The Seahorse

by Anthony Masters

‘Yes–I usually look forward to it as an attempt to show what they’ve been paying through the nose for, but with the present situation and the explosive atmosphere I don’t relish it.’

  ‘What do you want me to do this year?’

  ‘Same as you did last year, if you would,’ said Storm reflectively, chewing at his pipe. ‘Refreshments and hobbies display, both lousy jobs, I’m afraid, but dare I say it–you’re used to it and can organise them better than anyone.’

  The rain had stopped, she noticed, and she wondered if she ought to go for a walk. The feeling was persisting in her more strongly than before. If only she could get away from him. She thought of Paul and the sex she had had with him years ago–a painful memory but one that prompted her to need it again–now! But with Storm–not Paul. Storm, because he would be heavier on her and probably clumsy and fumbling and that was just what she wanted–to stave it off and then to have it. Hot and clumsy–and then to fight and scratch for it before it happened. She wanted to feel his big bulk all over her, suffocating her as they fought on the bed. Please–please let him fall on her clumsily so she could feel something–five years of feeling nothing tore at her–Then she suddenly noticed that he had stopped talking–perhaps she hadn’t answered a question. Storm was looking at her and he suddenly seemed relaxed as if he had come to a decision.

  He got up from where he was sitting and sat down beside her. She watched him, immovable, as if she was simply a spectator of someone she didn’t know enacting out some uninvolved platitude. When he had sat down he took her shoulders and gripped them very hard so that it hurt. She looked at his wet, bulbous lips and thought, with pity, how ugly he was. Then she dismissed the pity and asked:

  ‘Are you sure you’re not being kind, Storm?’

  He didn’t say anything and she began to shake. All her limbs seemed to be shuddering at once and she couldn’t keep her legs still. He must at least want it too, she thought, and she began to moan as he touched her breasts firmly, placing a hand on each one in turn. Then he began to unbutton her cardigan.

  ‘Can we go on the bed?’ she asked like a child.

  He nodded and helped her up, swamping her as he held her close to him with one huge arm encircling her shoulders. They walked through to the bedroom and she lay on the bed, whilst he looked at her as if she was a toy or a small doll. Then he lay down beside her and she held his hand, happy to lie there with him for a moment. After a while, she undid her blouse and fumbled with her brassiere straps. But he did it for her, gently and neatly, and she was surprised because he looked so clumsy. Then he slipped his hands once again over her breasts and buried his face in them, still saying nothing, whilst she whimpered and plucked at his thick, black hair. Soon he began to rub them up and down very slowly until she could hardly bear not to have it all–at once. But because she wanted it slowly, because she wanted to delight in every movement of it she stayed quiet and bit back the impulse to cry out. A sudden horrifying thought–what if they didn’t go through with it now? She couldn’t stand it if they didn’t. She turned to his gentle, ugly face for reassurance.

  ‘Are we going to go right through with this?’

  ‘If you would like to.’

  ‘But do you want to?’

  ‘You know I’ve been wanting to for years, darling.’

  There was nothing more for them to say, and for a long time they lay there looking forward to it. Then he got up from the bed and she wasn’t worried because she knew what he was going to do. Whilst he was undressing she slipped off her skirt and underclothes and she lay naked on the eiderdown, shivering because it was cold. He didn’t have the kind of body she expected–he was very smooth.

  ‘Shall we get in or shall we lie on top so that we can look at each other’s bodies better?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s lie on top,’ she said.

  They began to make love very slowly so that they could still anticipate. They lay facing each other; whilst he ran his hands over her, she put her fingers on his penis, holding it to her like a small animal and stroking it when he leant over and kissed both her breasts with his big lips. Then he began to kiss her heavily on the mouth and she bit back, struggling and kicking. Quickly he lowered himself on to her, almost suffocating her with his weight. Her body tensed and then relaxed and she stopped shivering. He made love to her savagely and she responded in the same way. After a while they lay back and she held his hand again. They lay there for about half an hour and then got up and began to dress. Eventually she sat on the edge of the bed and he kissed her on the top of the head. Quite soon he went away.

  They decided to christen the boat the next afternoon. There was a general free period from two until three and the scheduled time for the ceremony was two fifteen.

  ‘We really want a bottle of champagne,’ whispered Alexander to Adrian in Assembly that morning.

  ‘Jeremy’s got an empty bottle–we could fill it with water,’ hissed Adrian.

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘It’ll have to do–don’t be a clod.’

  Alexander frowned–Adrian had been getting a little abusive lately. He still had his dignity to keep up.

  ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.’ Storm barked out the final word and there was a muttered repetition.

  ‘What are we going to call it?’ asked Alexander out of the corner of his mouth.

  The religious part of the ceremony having finished, Storm cleared his throat loudly.

  ‘Can’t hear you,’ whispered Adrian.

  ‘Parents’ Day is once again creeping up on us and naturally we all want to put on a damn good show–an even better one in fact than last year.’

  ‘What are we going to call it,’ said Alexander in a slightly louder tone, so that several boys looked round.

  ‘We’re going to stick to the usual pattern–gym display at 2 p.m., hobbies exhibition between 3 and 4 p.m., and the usual walk round and talk until 6, when we’ll have the Prizegiving and tea. I want you to show your parents everywhere and everything. Show them the beach and the cliffs if you like, providing it’s decent weather, but you must get them back somehow for the Prizegiving–even if you have to drag them.’ Storm grinned and this was the signal for a murmur of restrained laughter from his pupils.

  ‘We’re going to call it the Revenge,’ hissed Adrian.

  ‘The what?’ asked Alexander, too curious not to be reckless.

  ‘It should be a very pleasant day anyway–and I want best behaviour from everyone. No fighting, arguing and above all NO exhibitionism from any of you–and that means no showing off. I’ll be watching. Now Miss Strang has the gym display organised, have you not?’

  Laura nodded her head officiously.

  ‘And Mrs. Latimer is au fait with the Hobbies Exhibition?’ Storm glanced round at her and Meg nodded obediently. She was wondering when she could see him again.

  ‘Now I–’ Storm cast a steady glance to the back row and then looked surprised.

  ‘Was that you whispering, Alexander? I find this very strange. Perhaps you would come and see me afterwards.’

  Most of the school turned round and stared at him and Alexander went brick red. He felt his disgrace.

  The afternoon was fine and little knots of boys slowly walked over the sands towards the cave. The tide was in and they had to wade through two or three feet of water before they reached it. It was unsteady progress as there were deep pools and rocks underfoot. They wore bathing costumes although no bathing was allowed until 4.30. Every now and then one or other of them would disappear into a deep pool, coming up floundering and spitting water. Howls of laughter greeted the unfortunate victims especially when a large, heavy-footed boy named Albert appeared to sink without trace for several seconds. He appeared as the others became alarmed, spitting out bits of seaweed. Gradually the more experienced visitors to the cave, those in fact who had done the most work, had established a path over miniature rocky plateaus and bridges, and guided the others ove
r.

  Watching the long strung out line of boys on the rocks in the afternoon sun, Storm’s curiosity was only temporarily aroused. He had Meg very much on his mind and was trying to plot out a plan of campaign–with the basic thought that he must see her again as soon as possible. He dismissed the activity on the beach from his mind as he moodily walked back to his desk, and opened the drawer. Storm wondered what the hell he was going to do about Schulmann. He lit a cigarette and dismissed it from his mind. Instead he thought about Meg.

  Meanwhile preparations were going ahead in the cave. The boat had been draped with an old tarpaulin and arrangements had been made so that it could be drawn away swiftly at the crucial point in the ceremony. Adrian stood surveying his work proudly whilst a row of respectful spectators waited, shuffling around in comparative silence, much in awe of the occasion. The cave was almost in darkness as more and more boys filed in, and he told them sharply to go to the back of the cave so as not to block out the light. Angrily he looked round for Alexander–it was already 2.15 and he had not yet arrived.

  But he was on his way, trudging across the beach with a heavy heart–and Eric who skipped excitedly along beside him. Alexander was bitterly depressed because Storm, the fairest judge of anyone he knew, had savagely criticised him and threatened to remove him from being school captain. He told him that he had become lazy and irresponsible over the last few weeks, and was fast proving a disappointment. He could not understand why this was happening, and asked him a few leading questions about his glib lie of a few weeks earlier concerning the proposal for a school newspaper. Storm told him that he was obviously using this as a front for some collective and infantile stupidity and he asked Alexander what had happened to his discretion, his loyalty and his powers of leadership. Alexander was unable to elucidate any of these points and Storm almost lost his patience. He told Alexander that he was to pull up his socks and reinstate his authority. ‘Whispering and giggling like a three-year-old in Assembly this morning–what’s happening to you, man?’ he thundered. But Alexander had no answer. He appeared apathetic and stubborn, so Storm had told him to go away and think about what he had said, adding the rider that if he caught him playing the fool again he would be deposed. Then Storm had turned away, and Alexander was dismissed. He went out with his tail between his legs, humiliated and miserable. As he stumbled over the rocks he knew his days of authority were numbered.

  Gulls screamed across the sky like burnished silver and the afternoon was a riot of water-colour splendour after the rain-washed weekend. Everything seemed clean and fresh, particularly the sea which was a smooth transparent green, full of driftwood and weed after the rough nights before. It was clear and cold to his feet, but Storm’s criticism still rang in his ears. Eric, who seemed to worship him, splashed along beside him asking inane questions. Gradually they neared the cave and found it full to bursting point. Boys were crammed in all parts of it, sitting on ledges and in crannies, standing, kneeling, or pushed right up against the wall at the back. There were only about twenty, but the cave was so small that they seemed an army. They looked like so many gypsies–the sea and sun had already tanned them a light brown and in the cave they looked darker and rather sinister. A great cheer went up as Alexander arrived and Eric sidled in somewhere at the back, burrowing his way amongst the crowd.

  ‘At last,’ moaned Adrian bitterly, looking at his watch. ‘Hurry up or it’ll be time to go back.’ Shrugging off his depression Alexander jumped up on the prow of the tarpaulin-covered boat and the fidgeting, scuffling and buzz of conversation stopped.

  ‘O.K., so here we are–it’s ready!’ he shouted.

  Another cheer went up–Albert and Jeremy the loudest with the others joining in more raggedly.

  ‘Where’s the bottle?’ he asked Adrian, who handed it up to him with a disapproving look. He obviously thought that the ceremony should be a little more austere and dignified.

  ‘Now we can really lick the old monster!’

  A thin, anaemic-looking boy with a crew cut stepped forward and shouted hysterically,

  ‘When can we get ’im?’

  The cry was taken up and three or four of them began to shout out–

  ‘Let’s go now!’

  ‘Let’s do it on Parents’ Day–then my old man can see me.’

  ‘I want to go back,’ screamed an imaginative shock-haired ten-year-old, the excitement of the occasion becoming too much for him. ‘I want to go home.’ And he burst into tears.

  They all began to surge forward excitedly and one or two of them tried to grab hold of either end of the boat. Adrian tried to beat them off and Eric ineffectually cried, ‘STOP IT, STOP IT,’ at the top of his voice.

  It was Alexander however who restored order.

  ‘Shut up!’ he yelled. ‘Get back from the boat.’ They fell back and looked expectantly at him, except the dissenter, who was still crying quietly, ready to rise to greater volume should anyone pay any attention to him.

  ‘I’m just going to christen her,’ he said, waving the bottle aloft which was tied to a length of string.

  ‘I should keep pretty clear or you’ll get it in the mush.’

  They stood back respectfully, squashing further back into the recesses the cave offered. There was silence for a moment and then with a war cry Alexander began to swing the bottle round and round above his head. He brought it down hard, glass and water flew up and he shouted:

  ‘I christen you H.M.S. Revenge–God save the Queen, or whatever they say.’

  ‘You haven’t got it right,’ raved Adrian, ‘you ought to say–’

  But what should have been said was lost in another cheer which dragged on and then broke off, to be followed by anti-climax. As the boat was not to be launched there was nothing more to do and they began to file disconsolately out. But Alexander had not quite finished.

  ‘Wait a sec–we’ll be actually sailing next week on July 1st at 9 a.m. We’ll want eight sharpened staves. The following have been elected by Adrian and me to come on the first exercise.’

  Adrian passed him up a list and Alexander read from it whilst everyone listened with bated breath. The boy who had been crying stopped and was staring wide-eyed with interest as the names were read out.

  ‘Right–here we are then. First of all Adrian, me and Eric. That’s fair enough, because we thought of it and we’ve done most of the work. Then we’ve picked Alan Smith, George Watson, Reg Hayes, Jimmy MacBrain, and Arnold Slater. O.K.?’

  It was obviously not and there were howls of disappointment. The boy who had been crying miserably a few moments before began to cry again, shouting and sobbing at Alexander.

  ‘I want to go–I want to go–it’s not fair!’

  ‘We don’t want crybabies,’ said Alexander scornfully.

  ‘I’m not a crybaby–and I will come!’ he bawled all the louder, and was quickly suppressed by two other boys, one of whom put his hand over the child’s mouth while the other began to twist his wrist.

  ‘Why can’t I go?’ shouted the epileptic, Jeremy.

  ‘Because we don’t want you having one of your fits in the boat,’ snapped Adrian cruelly, and Jeremy slunk back to the furthest row of boys, pushing his way amongst them and turning his face away from everybody.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jerry, we’ll take you,’ Alexander shouted to him.

  ‘We won’t,’ said Adrian quietly beside him, and Alexander knew they wouldn’t.

  They weren’t going to mention the dummy run–that would be a private thing between the three of them.

  ‘So that’s it–now get back or they’ll find out.’

  They went running out, pushing, splashing and shoving their way over the rocks, and then up the beach towards the school. There was five minutes to spare and Alexander, Adrian and Eric followed at a more leisurely pace. Adrian looked pleased and the other two felt, as usual, relieved that he did. The tide was gradually on the wane and had uncovered the pools. The biggest contained an oil drum and as they passed
, they saw it sway slightly and they heard a noise from inside. Adrian bent over it curiously. It was upside down in the pool and part of it had obviously rotted away, but the aperture was clogged with thick weed. Rather than move the weed Adrian began to rock the drum from side to side–Alexander joined him and together they lifted it out of the pool and threw it into another. There was a strip of sandy rock which had formed a base to the drum and settled on it was a very macabre spectacle, the sight of which caused Alexander to shriek aloud in terror. So startled were they by his sudden fear that they stared up at him, staggered by his apparent hysteria. They looked down again, followed his horrified gaze and saw the dreadful carnage that the monster crab had wrought to keep himself from starvation whilst trapped in the drum. The tragedy was obvious and their eyes told them his miserable story. When his efforts to move the blockage at the entrance had failed and recurring tides had not dislodged it he had taken to throwing himself against the walls of his prison. His chipped and battered shell was proof of this but his last resort in face of hunger was the most dreadful to see. Trapped with him was his wife and supposedly his children–all of which he had been forced voraciously to consume to keep himself alive. His appetite was obviously very large and he was bloated and obese. The remains of his dependants lay on the rock and a revoltingly sweet stench made them move on quickly, leaving the widower to slide off his gory perch and stagger drunkenly over the rocks to another pool some way from the scene of his crime.

  Parents’ Day was particularly bright and sunny. They began to arrive about 1.30, after a poor lunch in Seahaven. Casey watched them all arriving in big cars, coming up the drive too fast and pulling up too sharply in front of the school. They left behind them great grooves in the sparse gravel and somehow he resented their flurried intrusion. He was almost glad that he had no one coming to see him. He wasn’t in the gym display nor had he any hobbies to demonstrate, so Storm had deputised him, rather brusquely, as cloakroom attendant. Oddly enough, it was a much sought-after job amongst the boys, for as it was of a temporary nature only, there were plenty of opportunities to slope off afterwards. So he peered out from behind the fur coats and trilbys, contentedly handing out stencilled cards that were always lost, ruining Storm’s highly efficient system. He had to check off against a list the number of parents arriving, and when this number was complete he could pursue his own devices. He looked forward to that–probably he would go down to the beach–or maybe up on the downs where he could look down on Exeter Court as if it was a model, and on Seahaven, with the cluster of houses and its sprawl of railway tracks and buildings, and finally to Portmanston which was usually overhung with smoke–a greater sprawl that flung sooty tentacles over the surrounding countryside. Despite the heady sense of domination the downland gave him, he decided that he would go on the beach.