reach around nine metres in length. Nine metres doesn’t even get close to what we saw. And Architeuthis doesn’t have scales.’

  ‘I read the account of your sighting in your book Fishing Our Way. Peter showed it to me. There were two boats, right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Eight people in all, four in each boat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tourists?’

  ‘Mostly.’

  ‘And you watched this serpent for, what? Half an hour?’

  ‘Probably a little under.’

  ‘Even so, eight people, mostly tourists, watch something as extraordinary as a giant sea serpent and nobody thinks to take a photograph? Tourists carry cameras like dogs carry fleas. And nobody took a photograph?’

  ‘Nobody had a camera with them. That’s not so unusual. There’s no room on my boat to put them where they won’t get either tossed around or wet. I encourage people to leave their cameras in their car where they’re safe, and to take pictures of the catch on our return. It’s a practice born of experience. Besides, truth be known, there wasn’t a lot to photograph. All a photo would show was a hump in the water. Also, my camera doesn’t have much of a zoom. Even if I’d had it with me, I couldn’t do it justice.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe no one took a camera. One could easily slip into the pocket of a jacket or hold-all and be quite safe.’

  ‘That’s not my experience, but, look, you would’ve needed an underwater camera anyway. That’s where the action was. You’ve read my piece so you should know that. The water was exceptionally clear. It gets like that on a calm day out on the drop-off. We reckoned we could see down to around twenty metres. The thing was around a metre in diameter and poised like an arch. Neither leg of the arch appeared to get thicker or thinner as it disappeared into the depths. So we don’t know which end its head was attached to. We don’t know whether it was coming or going. But we do know that whatever it was had to be at least forty metres long plus the few metres that were out of the water.’

  ‘And it definitely had scales?’

  ‘About eight centimetres across. I didn’t touch them. Howard Christian did. I wasn’t game to get that close.’

  De Benke finished his beer and played with his coaster until Ian took the hint and refilled his glass.

  ‘Tell me,’ de Benke said,‘why do you think sightings of sea serpents are now so rare? When was the last claimed sighting apart from yours? Canada, wasn’t it, 1994?’

  ‘Pollution and overfishing. There are your culprits. Most of the sightings over the past five hundred years have been in the North Sea. You have to assume that a giant creature like a sea serpent would need a vast and constant supply of food. The North Sea cod grounds provided that until they were overfished to the point of no return. Take away the food source and you take away the creatures that feed on it. Sea serpents, if they existed in the North Sea, would have simply died out as the cod were depleted.’

  ‘What happened in the North Sea probably happened elsewhere,’ cut in Peter. ‘Name the ocean that hasn’t been overfished. If we haven’t starved the things to death, we’ve probably killed them with pollution.’

  ‘If sea serpents still exist — and I believe they do — I think it is probable that they would turn up here or in subantarctic waters,’ said Ian. ‘Both places are isolated, unpolluted and have an abundant food source. Subantarctic waters have, amongst other things, vast shoals of the Patagonian toothfish, seals, penguins, whales and, for all I know, giant squid. Here we have the Norfolk Rise. I don’t know what’s two and a half thousand metres down off the drop-off, but I do know there’s plenty of fish up on the rise. Trumpeter, cod, kingfish, bonito, tuna and sharks, plus all the bait fish. Why do I think sea serpents are still alive here? We have the necessary ingredients to support them: environment, isolation, clean water and a reliable source of food.’

  ‘How many times have you been out to the drop-off?’ asked de Benke.

  ‘How many hot dinners have you had?’ replied Ian.

  ‘And you’ve only seen a sea serpent once?’

  ‘Yes, but Howard and I aren’t the only ones to have seen it. Other fishermen have seen one too, but like Howard they’re pretty guarded when it comes to talking about it. It’s too easy to be made out a fool.’ If Ian had intended a rebuke for his treatment in Rawson Hall, it slipped by de Benke.

  ‘Tell him about Soupy,’ said Peter.

  ‘Who’s Soupy?’ asked de Benke.

  ‘Was,’ said Peter.‘The old bloke died about three years ago. He passed on his collection of curios to Ian.’

  ‘What’s his relevance?’

  ‘Soupy was the first local fisherman to see one of the serpents. At least, he was the first to openly talk about seeing them,’ said Ian, picking up the story.

  ‘Them,’ said de Benke.‘Plural?’

  ‘That’s right. Soupy became fascinated by them. He raced out to the drop-off at every excuse. He claimed a dozen or more sightings. Raved about them. Said there was a family out there and that he could tell one from the other.’

  ‘Did you go out with him and look?’

  ‘Yeah. At least a dozen times. Saw nothing except whales, sharks and the occasional marlin. The thing is, Soupy was a wicked raconteur. He had more tales than a tankful of bait fish. You never knew what to believe, and he didn’t care one way or the other, so long as he had a good time and a few laughs and we kept the amber fluid up to him. Missed him when he died, though. Think of
him every time I look through my display cabinet.’

  ‘May I have a look?’

  From past experience de Benke knew that now was about the time he’d be thrown the baited hook and decided to make things easy for them. It was a test. If they offered him the piscatorial equivalent of a tuft of hair he was out of there. Ian and Peter led him to a 1940s’ glass display cabinet crammed full of artifacts. Ian had an extensive collection of shells, among them nautilus and paper nautilus shells, descending in size from adult to juvenile.

  ‘Impressive,’ said de Benke, but that wasn’t what caught his eye. It was the sharks’ teeth, ranging from the gigantic to the merely large.

  ‘Great white,’ said Ian, pointing to each of the teeth in turn. ‘Tiger shark, bronze whaler, hammerhead, grey nurse, thresher.’

  ‘And this?’ De Benke pointed to a huge fossilised tooth.

  ‘I thought you’d know,’ said Ian.

  De Benke picked up the tooth, showed surprise at its weight, and examined it. ‘Carcharodon megalodon, I’d guess. Never expected to see one here. Where did you get it?’

  ‘Part of Soupy’s collection.’

  ‘Very impressive,’ said de Benke. He thought it was time to cut to the chase. He and some of the other authors had been invited out to the island’s best restaurant, as guests of a publishing company. He appreciated good food, especially when he wasn’t picking up the tab, and was determined not to let the opportunity slip by. ‘Your collection is interesting but I see nothing to convince me to begin a search for your sea serpent. I’m not doubting your word, but it costs a significant amount of money to mount an expedition and my backers would require something more substantial than a reported sighting. I’m sorry if I disappoint you.’

  Peter and Ian exchanged glances.

  ‘Let’s have a beer for the road,’ said Peter.

  De Benke returned to the table feeling a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Ian had failed to convince him. The weakness in his story was that nobody had taken a photograph. People had had cameras, opportunity and incentive and still hadn’t taken a picture. That simply did not ring true. He glanced around the walls of the annexe and noticed Maori meres and ceremonial sticks fastened there. There were a few Fijian weapons also attached to the wall and a primitive bow with an assortment of arrows. Part of him wished he could stay longer but dinner called.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said as Ian once more filled his glass. He took a sip and replaced it on his coaster.

  ‘Hard evidence,’ said Ian. ‘I can’t give you that. All I can give you is my word, which I concede probably isn’t enough.’

  ‘As I said, I’m sorry.’ De Benke didn’t feel the least bit sorry.

  ‘What I can give you is something to think about.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not sure I should be doing this.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said de Benke, more annoyed than intrigued.

  ‘When you get a second, take a close look at that coaster you’ve been playing with,’ cut in Peter.

  ‘My coaster?’ De Benke lifted his beer glass and picked up the mat beneath it. It was hard and unabsorbent, entirely unsuited to its role. He tried to flex it but it resisted his attempt. Now that he looked, there was something very curious about it. He stood and held it up to the light. He recognised what it was immediately and stared at it in disbelief.‘It’s a fish scale!’

  ‘Which some fool, probably Soupy, has seen fit to laminate in plastic,’ said Peter with an uncharacteristic flash of anger. ‘All to make a set of eight beer coasters. Well, that’s about where Soupy’s mind was at.’

  De Benke studied the fish scale with an expression filled with wonder. The scale was almost twelve centimetres across and he couldn’t imagine the size of the fish it had come from.

  ‘Was it fossilised?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t have been,’ said Ian. ‘I wondered that myself, but all eight of them are consistent with modern fish scales.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said de Benke.‘Unquestionably cycloid. God knows what they came from but that probably rules out your sea serpent.’

  ‘Why?’ said Ian.‘Who is to say sea serpents haven’t evolved along with modern fish? Why shouldn’t their scales be cycloid?’

  De Benke had no answer. He turned the scale over and over in front of the light, put it back down on the table and picked up another.

  ‘Are you saying this is from a sea serpent?’ said de Benke.

  ‘No way,’ said Ian. ‘I’m just not prepared to exclude the possibility. Soupy claimed he acquired them when one of the sea serpents rubbed up and down along the side of his boat as if scraping off parasites. It scraped off a few scales at the same time. That’s what he claimed but I’m not saying I believe him.’

  ‘How did he laminate them?’

  ‘He had relatives in Sydney he visited from time to time. One of them could have had it done for him.’

  ‘Can I take one away with me?’ De Benke was loath to part with the scale in his hand. Suddenly he could feel hope, like a flame rekindled, burning through his veins.

  ‘No,’ said Ian emphatically. ‘I’m not prepared to have my sighting of the sea serpent undermined or discredited on the basis of these scales. I don’t know what they’re from. They have a hint of green in them and the serpent I saw had a predominantly blue tinge. Besides, who knows what the process of laminating has done to them? Probably all we have left is an impression of the scales, like the fossil outlines of shells found in rocks. No, I’m not prepared to take the chance. I’m no con man and I won’t expose myself to the charge of being one.’

  De Benke checked each of the eight scales in turn. He noted the slight variations in shape and size. They looked authentic. But what modern fish could possibly have produced them? He looked hard into Ian’s face, well aware of the possibility that once again he was being set up.

  ‘Please, let me have one to analyse. It could be the hard evidence we’re looking for.’

  Ian didn’t waver.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly.‘I’ve given you my reasons.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ said de Benke thoughtfully. Ian had also given him the right answer.

  De Benke was scheduled to give a lunchtime reading in the Golden Orb bookshop but used the time instead to announce his intention to mount an expedition to prove the existence of the Norfolk Island sea serpent. He was returning directly to London and to a meeting with his backers, who he claimed were ‘extremely interested’. A change had come over him. He was a man transformed. The hard-bitten sceptic had become an eager enthusiast. Years had fallen off him.

  It didn’t matter that he failed to apologise for his earlier treatment of Ian Kenny, or even acknowledge him at all. Both Ian and Peter were relegated to the anonymous role of ‘sources’. Neither minded. They’d accomplished what they’d set out to achieve. They sat at the back of the bookstore while de Benke made his speech, dutifully clapped at the end of it and drove back to Peter’s house for a beer.

  ‘Now are you going to tell me where you got the coasters?’ asked Ian.

  ‘You’re not going to believe it,’ said Peter. ‘About thirty years ago, my company in Melbourne made a television commercial for fish fingers. The idea revolved around a man who was obsessed by fish. Everything in his house had something to do with fish. His clothes had fish patterns. Among other things, the props department had the coasters made up. The actual scales were carved out of resin, I believe. Bit of overkill, really. They were never used.’

  ‘Do you think we’ve done the right thing?’

  ‘Depends,’ said Peter. ‘Depends on whether you really saw a sea serpent.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘I don’t believe in yetis, yowies, bigfoot, Nessie or black panthers roaming the Blue Mountains, but I’ll keep an open mind on your serpent.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘It’s not my role to b
elieve,’ said Peter.

  He thought of all the accommodation lying empty around the island, the duty-free shops that should be busy with customers, the museums, cyclorama and historical reenactments all in want of a crowd, the glass-bottom boat and fishing charter operators, the restaurants with empty tables. Then he thought of a fired-up de Benke playing to the world’s media and all the publicity he would generate for Norfolk Island, and how quickly the publicity would translate into visitors. He could see the island thriving, see ‘No Vacancy’ signs becoming permanent fixtures, see restaurants filled to capacity, see Norfolk once again enjoying the year-round popularity its beauty deserved. He turned in his chair so that he could watch the afternoon sun play on Phillip Island, see the brilliant green of the regrowth among the red of bare rock. Somewhere over there, the salvation petrel — thought to be extinct for over a hundred years — had returned to nest and breed. He saw the birds as a symbol of Norfolk Island’s renewal. His face lit up with a wry smile.

  ‘No, it wasn’t my role to believe,’ he repeated.‘My role was simply to tip the scales.’

  Walking the Line

  Lambert liked to tell people that his wife, Millie, walked out on him the day he retired. Literally walked out on him. Actually Millie walked out a full fortnight after Lambert retired, but the extra few days have no bearing on anything and only a diehard pedant would be picky enough to mention the fact. She’d obviously been making plans for some time but Lambert had been oblivious to them, being entirely caught up in his fishing, the routine of the little township in which he’d spent his entire life, and his last days as a bank manager. The bank’s head office closed the branch on Lambert’s retirement and replaced it with an ATM that would never require wages, sick leave, holiday loading or a superannuation payout. The banks said that closing branches was progress. When Lambert’s bank closed, the little township of Marsden, on the northeast coast of New Zealand’s North Island, was suddenly left without any bank. Marsden had progressed as far as it could go.