Shellshock

by Anthony Masters

  ‘This year in Spain.’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Couldn’t we go for a shorter time?’

  His father put down his brush. ‘That would be a holiday.’

  ‘Is it the legend?’

  ‘I want to work there.’

  ‘For so long?’

  ‘For so long.’ His voice was very firm. ‘I want to leave the cathedral and give myself a year. Just to work on the things I want to work on. Do you see?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘I could go on my own.’

  ‘We don’t want you to.’

  ‘It depends how much your mother values my work.’ There was a very hard edge to his voice.

  ‘We all do.’

  ‘We had a bargain when we first married – before you were born. That we’d keep our artistic integrity and support each other to do it. I need mine supported. Now.’

  ‘Gran? What about the guests?’

  ‘There’s a coach that goes all the way to Barcelona. Your mother could come back to visit her. And to hell with the guests.’

  ‘What would we do for money?’

  ‘We’ve enough for a year. I can always get a job as a mason. And we might even find someone to run the house.’

  It all sounded so simple, so utterly reasonable. But in fact it was so difficult that David knew it would break up the family.

  The showdown between David’s parents did not come until a few months later. Until then there was no more discussion about Spain, and although David knew the tensions were there, very little happened. Unable to bear the sight of his father and mother taking care to avoid each other, David spent quite a lot of time with Gran and saw a lot of Jan. They never talked about his parents again, but David knew he was relying on her a lot. They would go on long bike rides, content in each other’s largely silent company. Gran became increasingly querulous and then she took a turn for the worse. She began to go senile. Both David and his mother had noticed little signs – a blurring of her sharpness, illogical mumbling, occasional lapses into gibberish. Then, one January afternoon when they took her out in the car, Gran declared the dashboard was the electric stove she had once owned. She pulled out the ashtray, adjusted the heater and began to cook a steak and kidney pie, with many references to the tenderness of the meat. Later they took her to a clifftop car park, overlooking the sea near Broadstairs. Here, while Mum was buying some cups of tea from a travelling van, she sang ‘Abide With Me’ in a quavering voice to a tape that David had put in the car cassette-deck. It was a dignified, moving performance. Afterwards, sipping her tea, she told Mum that she was a very bad girl to have burnt the tea-cakes and she called David by the name of a long grown-up nephew. When she returned to St Swithin’s Gran insisted that a small train had been installed in the grounds and that one of the care staff had sold her bed. Besieged by anxieties, real and unreal, Gran plunged quickly from that moment into senile dementia.

  Mum was devastated and Dad was suddenly loving, so loving to her that David temporarily felt that the family breach had been healed. Meanwhile he had never loved Gran so much in his life as she drifted in and out of her troubled paranoid fantasy world.

  Once, on a brilliantly sunny January afternoon, he wheeled her out in a chair and sat with her on a terrace overlooking a walled garden. For once she was fleetingly sane.

  ‘I’ve got to get out of this place,’ she said. ‘It’s driving me barmy. It’s the others.’ She looked round and then leaned towards him confidentially. They’re all crazy here, you know. I want a place of my own – a small flat – maybe in Broadstairs. I like it down there. Good old Broadstairs.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Got a fag?’ she asked.

  ‘You haven’t smoked for years, Gran,’ said David, shaking his head.

  ‘Being driven to it. Anyway, are you going to help me or not?’

  ‘You bet.’

  Ten minutes later, as he wheeled her in, she asked him what time the train went.

  ‘What train?’

  ‘The train in the grounds, of course. Where do you go to school? They don’t teach you observation, do they?’

  ‘Sorry, Gran.’

  ‘Anyway, what time does it go?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You should know. I thought I might pop into Broadstairs.’

  David leant over the wheelchair and kissed her on the forehead. Her hand was shaking a little as she reached up to him.

  ‘I get muddled sometimes,’ she said, her voice breaking a little. ‘Does it show?’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ replied David loyally.

  The rows about Spain began again in early February and went on without a let-up. Life at home became so dreadful that David spent as much time as he could out of the house either with Gran or Jan or a Sunday morning rugby team that he had just joined.

  Then one grey February day he returned from rugby to find an uneasy silence at the Sunday lunch table. Dad had decided to deliver an ultimatum.

  ‘I think we should go,’ he repeated for David’s benefit. ‘Just for a week at half-term. Then, if you both like it, we could go back.’

  Mum said nothing for a few seconds. Then she spoke very slowly and clearly. Meanwhile, Dad was carving a joint of lamb with great precision. David found himself trembling, knowing intuitively that this was going to be the worst row ever.

  ‘I don’t mind going for a few days at half-term. But you’ve got to realise that’s all it’s ever going to be,’ Mum said.

  ‘Not if you like it –’ Tod was staring down at the meat and David could see that there was a change in his expression, a sort of arrogant resignation. Somehow he guessed that at this point his father had taken a decision.

  ‘I don’t care how much I like it,’ she said, in the same quiet, slow voice. ‘I shall never leave Mother. She’s very lonely and with this dementia she just can’t cope alone for long.’

  ‘She’s got a flock of nurses.’

  ‘Mother can’t cope without me.’

  ‘You put her first.’

  ‘First? I only see her an hour a day.’

  ‘But you won’t change our lives for the better.’

  ‘I can’t. She needs me.’

  ‘She’s well-looked after.’

  ‘They’re strangers.’

  There was a long, long silence during which Dad handed out plates of lamb and Mum ladled vegetables on to the plates. David suddenly wanted to scream. He knew the food would choke him; the mint sauce looked poisonous. Then, with a shock, David heard the words that he had been waiting for all along.

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘You’re what?’ She looked up at him for the first time. ‘You mean you’re going on your own?’

  ‘I mean I’m leaving you.’ And with that he put down the plate he was holding and went out of the room.

  They went on eating without saying anything. Five minutes later he came back. Already, for some strange reason, he looked different. He was carrying a suitcase.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to Spain,’ he said.

  PART TWO

  The Adventure

  Summer 1989

  The afternoon heat was blistering and David could hardly bear to touch the deck of the diving boat. The Mediterranean shimmered a cobalt blue and the waves splashed invitingly against the bow as he struggled into the wet-suit. Miguel was already halfway over the stern, standing on the ladder and urging him on in ragged English.

  ‘You come on, David. You come on.’

  Oh shut up, he thought, as he struggled with the heavy air cylinder. He had only known Miguel a week and already he wished him a nasty death. There was something about his brown sinewy body and the challenges that were forever on his sneering lips that incensed David to breaking-point. How Dad could ever have liked Miguel was difficult to understand. How could he give him so much? He could see why Miguel liked Dad. Once Tod turned on the charm one was hooked.

  At last he was read
y and began to stumble down the gently swaying deck, watched with professional scorn by Miguel and kind amusement by old Henriques, diving instructor, boatman, odd-job expert. David had been diving for a week now on the Ignacio boat, and although he was becoming more confident, he still felt an ungainly fool as he stumbled down the deck, looking like a potbellied frog.

  With Henriques’s guidance he clambered down the ladder, and saw Miguel already a shadowy figure below the surface. David climbed down until he was immersed by the winking, translucent sea. He began to dive, slowly weaving his way after Miguel, who was now making his way round the reef that encircled the island like broken teeth. David turned, seeing the hull of the boat and Henriques following him down, lithe and practised, giving him a thumbs-up sign. David had grown very fond of the old man. He was kind and patient and had taught him how to overcome his fear of the grey-green depths and his initial terror that the water would flood into his mouth through the breathing tube. It had been an irrational fear and now no longer obsessed him.

  David gradually forgot the cold and the deadly pressure in the fresh excitement that each new dive gave him. The jagged rock, the vast fronds of weed like an undersea forest, the opaque colours all entranced him. He still felt the danger, but he never tired of watching Henriques opening the scarab-like sea anemones, parting the weed to show him some strange creature or pointing out the shimmering, mysterious flotillas of exotic fish.

  At first David had been repelled by the tentacles of the squid and the inky fluid of a disturbed octopus, but once he had brushed against a squid he was relieved to find the tentacles rubbery and not at all slimy as he had expected. He stared deep into the enormous and luminous eyes of bizarre, unidentifiable fish and felt strangely accepted.

  Most exciting of all were the undersea caves that ran back under the island. Henriques had taken him in one with an underwater torch, and its sharp beam had flooded the caverns with a pale light, picking out even stranger sea creatures. Some were covered in quills or spines, others in the palest amber ruffs. Sea lizards scuttled across the sandy floor and an amazingly majestic fish, looking something like a sea owl, stared at him with unblinking black eyes. The cave was a treasure house in which he could forget the taunts of Miguel. He would mime happily at Henriques who would mime back at him, their body language expressing the joy they shared in the undersea world. But Miguel would simply annoy Henriques, who would shake his fist at him as he snaked about, weaving into places that he shouldn’t and trying to taunt David into them too. But there was little Henriques could do about it for Miguel was the favoured Ignacio grandson, the only one, and all that was left to the old people now.

  David knew how much Miguel hated him, and understanding something at least of the tragedy that had overtaken them all, he could hardly blame him. But if he had known about Miguel, David was quite sure he would not have agreed to fly out to visit his father in the first place.

  It began when Henriques stopped to examine some black frond-like creature and Miguel beckoned David into a cave. Without the flashlight he could see nothing but the dark shadow of Miguel’s legs. He had no idea why he followed him. All his instincts, all his experience was against it. David knew immediately that he should not have followed, and even paused, waiting for Henriques and his flashlight. But he didn’t come, and curiosity alone drove David on. Minutes later, inside the cave, he realised he must have missed his way, for there was just the inky darkness and no sight of the grey landscape of the open sea bed.

  The first twinges of panic stirred inside him and David spun round, realising that he had lost Miguel and had also lost his sense of direction. A silent scream began to build up inside him, and the panic grew until all he could see was a screen of reddish black. He twisted and there was a drubbing vibration as his cylinder caught the rock. David stopped, shivering and treading water. If he damaged the equipment he would be finished. He looked at the gauge. The needle indicated that he had about fifteen minutes’ supply of air, but he knew that if he continued to panic the supply would go more quickly.

  He turned round and swam back more slowly but then found himself confronting a wall of rock. He tried another direction, and found another. Black, slimy rock, encrusted with barnacles. Swimming in a different direction, he felt the panic rising in his throat again, and again he trod water, trying to calm himself. Methodically, David tried another direction and at last he found he could swim on unimpeded. A faint grey light gave him a spark of hope and he kicked out towards it. Surely he would come out towards the open sea now and the whole nightmare would be over. He would see Henriques, get the thumbs-up sign, and probably also get one hell of a bollocking. Trust Miguel to lead him into danger. He had been a complete fool to follow him for those reckless few metres. Oh well, he had learnt his lesson. Then to David’s amazement and dismay he found that he had not swum out towards the open sea after all, but into a huge cavern. Directly in front of him was a shallow beach, partly shadowed in a wan green light.

  David swam on, still reeling with shock. Trying to think clearly he came to a hasty decision. Perhaps the network of caves led up to the island. He prayed they did – prayed that he would not have to go back through the cruel darkness of the water, searching for the open sea.

  Slowly David swam up to the beach. He emerged from the water with relief, taking off his mask, knowing that at least he would be saving oxygen. He breathed fearfully. The air was salty, sulphurous. His flippered feet scrunched on what at first he thought was shingle, but when he looked down he saw the beach was entirely composed of minute fossils. Some looked like miniature seahorses; others were unrecognisable with a socket for an eye and a body that was skeletal and feather thin. It was impossible not to destroy them as he walked and David had the uneasy feeling he was the first person to walk here.

  When he reached the top of the fossil beach, David found himself on hard, smooth rock. He had expected to meet a dead end, but instead there was an arch and beyond it another cavern that was completely dry. He inched his way forward, reassured that the ground was still rising.

  Once in the second cavern, his eyes gradually became used to the half-light and he stopped dead in his tracks, in a kind of wondering astonishment, temporarily forgetting his fear. In front of him rocks were piled in a jumbled heap. They were a mass of different colours – ochre, red, livid white, blue, green and pink. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he quickly noticed that the rocks were not so haphazardly thrown together as he had first thought. They seemed to have purpose, shape. The thought flashed into his mind that someone had piled the rocks into semi-human shape. The figures crouched, reclined, sat, stood. Most were about twelve metres high. Some of the giants stood facing the wall of the cavern, others were huddled together whilst one lay spread-eagled on the ground. There was an uncanny life force to them and this, allied to the total silence of the cavern, made David stand very still, unwilling to move, as rooted as the giants. They were Dad’s sculptures – as near as anything.

  There was a strange smell in the air – a combination of brine and dry seaweed. Suddenly David was reminded of standing in the choir of Canterbury Cathedral with his parents. They had been together then, and his father had been one of the craftsmen restoring the stonework outside. There was the same feeling of permanence and awe and dignity and reverence. David stared at the rock giants and they stared back at him. Gradually a sensation of comfort overcame him. He felt as if he was weightless, floating in a clean open space … David had never known his brain so clear. Images passed across it, sharp, crystal, coloured. He saw his father working on the cathedral, his mother planting seeds in the garden, Gran shouting at a nurse in the old people’s home. Then he saw his father, here in the crumbling villa, his mother weeping by a small hibiscus shrub that his father had never seen, Gran babbling away in dementia. Then the images were shattered like stone breaking glass and David was returned to the reality of the cavern and a rhythmic scrunching sound.

  David froze and the original
fear returned as he realised that someone was walking over the fossil beach. He stumbled in his flippers to the outer cavern and was amazed to see Miguel. A wave of joy flooded him. He was saved. It was the very first time that he had ever been pleased to see Miguel.

  ‘What you doing here?’ Miguel was scowling; ridiculously, outrageously unable to realise the danger David had been in.

  ‘You beckoned me on.’ His indignation was fuelled by returning hatred.

  ‘I no beckon.’

  David shrugged. It was not worth the argument and his anger changed into relief. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Henriques will be in one hell of a panic.’

  ‘Why you here?’ persisted Miguel. His thin, muscular figure was rigid and his dark oval face sneered.

  ‘Let’s get out,’ David demanded.

  Miguel laughed and David felt a creeping unease. What if Miguel refused to guide him out?

  ‘Let’s go,’ David persisted.

  The wicked grin that appeared on Miguel’s face made him look like a gargoyle. ‘I go – you stay.’

  ‘I’ll die.’ David’s voice quavered and Miguel’s grin broadened.

  ‘You should no come.’

  ‘I didn’t want to come.’

  There was silence and David noticed that Miguel’s eyes were fixed on the arch and the second cavern beyond. David touched his arm and Miguel drew back swiftly, as if David had tried to hit him.

  ‘You not touch.’

  ‘You’ve got to help me.’

  Miguel looked at him again, but with such contempt and hatred that this time it was David who drew back as if he had been physically attacked.

  ‘Please help me,’ he whimpered. ‘Please.’ All his pride had gone. All he wanted was to see the reassuring figure of Henriques once more.

  ‘You not come here again.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘And you not tell Henriques.’

  David nodded dumbly.

  Miguel laughed. ‘And you kiss my feet.’

  ‘What?’