“I am sorry,” he told her. “I was thinking, really.”
“That’s what King Alfred did, but I won’t scold you, Nat. We’ve another kettle.”
Matt appeared, yawning. He kicked off his slippers and pulled on elastic-side boots, and muttered something about the damned birds, and that he’d shoot ’em for sure. Emma said he’d made that threat every summer for many years, and he went outside for kindling to fire the range.
There were two telephone calls that morning. The first was from Sasoon who said he had stopped Luke at the railway crossing and that Luke had no passenger with him in the car, in the boot, or on the roof. Luke had demanded an explanation and was told he was unlucky by travelling so early as all cars were being searched for possum skins. Then shortly after seven the second call was answered by Emma. It was Mrs Rhudder saying that Jeff was out of sorts and being difficult, and would Nat Bonnar care to go rock-fishing with Sadie? Low tide would be a little after ten, and Nat would be welcome to lunch and would be so kind if he would talk Jeff out of his moods and pains and aches. Bony nodded his consent, and Emma said he would be down there in time to fish the tide.
The dawn wind had been frighted away by the bird orchestra, and when Bony stopped his car outside the Rhudder garden-gate, the surface of the Inlet was sheet metal and all the water birds merely toy ornaments. From the ocean came the low thuds and sharper slaps by the surf to rock faces.
Sadie Stark appeared with a heavy gunny-sack slung from a shoulder and carrying two stout rods. She seemed surprised when Bony hurried forward to relieve her of the gear.
“This is being very nice of you,” he said. “How is Jeff?”
“Awake most of the night, and grumpy this morning.”
The gear he pushed into the boot, the lid weight keeping the rods from sliding out, and at the wheel he expressed the hope that they would catch a record fish, asking what species of fish they might land.
“Kingfish,” she replied. “We must be there at dead low, for kingfish come by soon after the tide turns.”
She was wearing an old and patched pair of dungaree slacks, a blue guernsey and rubber sand-shoes. Bony wore clothes not much better but equally serviceable.
Neither bothered with a hat. They left the car at the pinch between the Inlet and the coast dunes, and having gathered the rods and the gunny-sack, Bony followed after Sadie.
Of about his height, now verging on thirty, her body had the resilience and hardness of contours of a woman much younger. Even in sand-shoes she walked with the elegant freedom of a mountain lass, her back straight and shoulders strong, and her legs springy and confident. She halted at the seaward edge of the bar for him to overtake and stand beside her. Here she scanned the coast to the rock-bound west and the mighty line of dunes stretching in an arc to the east. Without looking at him, she said:
“Jeff has the idea that millions of years ago those dunes weren’t there, and that the sea rolled inland to form a great bay. Now only the river and what’s called the Inlet is left of what was a bay. Have you angled for kingfish?”
“Oh yes!” replied Bony, regarding the waves breaking in long and seemingly solid rolls of water on the stones far below the bar.
“It’s a good morning for them. We might get a whopper. I think we’ll try from Ted’s Rock.”
“Ted’s Rock! Which one is that?”
“The one standing out to sea beyond that mountain of seaweed. We can get to it along the rock-bars, but must be off it before the tide is half in. Or stay there for hours waiting for the tide to go down.”
“You’re the boss, Sadie. A good size kingfish would be worth going for.”
She went down by the harder slope of the bush-covered dune, and at the narrow strip of coarser sand again waited for him. Skirting the dunes for several hundred yards brought them to a wide area of sand from which the tide had receded, and thus they found walking easier and were able to proceed together.
“You named that rock Ted’s Rock,” he said. “Is that the rock where Ted Jukes was washed off?”
“It was more than an ordinary sneaker. Underwater volcanic action must have raised the wave. We could see that by the damage it did to the coast. It was a day like today, and Ted didn’t have anyone watching for him.”
“It must have been a blow for Matt and Emma.”
“A blow to all of us,” he was corrected. “See this hill of weed? Fascinates me. The sea gathers it and builds it, and leaves it alone for weeks, perhaps months, and then the waves will smash into it and carry it all away. Only to bring it all back and build again some other place.”
Passing by the seaward face of the mass rising in places to fifty feet or more and covering several acres (it was the home of thousands of small crabs, orange in colour), Bony said:
“I’ve seen a seaweed mountain, although not as big as that one, south of Geraldton. The same kind of crabs, too. Have you ever been up to Geraldton?”
“No, never farther north than Perth.” The girl walked in silence for a few minutes. Then: “I’ve always wanted to visit the Barrier Reef, and places like that. But I never shall.”
“Wrong way of looking at the future,” Bony said, smilingly.
“I know what I know, Nat. Had my hand read once at a fair in Timbertown. Woman told me I’d never travel, would always stay at home and die an old maid. D’you believe in palmistry?”
“No,” replied Bony, and forbore to mention that he believed wholeheartedly in pedestry in telling of the past.
They came to a rising shelf of rock and began to climb Ted’s Rock at the shore side, Sadie leading the way to the summit which was fairly flat and weathered. At this elevation of something like two hundred feet, the sea looked as flat as the water of the Inlet. It was unbroken save where the waves met the coast rocks and rose high to crash on the narrow beaches. They thundered dully against the base of Ted’s Rock, seemingly barely rising until one looked attentively at them.
“Must be deep caverns down below,” Bony surmised. “The backwash is late. Matt said there’s generally a sneaker at the change of low tide. What causes them, d’you know?”
“Well, Jeff says that the rock-bars under the sea are like arms and when the tide or a particular series of waves surge landward the narrowing arms hump them into one big one. I’ve read of other theories, but Jeff’s is better than any of those. Now you’d better prepare your gear.”
Bony fitted a heavy line-loaded reel to one of the rods and taking the line up through the guides knotted it to the thin wire trace and to that expertly knotted the hook. He was aware that his companion was watching, and knew she couldn’t fault him. When taking the second reel from the sack, she said:
“You fish: I’ll watch today. You go down to that ledge and cast.” She indicated a narrow ledge midway to the water, where the water appeared to be far below the ledge. “When you’ve tired a fish you’ll have to take him to the end of the ledge, where it’s sheer, and then reel him up. Get that?”
“Yes. That’s clear.”
“And if you hear me shout you must come up at once.”
“Very well.” Glancing at her he found himself able to look directly into her grey eyes flecked with brown, and now they seemed to take the colour of the sea and appear almost purple. In them was that calm and still expression so often associated with eyes habitually gazing at the sea or across the desert, and they did not change when he smiled before picking up the bait-tin and beginning the descent to the ledge. When next he saw her she was sitting and looking out to sea, her hands on her lap, her body as motionless as the hands. He failed to recall having ever met a woman like Sadie Stark.
The ledge was wider than it appeared from the top, and he found plenty of room to stand comfortably and make his cast. Fifty feet below him the water was unbroken, coming in powerfully to mount over the next incoming wave. The nylon line went deep before fading out.
The kingfish is rightly named. In speed and power in ratio to weight it reduces the trout to a me
re tiddler. There is no pause in its dash to take the bait, some say at sixty miles an hour. Bony set himself in readiness to apply the reel-brake gradually, to play the fish and tire it being the first demand on skill.
Yes, Sadie Stark was a new experience, and now at this third meeting he received the impression that she had read every book in the world, that she had lived for a thousand years, that she had dissected the mind of ten thousand men and knew with unshakeable conviction that all of them were children.
The tide was now at low water, and there would be a pause of a few seconds. He remembered that Matt had said the sneaker invariably came in behind the Door, following this tidal pause. He gazed out to sea. The surface out from the rock was flat and unbroken. The sea was blue and placid. There, seemingly miles distant was a thin streak which he put down as an oil slick from a passing ship.
The lead sinker was being moved by the currents over the sand-ribs deep in the sea, and when there came up the line a slow but determined tug, he lifted the bait, and the weight told of a crayfish attack. He reeled in line to defeat the crayfish, let it flow back again, and he was satisfied that he had thwarted the crustacean when he noted again the oil slick. It was less than two hundred yards distant.
The sun was glinting on the shoreward slope of a racing wave, and it was now glittering on the facets of the disturbed summit of the whale-back. Bony glanced up at Sadie, and she was sitting as he had last seen her. Then the wave was barely a hundred yards away, and then the water directly below began magically to rise.
Spinning about he began a mad scrabble up the steep rock slope, holding the rod by one hand and having to use the other to assist him. The reel started to scream as line was torn from it. The girl began to shout. It seemed that he made no headway, that as he climbed the rock was turning over and down to the sea. Under an arm, between his feet, he saw the ledge sink into white foam. The hubbub of the girl’s shouting and the screaming reel became tiny and silly as background to that rock-engulfing wave.
Chapter Fifteen
The Local Mona Lisa
CHAOS AND cacophony churned about Bony; the hissing of water cascading down the faces of Ted’s Rock; the dwindling scream of the reel; the shouting of the girl; and far away, the thundering of the sneaker raging ashore.
He found a place to stand upright and turn again to the sea. From a yard below his feet the rock was pure white and jet black, down and down to the smother of foam. The reel stopped. The line stretching far away to meet the water slacked abruptly, telling that the fish had slipped the hook or was engaged with second thoughts.
“Come on up, Nat! Come up at once!” Sadie urged, and he began to reel in the line.
He wasn’t going to permit that fool of a woman to hear his rasping breathing, to see in his eyes the waning light of fear, to note with scorn the trembling of his lips and hands. Mooning there like a love-sick teenager, and she an experienced watcher for the sneaker. He’d take his time winding in the line, and watch for himself. Then came the sudden weight and sudden renewal of the reel scream, and now, by heck, he’d stay and fight the fish.
The heat left his body, and the anger turned to a pebble in the sea of his mind, now given to calculation. The fish was straight out from the rock, and the angle of the line raised it from being cut against the rock ledge. It was a trier, and as yet untired. It hauled with irresistible power against the reel-brake, but now, bereft of speed, it could gain only a yard a minute.
The fish tried another tactic. It sliced to and fro, to and fro, and Bony stopped it at the end of each run, at the same time bringing it closer and closer. When the line came near the cutting rock-edge, he began to descend to the ledge, and Sadie cried to him not to go down the wet surface.
Still holding, not giving the fish an inch, he reached the ledge and continued the fight, and, in view of the final manoeuvre, played it to complete exhaustion. It was comparatively easy to draw it to the sheer drop at the end of the ledge, and this was where the real work began.
Immediately the fish was brought to the surface, the rod bucked and bowed, and the testing of the rod and line became fearsome when the fish was lifted clear. Bony waited for the fish to expire, bracing himself against its weight. Above, the girl was silent. A gull cried, and other than that cry there was only the sound of the rollers thudding in under the rock.
Raising the long thick-bodied slate-grey fish occupied him a full ten minutes, and when it appeared over the rock lip, Bony could have shouted, for it weighed at least forty pounds. He was on the verge of gasping for air when he got it to the top, and laid the rod on it and sat down to roll a cigarette.
“Nice fish, eh!” he said, not looking at Sadie. “What d’you think? Forty-odd pounds?”
She offered no comment, and having lit the cigarette he saw her sitting again, her hands in her lap, her face tilted down and hidden from him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her.
“I thought the sea was going to get you. I should have warned you sooner. I was watching a seal, not the sea.”
“I was watching the sea. I saw the wave coming in. I would have been mad if this fish had got away. Isn’t he a beauty!”
“Yes. But it was my fault. The sneaker could easily have grabbed you. I was sure it would. You don’t seem to know how near it was behind you.”
“Don’t I?” laughed Bony. “You’re not telling me a thing. Anyway, it didn’t, so cheer up. When I took the reels from the gunny-sack did I feel a thermos flask?”
She was looking at him, and her eyes were the colour of the kingfish. Her mouth widened, the lips trembled slightly, and she said:
“You are very generous not to scold me. Marvin would have knocked me down. Yes, there’s a thermos of tea and sandwiches. Let me.”
Sadie produced the flask and an enamel jug, and she was groping into the bag when she said vexatiously:
“Damn! There should have been another cup. I’ll drink from the flask cup. You unwrap the sandwiches.”
She insisted that he take the mug, and when they were eating, he said:
“Everyone says this coast is dangerous, and now I believe it. You mentioned Marvin. Fine-looking fellow from the picture of him I was looking at the other evening. So was Ted Jukes. A great pity about Ted. Yes, I can realize clearly now how dangerous this coast is.”
She was looking at the flask near her foot when she spoke.
“That wasn’t an ordinary sneaker today. I’ve never seen it come just like that, real sneaky. Still, I was supposed to watch. Would you ... would you say nothing about it at the house?”
“As you wish. These sandwiches are delicious.”
“And if Jeff wants to talk about Marvin, would you be careful? You see, Marvin has blighted their lives, all our lives. Rose didn’t mention him, I suppose?”
Bony shook his head and gazed out to sea where a white painted liner was passing on its way to Freemantle. She was still looking downward when he flashed a glance at her.
“No, Rose said nothing about any of the Rhudders, excepting that they had a boat and lived here for generations. Emma did say he’s the prodigal son and has been away for years. Prodigal sons do give parents worry and grief, don’t they?”
“Marvin has done so.” For a moment she looked directly at him before pretending interest in the ship. “Perhaps you should know a little about him to be on your guard if Jeff brings him up. He was the most wonderful boy who ever lived. Big and fine and handsome. There was nothing he couldn’t do, and nothing he wouldn’t dare. School and college work came as easy to him as asking for another cup of tea. Yes, there’s plenty more in the flask. He was going to become a minister. Then he fell sick and he’s always been sick.”
“Mentally sick?”
“Yes, mentally sick,” Sadie went on. “Been in gaol half a dozen times. Assault and robbery and all that. The police are looking for him because he broke his bond, and they thought he might have come home. He did too.”
“Oh!” mildly exclaimed
Bony. “Was the fatted calf killed?”
He could detect the faint note of urgency when she said:
“Have you any sons? I seem to remember you said you did. If one of them, say, the one you loved most, the clever one, threw love to the winds and broke into vicious crime after crime, would you make a fuss of him when he came home?”
“You pose a difficult problem. My eldest son is a medical missionary working in the Islands. He’s brilliant. He won scholarship after scholarship. I’m tremendously proud of him. If he fell sick as Marvin Rhudder seems to have done, I hardly know what I’d do. H’m! I wouldn’t make a fuss of him, but probably I’d help him ... if help were possible.”
“You had a good education, didn’t you?” she pressed, her eyes meeting his.
“That’s so. Haven’t made much use of it, though. Having gained my interest in the Rhudder prodigal you must tell me more. What happened when he returned home?”
“You won’t tell anyone, even Matt and Emma Jukes?”
“Very well. Actually it doesn’t concern me. Why do you want to tell me? Don’t if you’d rather not.”
“Well, I think you should know because you’ll be meeting Jeff again this afternoon. He might ask some leading questions, knowing you’re with the Jukes, and suspecting sometimes that Marvin came home. You see, we kept it from him. Marvin was in the tool room at the machinery shed one morning when I was collecting the eggs. He wanted to know how Jeff would accept him, and I said I’d have to find out what his mother thought about it, as Jeff had threatened a hundred times to shoot him. Not that he would, but you know how ill he is. We, that is his mother and I, said he was not to see his father and he wasn’t to stay. He said he’d broken his bond in Sydney. He said he was tired of being like a hunted animal. He said he wanted to go straight, but even his mother knew he’d never do that.
“Anyway, he refused to go away, and we sent up for Luke, Luke being stronger than Mark. Well, Luke came down and ordered Marvin off the property, for a start. He had Marvin go and live for the time being at the old hut on the other side of the Inlet, and we took blankets and food to him, and bought different clothes for him. In the end Luke gave him some money and he went away, after telling Luke and me he’d slip through the forest and thumb a ride to Perth and get to Freemantle, and take a ship abroad.
Bony and the White Savage Page 11
