The Reef

by Mark Charan Newton

  We’ve been here a few days and everything has gone wrong. I did not anticipate returning to Escha with a child. I did not anticipate returning to Escha a single woman, either, but both ideas appeal now I come to think about it. I like the idea of having a child. I can’t pretend that I’ve never wanted one. Santiago thinks I’ve been lucky to escape so far. He’s not overly fond of children, poor Becq. All my friends and family have had them. I remember my sister, Yvena, telling me, when she first had Estella, the little thing cried all through the night. She cried so loud that Yvena couldn’t sleep. When Estella stopped crying, Yvena had said, the silence was so blissfully intense. I want that, I want that very much. I’m putting on weight and I love it. I look down at my stomach and know that I’m creating something, and that I love him or her very much.

  Of course, telling Manolin will be something altogether more difficult. I still can’t tell him and I’m not sure what he’s going to say. I’ll also have to let Becq know, too. She’s not going to like the fact that the ‘untouchable’ :tYIanolin succumbed to this old woman’s charms. She’ll be clinging on to her doll for a little while longer. Santiago insists I tell him and everyone as soon as I can. He’s cornered me several times. I can’t see why he’d want me to ruin Manolin’s life though. It seems strange that someone who has helped another so much would want to cause them such a problem like this.

  Manolin has been freed from the city since we’ve arrived. Quite right, too, as he’s had a lot to deal with. The island has turned him into something of a free spirit, unlikely to be claimed by anyone, let alone Becq. She’d be no good to him anyway, and he’ll never want her. He’s

  one of those men will only stay in a masochistic relationship, like his last one. He’s the sort that does not like the responsibility of making a decision. I remember days like that.

  I’ve learned more about people, but look at the idiot I ended up with: Jefry. Of course, I’ll get the negative spin from it. He’s so kind and so gentle. ‘How could you do that to him?’ Thing was, he never got me ex&ited. At least Manolin, for the brief moment it was (not his fault, he claimed), made me feel like a woman. J efry has always been so predictable. I wanted to feel a surge of something, of simply anything, race through me. Is it a crime to be bored by things? Should a marriage just turn to being distant acquaintances; saying good mornings at the breakfast table does not constitute love and affection.

  He stayed the night in a hut on the north of the island. The doctor thought he needed time to think. Perhaps I am being too harsh, but sometimes you have to be. He joined us again in the morning and acted as if little has happened. He even spoke to Manolin, although I could see the look in J ef’s eyes. I could see it clearly, because I’ve never seen it before.

  I hate to say it, but I think him being a rumel affects me greatly, the older I get. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. It’s not the sort of thing to be said these days. Initially there was this excitement of him being non human. And I know my mother never approved, which gave our nights a certain zest. He was never a great lover, not that these things matter in the long run, but it was certainly different: feeling his tough skin upon mine; feeling that tail wrap me up. But I guess no one likes to hear the same song endlessly.

  I’m confident it’s over. I feel, quite simply, nothing but sympathy for Jefry. This baby provides me with the ultimate escape. I don’t want a relationship with Manolin, either. Wouldn’t want to lumber him with an old thing like me anyway! I can do this on my own. He’d run a mile anyway. No, this child is simply mine.

  It’s a gift.

  I’m bored with geology. I don’t care what constitutes the sedimentary layers here. I don’t care where there are geological faults. I should’ve given this up a long time ago. Santiago bores me. Jefry bores me. Everything is so frightfully dulL If it weren’t for my beloved lump I’d probably run off with one of these native men. They’re so awfully generous and so sensuaL

  Sensual: I think that is most definitely the word to describe the island. This is all getting more like one of those ghastly diary entries now. And how self-aware can one get? I’ll continue sensibly.

  One forgets about the city and remembers what it is to touch and feel and smell and taste and hear. I was talking to Mghuno, one of the village

  men this morning. He was hauling his boat on to the beach and took a bundle of fish to his family. He was manly and brown, too. He did everything so slowly, as if he had forever to do it in, and I watched him for some time. He is so gende and strong. He speaks to me as if I’m a deity. Perhaps these sun-kissed men think that of a pale woman such as myself-I’m the exotic to them, after alL

  There are so many things I could write about: the colours, the smells, the weather, the people, the forest, the reef. The ichthyocentaur: now they are an interesting lot. So peacefuL I can’t understand why anyone wants them dead. They are killed so brutally, too. Such a ghasdy vision. I know Santiago is planning something. He is an observant man. I think he’s been frightfully nice about everything-the baby and my situation. He wants to use one as bait, to flush out the beasdy things that are doing the killing. I’m not sure what I make of it. In essence it is does the job, but think of the poor creature being dangled out, waiting to be killed with just our weapons to protect it. It is so risky. I don’t want any of them to come to harm. They’re quite loveable, and just simply remarkable. It’s insane to think that these creatures were thought extinct, and that we’re here, with them, touching them.

  And Santiago wants to play with their life? I’m really not so sure. That’s just my opinion. I don’t want to get into politics.

  Anyway, I shouldn’t write of frightening things like that, I should stay here, with my book and my pencil, and concentrate about what really matters because it’s all here for me to see. Or, failing that, I’ll turn over and let my back get a litde browner.

  I can do both.

  I woke up sunburnt. There is a crab that has just crawled out of a shallow pool; I am redder than the damn thing. Sometimes I think I might be too harsh on Jefry. I guess over the years I’ve just become bitter, progressively. It happens. Some people are shocked when suddenly they wake up one morning, look across at their partner and suffer a stab of regret. The partner has given up; lost their charm. They no longer make any effort. Is it intentional, or do they simply forget? That’s when people have long affairs; flings with someone who can provide comfort, a welcoming touch.

  I remember when I met Jefry I felt a surge of excitement, and I knew it would of course one day go away, but I had hoped it would develop into something else. That was back in the days when it really was frowned upon for a human and a rumeL Legal, yes, but there was an unspoken essence in the city, the kind of talk that happens only behind backs. It’s not wrong, in my opinion, for that to provide excitement. We are all attracted to things that are different. When a man with another accent walks into a foreign community, he is viewed with suspicion, but he is surrounded by an allure. It happens everywhere. But for that man to be of a different physiology, well, that certainly had people talking.

  He used to be so nice to me. I’m not someone who accepts grand gestures because, quite frankly, that is too predictable. It’s the most warming feeling to have someone ask how my day went, or to have him run a bath for me. It made me feel secure. And that is important, despite what anyone says. For me, I need security. Or I once did, at least.

  Sometimes I think that being on this island is not all good. It is alarmingly dislocating. Home equals comfort; and it is amazing how that makes me feel. Being here where I’m not in my own bed, where I’m not eating the comfort foods I’m used to, where I can’t chat to my friends or family; it makes me crave someone’s attention so badly. I feel like a small girl again, who is restless when she is not back at home.

  I’m not sure ifJefry can make me feel happy anymore. I know that in reality one should not rely upon anyone else for happiness, but it’s easily forgotten. It’s a basic human desire.
I suppose being rational won’t help anything. I suspect making lists of good and bad points will do little to help. I should see if that unspoken thing is there, whatever it’s meant to be. None of this makes sense. Looking back over these words, all I can see is that I’m really confused. Nothing makes sense, nothing seems structured. I’d rather hoped that writing everything down would be beneficial, but all I’ve done is worked myself into paranoia.

  Nineteen

  Three days passed and no more ichthyocentaurs were killed. The doctor had agreed to Santiago’s plan. That night they would use one of the creatures as bait. Forb spent the morning talking to some of the elder ichthyocentaurs. They had agreed, and were cautious, but Forb had described the extent of the weapons at their disposal.

  The team continued their studies. Manolin and Becq focussed on the ichthyocentaurs. Yana and Santiago, with Jefry’s help, had built up a geological and physiological profile. Jefry had sampled soils from various points of the island. Scientifically, they were coming to the conclusion that they were on paradise.

  Yana was continually silent. For hours at a time she did not speak at all to Jefry. Manolin could tell something was wrong, but he was enjoying the island too much. He dined with Forb, Myranda and Lewys as often as he could. Manolin had great trouble hiding his feelings for the doctor’s wife. He felt it odd that the doctor and Myranda must have both known about it, too. He sat with Myranda whilst Forb went for his morning surf. They talked about nothing that mattered. Manolin had his suspicions that the doctor, on seeing this, had extended his surfing each morning. Manolin and Myranda talked for longer each day. They would sit, on some remote part of the beach. She would perch on a rock, her hands in her lap and she would look down and smile when he asked about her past. She said there was nothing to tell. To Manolin that was beautiful.

  She would walk slowly. Everything she did was mindful. She had no desire to understand Manolin’s scientific rigour, but she always listened. She did not ask about his past, and it seemed to him that there was no need to discuss the past in their culture. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the present moment. Manolin appreciated this fact: his ex-wife had extracted, with precision and strain, every detail of his life. When he came to think of it, all his girlfriends had. They wanted to know who he had had dinner with, whom he had kissed. They would bleed out the details, hurting themselves and, he despaired, they would make him feel bad for it.

  On Arya, none of that seemed to matter. Life was a totally different creature here.

  Santiago, after a few days’ exploration, became well acquainted with Arya. With the help of some of the villagers, he began to collect specimens. There were a few good butterllies, and countless beetles of which he had no record. Nets were held under trees in the middle of the forest while he threw up a little gas bomb, which exploded, then the plume knocked out hundreds of insects. They fell stunted to the nets. Santiago marvelled as he recognised none of them, clasping his hands together in an exclamation. The villagers would carry his samples back to the ship every evening.

  He kept a close eye on Calyban and Soul. He did not trust them, wondered why they were even on the island. He would follow them on their daily constitutional to the north of the island, where for a brief section, the beach encroached a rocky shore. There, water gurgled in crevices, and the island had a different tone. He watched them as they sat on the rocks scanning the horizon with their telescope. Occasionally they would stop and converse with a few of the islanders, then, when the conversation had finished, they would take notes. The two of them always walked together.

  The doctor found Santiago slouched in a hammock on the edge of the village, nestled between to palm trees, his right hand hanging down to a bamboo cup of water. His top hat was pushed over his eyes.

  ‘Ah, Santiago,’ Forb said. ‘There you are. I’ve had my chat with the ichthyocentaurs.’ Santiago pushed his hat back and struggled to sit up. ‘Splendid. And?’

  ‘They’ve agreed to it.’

  ‘Splendid, my good man. Splendid. This is the only way.’

  ‘I suspect you’re right, but I don’t want to see any more die.’

  ‘Not going to happen, doctor. Not going to happen. Mark my words.’ ‘You’ve several muskets and pistols?’ ‘Indeed,’ Santiago said. ‘I think we’ll need a couple of small boats. If these things come from the water, as you say.’

  ‘Yes, that’s not a problem.’

  Santiago met the doctor’s gaze. ‘They’ll be quite all right, y’know.’

  ‘I hope so. I’ve seen so many of them die. If the death rate continues as it has, they’ll be wiped out within a year. I don’t want to see that happening.’

  ‘Of course, it would be a great shame,’ Santiago said. ‘You care

  for them a lot, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, very much,’ Forb said. ‘They know so much about plant use it’s amazing. I often thought of returning to the mainland and showing my findings. Think of the lives I could save. But then, I can’t ever leave here. I couldn’t take my wife and son to Escha.’

  ‘No, they’d hate it. I know I do, especially after seeing this place.’

  ‘Really?’ Forb said.

  ‘Yes. Well, I never quite liked that place truly. Well, not Escha. You get some nicer spots out further across Has-jahn, but of course all the work is on the west coast. One always hopes that government and society change, but people are too greedy. Anyway, people never care about politics unless they themselves are effected. It makes being a scientist a difficult job, at least. Especially studying the natural world.’

  ‘I overheard that you were engaged in politics, once?’

  Santiago smiled, reclining further. ‘I did. Once. That was a long time ago now. Before I got into this business. But I got forced out of it. Don’t much like to go into it.’

  Forb nodded. ‘Manolin tells me that you’ve been to one or two of the other islands in the chain before?’ ‘Indeed. I don’t know why I never came here in all honesty. This is one of the smallest in the chain, isn’t it?’

  Forb found something disagreeable in Santiago’s tone. Whether or not the old man told a precise truth was debatable. ‘I think it’s in the middle actually. But I don’t go to the others.’

  ‘No,’ Santiago said. Well I went there not all that long ago as a matter of fact. Acted as a guide-you know, the usual malarkey to try and make ends meet. I had three vessels to pay for. They were rather pleasant places, although a little on the barren side. There’s not much there. The group didn’t want to see this far south.’

  Santiago tilted his head to the sea then back towards Forb. They were silent for a moment. Neither of them felt it worth saying anything, which surprised Forb, being men of a shared interest. Forb didn’t dislike Santiago at all, but the old man wasn’t as engaging as Manolin on a personal level. Santiago didn’t want to connect with the island in the same way Manolin did.

  ‘Well,’ Forb said, ‘I guess I’ll leave you to it. I’ll get everything ready for sunset, if that’s okay? ‘Splendid. That’s a good time to start.’ Santiago sat up. ‘In fact, I’ll row to my ship and collect our weaponry now.’ ‘Good.’ Forb turned, walked away. He looked over his shoulder to see Santiago edging his way cautiously off of the hammock.

  The air was pungent, especially further out in the shallow water. Manolin breathed it in deeply, his hands on his hips, his white shirt rippling in the gentle winds that were more refreshing than being on land. He turned to see the ichthyocentaur that was sitting back on the beach. Jefry was standing behind him, a musket in his arms, a long shadow across the sand. Manolin waved, but he did not reply.

  The water was gentle, hardly making a noise against the reef behind them. Santiago, who was sitting hunched over in the boat next to Manolin, studied his pistols. He drew one up, rubbed the smooth barrel, glancing up from time to time as gulls arced to the north. Manolin turned to the other boat, where Becq and Yana were sitting, with the doctor beside them. They were fifty or so fe
et away, sitting in a line facing him. He gave a wave. Only Forb waved back.

  ‘San?’ Manolin said.

  ‘Yep,’ Santiago said, looking up from his pistol.

  ‘Are you sure Yana’s all right? She hasn’t really spoken to me properly for days.’ ‘She’s a lot on her mind.’ He looked back down. ‘Such as?’ ‘She’ll tell you when she’s ready. Complex beast, a woman.’ There was a smirk on the old man’s face.

  Manolin shrugged. The forest had darkened in the poorer light. In a purple sky, the moon was a third full, low and large against the volcano. Fires were being lit on the beach. He said, ‘You think this’lI work then?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Santiago said. ‘Not a lot else we can do.’

  ‘True. Where are Calyban and Soul?’

  ‘Should be on the beach,’ Santiago said. ‘I think they’re getting a small boat too, but I haven’t seen it yet.’ ‘Found out why they’re here?’ Flicking the mechanism on a pistol, the barrel aimed to the water,

  Santiago said, ‘Hmm. Not really. I think it has something to do with disappearing ships.’

  ‘Disappearing ships?’

  ‘Yes. Rather a lot of trading ships have gone down near this island in the past. I’ve heard tales all my life about it. Great exploratory ships being sunk. Fishing schooners never being seen again. I was, in all honesty, surprised we made it here without any event.’

  ‘You think that Gio sent them to hitch a ride with us then, not just to keep an eye on us?’ ‘Not entirely. I’m certain he wants an eye kept on us, for sure. People don’t like not knowing things.’

  Manolin nodded, his hands still firm on his hips.

  Santiago glanced up. ‘Sit down-you’re making the place look untidy. And it’s going to be a long night, I reckon. We may not even see anything.’

  Manolin sat with a sigh, rocking the small fishing boat. Santiago raised an eyebrow.

  The sound of the tide became monotonous. Manolin lay on his. The night was peaceful, the sky still fresh from the storm a few days ago. The stars were clear, numerous. His wonder had still not ebbed since he had been on the island. It wasn’t long until he wished it was Myranda on the boat, and not Santiago. She would have made the wait more bearable.