by Marele Day
‘You’re a good girl, Chicken,’ Pearlie said, taking her granddaughter’s hand. ‘Thank you for all the treats.’ She slowly released Chicken’s hand.
Was Pearlie dismissing her? Perhaps she still expected Urashima Taro to turn up. Why was Pearlie never here when Chicken visited?
Her grandmother’s penetrating gaze went straight through Chicken, into the intensity of light beyond the doorway. ‘You have to let me go,’ Pearlie said quietly.
Go where? Chicken didn’t want to hear Pearlie talk like this, as if she were fading away. ‘This shack belongs to the past, it’s not the place for a young girl like you. You should be out with your friends.’ Pearlie picked up the photo once again. ‘There were lots of turtles when Urashima Taro was here. You never see them anymore.’ Pearlie sounded as if she were talking into mist.
‘More tea?’ Chicken asked, to keep her here.
Pearlie stared into her empty teacup. ‘They’ll be gone by tomorrow, won’t they?’
Chicken didn’t know how to answer. Was she still talking about the turtles? Perhaps she should go and get Violet. ‘Are you feeling all right, Grandmother?’
Pearlie scratched the back of her neck, rubbed her arm. ‘Actually, I’m a bit stiff and salty. I would like to soak in the bath. They’ll be gone by tomorrow, won’t they? Those tourists?’
Chicken hardly dared breathe. Pearlie was talking about coming back to the house! She didn’t want to rush her grandmother but she did want to keep her mind on this path. ‘All gone. It’ll be just us.’
‘Mmm, a hot bath,’ said Pearlie, relishing the thought of it.
‘Do . . . do you want me to come and fetch you?’ Chicken ventured. ‘Take you up the hill?’
‘No thank you. If I can’t manage the hill by myself then it’s time for me to stay here.’ Pearlie sighed, her shoulders lifting then settling back into place. She lined up the cushions and lay her body down on them. ‘I need to have a little rest. Bye bye.’
Pearlie was dismissing her, but she had given her hope. Chicken lightly kissed her grandmother’s forehead. ‘Tomorrow,’ Chicken said, reminding her.
Sometimes you just have to trust and keep your heart open.
Chicken stopped when she got to the little makeshift bridge. Was Pearlie all right? Should she go back, watch over her? No, Pearlie was tired and wanted to be alone, that was all. The afternoon was eking out. Chicken had better get a move on. Just a little peek, that was all, to make sure Pearlie was OK.
Chicken was about to go back when she heard grunting. She stood still, all her senses alert. A wild animal? The sound came in regular waves. From the direction of the shack. Chicken smiled to herself. Relaxed. It was Pearlie snoring. She crossed the creek in a faultless bound and ran up to the gate.
Something down on the rock shelf caught her eye. A man. He was sitting very still, with legs crossed, a backpack beside him. Was this the man Pearlie had seen, Urashima Taro? Could it be remotely possible that Cedar’s first love had returned? He’d have to be at least as old as Pearlie. Older. The man down there was young. Was he a relative, perhaps, should she go and ask? ‘Excuse me, did you or your father or grandfather used to be in love with my grandmother’s sister?’ Ridiculous. The further Chicken moved away from the shack the crazier it all became.
She did not doubt that Pearlie’s story was true. But that Urashima Taro had returned? Unlikely. The guy down there was just a straggler from the festival. Perhaps Pearlie had seen him throw something into the water. Chicken thought of the Habana beer can the grandmothers had dredged up. She felt like going down there and telling him the sea was not a garbage tip—hadn’t he seen the recycling bins on the beach for rubbish?
And what if he didn’t throw anything? What if Pearlie had been mistaken? She would feel such an idiot.
She could go down there, walk past him, and dive in. If she did happen to see a beer can or something she’d fetch it up and say, ‘Excuse me, I think you might have dropped this.’
Her diving gear had gone back with the boat.
No doubt the man would be gone by tomorrow, but if he had chucked something in the water Chicken could at least retrieve it, dispose of it more responsibly.
Chicken sat on the bench watching the tide, waiting for the ferry that would take her to Boat Harbour and her friends. Apart from herself, the bench was empty. All the grandmothers were doing as Pearlie was—having a little rest. Few of them had come onto the main beach—their silent protest against the tourists—but they had dived from other little coves and inlets, had their own celebration.
When Chicken, Ry and Keri reached the age of grandmothers, would they be sitting on this bench, watching the tide? How would the world be then?
The ferry was approaching, Chicken could see the white line of its wake. What if she did marry Hiro, and he got a job in another place? Chicken did not know where her life would take her but she would always return to the island. Perhaps that was the point of the festival, to gather the sea women together, bring them home.
Even if you were only a part-time diver, as most of them now were, you had to keep the skills alive. Chicken kept thinking about what Pearlie had said. It wasn’t that she wanted to dwell in the past, but take it with her into the future, pass the sea lore and knowledge on to her daughters and granddaughters, as Pearlie and Violet had done for Chicken. Otherwise it would all be forgotten and the sea women with it.
And the knowledge that Cedar passed on to Lilli? What had happened to that?
29
Nothing ventured
Lilli spent the day in the hotel room, shutting herself down. It wasn’t just the man in the suit and the way he looked at her. It was how everyone would look. They didn’t want a ghost at their festival. The best thing Lilli could do for the island was what she was doing already—stay away. She didn’t have the right blood. The island was where she had grown up but it was not her home.
She was going home now, suitcase beside her, waiting for the train. The snack bar ice-cream was hard and icy, resisted intrusion. How had the lady managed to eat it with such a fragile little spoon? Lilli had thought of staying another day, going to see Chicken at Oceanworld, but Chicken wouldn’t understand why, if Lilli had come all this way, she couldn’t take the final step.
Lilli’s eyes sought out the island but it had disappeared into the indigo night. It was all right, she told herself, she had tried. Just hadn’t worked out. Chicken wouldn’t be disappointed because she hadn’t known Lilli was coming.
When she got home Lilli would send a really big present, and a letter. Sorry, I’ve only just returned from Everest. No, Antarctica sounded better. Wherever. Have only now received your letter. Did you get my postcard? Sorry to have missed the festival.Perhaps next year.
Was she going to spend the rest of her life sending Chicken letters like that?
The ice-cream had melted into a pale green pond. Lilli hadn’t eaten any of it. She moved the spoon backwards and forwards, an oar through water. For how long was she going to keep on pretending?
Chicken deserved better. Perhaps Lilli could invite Chicken to the city. Chicken wouldn’t have to see how tiny Lilli’s room was; they could stay at the backpackers’ hostel. Visit temples and handicraft centres. The food hall. They could go wherever they liked, it didn’t have to be only the city. Perhaps a trip somewhere. To another place. What would appeal to Chicken—the Mississippi? Gobi?
The Great Barrier Reef. Of course. It was perfect. Lilli had organised a honeymoon package for a couple just last week. In the brochures there was beautiful coral, tropical fish. You could dive.
Dear Chicken, sorry I couldn’t make it this time but would you like to come away with me? I’ll look after everything.
She’d start making arrangements immediately she returned, send Chicken the brochures. She’d really do this trip, it wouldn’t be just something she thought about.
There was still plenty of time before the train departed but Lilli wanted to get going. The planne
d trip gave her purpose.
On the way to the platforms she stopped at the newsstand, browsed the shelves and selected a travel magazine. Summer Destinations. Perhaps there might even be something in it about the Great Barrier Reef. Lilli took the magazine to the counter. Some girls were chatting to the shop assistant. ‘And then he said, “This one’s so shy I’m going to have to tickle it to bring it out of its shell”.’ A balloon of twittering laughter rose up from the group.
When the shop assistant saw that she had a proper customer, she straightened up, became more formal. The girls turned around.
One of them was Chicken.
Here she was, in the train station, so close that Lilli could reach out and touch her.
Now that it had happened, the surprise wasn’t that their paths had crossed but that they hadn’t crossed earlier. Somehow in Lilli’s mind Chicken was forever on the island, but of course she came and went. She had probably even walked past the hotel while Lilli was inside, perhaps even today.
‘Lilli! You’re here?’ Chicken finally said.
‘Yes.’ Lilli was never so aware of being here. She felt as if she were at the very centre of here. For that long moment the two sisters gazed at each other. Everything else washed away and all Lilli could see was Chicken. She still had the same gangly arms and legs but her sister had grown from a child into a young woman wearing make-up and earrings. ‘Look at you! All grown up.’ Lilli had not been here, she could not rewind those years to see it happen step by step.
‘You look nice,’ Chicken managed to reply. It was what she said when Lilli left.
Of all the ways she had imagined it, longed for this reunion, how she was feeling now was the last thing Chicken had anticipated. She wanted to throw something at Lilli, shake her. Did she think she could just turn up like this, unannounced, and everything would be all right? She was too late for the festival; did she even remember it was today?
‘Hi, I’m Ry, and this is Keri,’ Chicken’s friends introduced themselves.
Lilli nodded and gave them a smile.
She didn’t even look like Lilli. She had become a city girl, city clothes, city shoes; her face was city pale, taut.
‘You girls been out on the town?’
‘The noodle shop,’ said Keri.
‘With Chicken’s new boyfriend,’ Ry revealed, nudging her friend.
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ said Chicken, in a huff. ‘I hardly even know him.’
‘Great shoes,’ said Keri, admiring Lilli’s footwear. ‘And nail polish,’ she added when she discovered Lilli’s toes. ‘What’s that?’ she leaned forward for a closer look. ‘Amazing,’ she exclaimed, ‘they’re fish!’
Lilli had forgotten about the nail decoration. ‘It’s the summer fashion,’ she explained. ‘Little stick-ons. Fish, f lowers, birds.’ She wished she’d brought some with her, to give as presents.
As if Lilli had granted them silent permission, Ry and Keri started admiring everything about her—the sheen of her lip gloss, cut of the jeans, the designer logo on her T-shirt. Be cool. Get FCUK.
They were treating her like a movie star, some kind of pop idol. She started to feel hemmed in, but at least they weren’t turning away as if she were a ghost.
Chicken sensed Lilli’s unease, recognised the way her mouth tightened, the look in her eyes. Ry and Keri were crowding her. Other people were starting to look, trying to see who was at the centre of the fuss. ‘We’d better go,’ Chicken said softly, moving towards her. ‘It’s the last ferry.’
‘Oh. OK.’ Lilli looked at the big clock above the turnstiles. She had to go too. The train to the city was due to depart in seven minutes. She found it difficult to move. She tightened her grip on the suitcase, felt its weight, resistance. ‘Do you want to go to the Great Barrier Reef?’ she said suddenly.
‘What, now?’ Chicken laughed.
‘When you have holidays. Let me know.’
‘Sure,’ said Chicken, not quite believing it. ‘Let’s talk about it later.’
‘Yes. Later.’ Lilli started to walk away.
What was she doing? That wasn’t the way. Had she forgotten? Chicken started running after her. ‘The ferry terminal’s in that direction. We have to go along the concourse. Remember? It’s only a ten-minute walk. I’ll wheel your bag, or we can catch a taxi.’ It all came tumbling out. She couldn’t bear it if Lilli disappeared again.
Lilli stopped at the turnstile. Now she understood. Chicken didn’t realise Lilli was on the verge of leaving, she thought Lilli was going home with her. To the island.
A couple stood behind Lilli, waiting for her to pass through.
‘Chicken,’ Ry and Keri called, ‘we’re going to miss the ferry.’
‘C’mon, Lilli.’ Chicken reached out for her sister’s hand. It was how they were in the photo but now the other way around.
What would Chicken’s friends think if Lilli turned her back and went down to the train? What excuse would Chicken have to give? What excuse did she have to give every time?
Lilli felt the soft thud of fenders coming into contact with the wharf. They had arrived. All the way across the night sea the girls asked questions, despite Chicken’s hints that Lilli might be tired. She had come a long way. Ry and Keri wanted to know what the city was like. Where did you get those little nail stick-ons, what jeans were the most fashionable, light or dark blue? Lilli told them everything.
The ground felt wavy, as if she were still on the ferry. Lilli had expected a committee of mean grandmothers telling her to go back, that she was not welcome here. Instead she was carried up the hill on the warm air of the girls’ youthful chatter.
They waved goodbye when they got to the house.
‘Your friends are nice,’ remarked Lilli.
‘And they really like you,’ Chicken said as she opened the door. ‘I didn’t know I had such a celebrity for a sister.’
Lilli couldn’t help grinning. ‘I do my best.’
They left their shoes in the vestibule and stepped up into the house proper. It smelled the same, the slight fermentation given off by the matting, other odours that were familiar but nameless, the air of Lilli’s childhood.
‘How’s Aunt Pearlie?’ Lilli asked.
‘A bit strange, but OK. I think. She’s coming back to the house tomorrow. So she says. Perhaps we could all go for a dive. Do you want to?’
Lilli wasn’t ready for that, she hadn’t been in the water for years.
‘We’ll see,’ she said.
The foyer seemed larger, perhaps a wall had been removed. There was a black leather couch, a low table in front of it with a neat stack of magazines. A curved reception counter. A night-light on it revealed a display of pamphlets—Welcome to Island House—maps, other tourist information. At the end of the counter was an old-fashioned service bell, with a sign underneath—If unattended please ring.
‘You want me to check you in?’ asked Chicken when she saw Lilli gazing at the counter.
Lilli laughed. ‘I haven’t made a reservation.’
‘Well, in that case,’ said Chicken, ‘you might have to share.’
‘I might,’ Lilli agreed.
They walked to the foot of the stairs. Lilli heard little ticks and sighs, the creaking of timber, the sounds of the house subtly rearranging itself.
‘Can you manage the stairs in the dark? I don’t want to wake Mum and Dad. Sleeping off the festival cheer,’ Chicken whispered.
‘I’m fine,’ Lilli whispered back.
They made their way up.
‘Chicken? Is that you?’
Chicken rolled her eyes. She knows everything, she mouthed to Lilli. ‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Are you with someone?’ Violet asked sleepily.
Chicken paused for a minute, grinning. ‘I’m with Lilli.’
There was silence on the other side of the door. Lilli could feel it bristling. She felt as if she’d tricked Chicken. She should have said something before they got to the house, warned her sister that pe
rhaps not everyone would be pleased to see her.
The door opened and there stood Violet in her nightgown and dimples. ‘Our Lilli?’ she said, still sleepy, not fully comprehending. Our Lilli.
‘Hello, Violet.’
‘It’s really you.’
‘Yes.’
Lilli stood in the darkness, trying to decipher Violet’s expression, waiting for a verdict.
She felt the warmth of Violet’s hand on her arm. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Lilli couldn’t answer. Such a simple, everyday request, yet it brought tears to her eyes.
‘She’s tired, Mum,’ said Chicken. ‘We’ll see you later.’
Chicken moved across the corridor to her own bedroom. ‘And Mum? The tourists have gone—what about dinner in the dining room tomorrow?’
30
Farewell dear friend
Yugen had untied the white cord, unwrapped the black cloth.
He sat in lengthening shadow on the rock shelf, gazing at the sea rippling towards him. Should he hurl the urn as far as he could, arc it into the sea like the baseball Soshin was so fond of, gently launch it like a little boat, or take the lid off and sprinkle the remains?
In the end he wrapped the urn up and put it away again. One more night.
He watched a f lotilla of clouds cross the sky as slowly as the turning of the world. Small wispy edges broke off from the main body but continued in the same stream of high wind. He sat there looking at the sky, thinking about Soshin, till the clouds were replaced with stars.
Yugen lay down, his body curved around the backpack, around the urn. The night air was balmy, brought the smell of the sea. He heard it gently lapping the edges of the rock shelf.
He drifted into sleep and dreaming, his mind blending images. A shimmer of red became the fire described in ‘The Sound of Waves’ story, but instead of being in the observation tower it was here on the rock shelf. The boy was Soshin, sitting by the fire roasting a fish for the girl. She shook sea water from her hair and presented the boy with a fresh abalone. They ate their offerings to each other hungrily, with gusto, like the old sea women in the sheds.
