The Reef

by Mark Charan Newton

  They drifted away from Arya.

  The sun was out in its full, brutal glory. In the distance, Santiago could still see Manolin’s figure on the beach. The villagers were gone. He supposed they were either weaving baskets, gathering food, preparing fishing nets. Manolin looked small against the frame of the island-the palms, the lagoon. Birds were hovering above the forest, circling routes up the dormant volcano. The water was an intense blue and you could see fish drifting with the currents.

  Santiago allowed the wind to cool his face, the bitterness he felt to Manolin slowly being blown away. He closed his eyes, inhaled the last of the island air, and could still sense the jasmine that he had become accustomed to. He felt sad, although he was not sure exactly why. He opened his eyes and placed his hands on the rail.

  Ahead of him was the reef.

  You could see the tiny islands of seaweed perching upon it. The water changed direction and speed through the different channels that ran through it. He frowned and could think of nothing but the reef for a long while after they had passed it.

  Jefry had joined him after a mile’s sailing. The rumel stood next to Santiago, staring out at the water. Eventually he said, ‘Where to now then, boss?’

  ‘Huh?’ Santiago said.

  ‘Next stop. You mentioned other islands to look at?’

  ‘Oh. Right. Samekh. It’s about ten or twenty miles from Arya. In the direction we’re headed. I didn’t realise they were so close until Forb had mentioned it. The chain of islands stretches further out in one direction for over hundreds of miles. I’d visited some before for research.’

  ‘Tough call, the doctor getting it,’ Jefry said. ‘He was a nice chap. Little weird, but a good heart.’ ‘Yes. Yes he was, rather,’ Santiago said. ‘Now Manolin is filling his sandals.’

  Jefry grunted.

  ‘We can station on Samekh for a few days,’ Santiago said. ‘A week, maybe, depending on what’s there. I’ve been to that island, briefly, and there wasn’t much if I remember, but we can do a survey.’ ‘What happens when we get back?’ Jefry said. ‘I overheard talk about us being wanted as the agents are dead.’ ‘Nonsense, man,’ Santiago said. ‘We’ll be fine. After all, one of them killed the other. These things happen at sea.’

  ‘Right. So we’ll be able to publish your findings?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Santiago remembered the body of the ichthyocentaur he had below deck in a barrel. He would love show the scientific community. ‘Possibly?’ Jefry said. ‘Why only possibly?’

  ‘Well, if I’m honest, the mayor might not appreciate his men dying. It might be best to stay undercover for a few months. It’ll be a while yet. And besides, Manolin’s set up home here. He wouldn’t want other scientists and sailors coming, would he?’

  ‘How altruistic of you,’ Jefry said. ‘So this was all a waste of time? All this travelling and research.’

  ‘Not at all. We did our studies. We know what we’ve found. The money will come eventually. Anyway, you got your marriage back, didn’t you? Wasn’t a waste from your perspective.’

  Jefry did not respond.

  ‘And besides, we learnt a lot. We might not be able to publish yet, but in a few years ... We’ll have a good reputation when we get back, in underground circles, of course. But who says we need to go back to Escha? I reckon we can go further north. Business is better up there, they say. We don’t need Escha. Hell, who does? Jefry, the options are endless. I know of other towns and cities. I know of a place where it’s a cool, mild climate, with plenty of mountains, pine forests, and inns-proper ones-where a shilling can feed you all night, and the barmaids smile when you order the same drink again. But, for now, let’s concentrate on the second island. Who knows, we could visit others in the chain.’

  Both men looked out to sea, towards two shades of blue. Most of the clouds had been burned away. A few seagulls flew circles overhead. You could hear them cry out over the noise of the boat cutting through water.

  Santiago stepped up to the ship’s wheel. He checked his charts, steered DeBrelt One on course for the island of Samekh. As he looked back, he could how small see Arya was, the volcano and forest hazy in the distance. He leaned over the rail, looking down to the rumel, who was still standing on the deck. Yana joined him. They stood together, his arm around her waist. Santiago wondered why Jefry never hurt Manolin, never so much as punched him. He wondered if Yana ever told him about her baby. He knew she had lost it. She had become attached to the idea. He could see the loss in her eyes and the way she carried herself. There was a slowness, a hint of regret in every movement she made. Everything she looked at, she seemed to look right past it.

  Did Manolin ever know he could have been a father? Santiago saw a symbol in Manolin’s ignorance of this, an ignorance that also led

  Manolin to remain on the island rather than come back to the mainland.

  Santiago did not know why he both hated and loved him. He thought that Manolin never appreciated what he had done for him. Was he jealous of a younger, better-looking man? One who had given up on life? Santiago snorted a laugh, brushed down his moustache, and walked below deck. He said, ‘I’m sure there must be a bottle of wine lying around somewhere.’

  Below deck, Becq was sitting in her cabin. She had opened her bags, thrown her clothes everywhere. On her lap was her doll. Manolin’s hair was longer when she had left him on Arya. She would need more wool to lengthen that of the doll’s. Also, how would she make the doll’s face browner? That’s how she remembered him. She brought the doll to her face. Strands of her blonde hair smothered it. She let it go, placed it on the bed. She took out her needle and thread then began to work on it. Every few minutes she stopped to hold the doll to the light from the porthole.

  There was a knocking on the door, then it opened. Santiago stood in the doorway, a bottle held by his side. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked. ‘Just thought I’d check and see if it was.’

  She watched his gaze flick down to her doll, then around at the clothes, which were all over her cabin floor and bed. When he looked right at her, she nodded. Santiago rolled his lips in a thin smile, nodded back, then closed the door. She could hear his footsteps fading.

  She looked at the doll once again, holding it up in front of her. ‘Now, that was nice of him, wasn’t it? You’d think he was someone’s father, wouldn’t you?’

  She placed the doll back down and continued to work on it.

  Twenty-Six

  Santiago steered his boat as near to the island as he could. He had a vague memory of where the deeper waters were, could see the dark blue colours clear enough as the sun was still high. After dropping the anchor, he looked off the port side to view Samekh in its entirety. Similar to Arya, it was a quarter the size, and there was no volcano. The same palm species were recognisable. The island was uninhabited-that much he did know. Still, he thought it a nice place to stop on the return voyage. It would give the others, particularly his daughter, a chance to remove their attachment to Arya. He knew these trips affected people psychologically.

  Santiago turned from the ship’s wheel, picked up a case. He opened it, pulled out several sections of a fishing rod, connected them together. He placed a panama hat on, rolled up his shirt sleeves, then picked out a small pipe and a packet of tobacco from his trouser pocket. After he had lit his pipe, he reached into the case once again and drew out a dried piece of meat. He placed it on the hook and cast his line out into a patch of shallow water. His face was perspiring in the heat. He looked down where his line was, and marvelled at how clean and green the water was. Marine life swam hypnotically around his hook.

  He didn’t know how long he had been there when Becq stepped up next to him, her flip-flops slipping along the deck.

  He said, ‘Pick your feet up when you walk.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood,’ she said.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? I hope you’re not going to ruin my peace and quiet by being in a huff.’

  ‘Why’re you fishing?�
�

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be surveying the island or something?’

  ‘Not today,’ Santiago said. ‘There’s no point. Let’s just settle here for a while. We’ll be here for a week or so. It’s not a big island. You can take a raft and see what’s there if you want.’

  She sighed.

  ‘Oh, come on, girl. Be more positive.’

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘I wanted to stay longer on Arya.’

  ‘Well, I’m in charge and our work was done.’

  ‘Was it? Did we solve the ichthyocentaur deaths? Everything feels a little incomplete.’

  ‘More or less. We didn’t go there just for that. Anyway, the mayor was only interested as it could’ve been a threat to Escha. Now, you didn’t see anything that could threaten anyone, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t see what you saw,’ she said.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Underwater?’

  He turned his head, took out his pipe. ‘I wouldn’t listen to idle speculation, if I were you.’

  She grasped the rail and stared into the water as Santiago replaced his pipe in the corner of his mouth. He could do without being pressed on that matter any more.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘we’re out to survey and record-that’s all. And that’s what we’re doing here. We’re still working. Still charting. Still recording. This world doesn’t map itself.’

  ‘All right. I’ll go ashore with Yana.’

  ‘Yes, you do that. I’ll join you later, maybe. Depends on how good a catch I get.’

  She paused. ‘Don’t you care at all about Manolin?’

  Santiago reflected on the question. ‘What do you mean by “care”?,

  ‘Forget I mentioned it.’ She turned and walked along the deck, her flip-flops skidding on the wood, until she was out of sight. Santiago shrugged, puffed contently from under the shade of his hat.

  That evening, each of them ate alone. Becq sat on the beach, Yana further along to a rocky shore. Jefry and Santiago on the boat. The moon was bright, and soon the two girls met along the shore.

  Becq and Yana talked for some time, listening always to the sounds of the surf upon the rocks. It seemed to hold them there forever, repeating. Yana was dark-skinned since she had been on Arya. Becq looked at the woman with envy. The hour made her seem darker, almost like a native.

  ‘What happened, Yana, back on Arya? I can see that you and Jefry are okay now.’

  Yana smiled, looked at a crab that was crawling along the rock face. ‘Yes. Well, to be honest, I always loved him. I guess I just forgot for a while. That sounds shit, but that’s what it feels like. I’ve remembered my feelings.’

  ‘But you seem intimate, and yet. .. it doesn’t seem ... natural. Yes, that’s the word. Is it a little forced-your intimacy with him?’

  ‘Well, I’ve been bad to him. I have, haven’t I?’ Yana said.

  Becq was silent.

  ‘I’ve been awful,’ Yana said. ‘And still he stood by me. That said a lot. In fact that’s an incredibly powerful thing. And I’ve been through a lot, too. More than I ever thought.’

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  She was staring at the rock that the crab had just crawled past. ‘It’s all right. You know what happened. I lost... a part of me. All I remember is seeing that ichthyocentaur child right after. Why did those animals succeed where I failed? It just seemed to rub it in. Not that I’m denying the creatures the right, but you think that everything goes so easy for us normal people. But he still stood right by me, even when it happened.

  ‘It shocks you, you know, when something like that happens,’ Yana continued. ‘Puts your mind somewhere weird, or brings it back from somewhere else, whatever. Anyway, the point is, I can’t just expect Jefry to have me back and me be the same. I have to try and show him more affection. It has to be slow at first, after all that’s gone on, but I really am sorry for what I’ve done. My feelings are a little forced, but that’s because I’m scared. I do have to remember how to be in love with him. I know that being loved is the safest possible feeling.’

  ‘That seems a little weird-your whole situation.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Yana said. ‘But everyone’s happy. He’s got me back, which is what he insisted, and I’ve someone to look after me, and I know the value of that now. Anyway, most successful marriages have a few lies holding it together; in my case, everything is out in the open. I can at least start again.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to understand, Becq, but just be open-minded. No one else is affected, are they?’ ‘I suppose not,’ Becq said. ‘Well, there you go. Anyway, how’re you feeling about Manolin?’ Becq’s face darkened. ‘I don’t want to go there.’ ‘It’ll be good for you. At some point in time, you’ll get over him, and you’ll find someone better. He so wasn’t right for you.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ Becq said.

  ‘He’s always off doing different things. He’s young, and he gets distracted by the world. He likes remote places, far away from people. And besides, he’s not a tender lover; that’s what you need.’

  ‘He’s good-looking, he doesn’t have to be any good.’

  Yana smiled. ‘You’re learning, girl. The good-looking ones never try hard enough. No, get yourself a man who will let you make a fuss of him. That’s the sort of girl you are, and that’s the kind of guy he wasn’t. He loves nature and books more than women. But I don’t blame him, after what his ex did to him. He was scarred, and whenever anyone is scarred it takes something extremely potent to change the way he’ll think. And you know what the weird thing about Manolin is? He went about his life without really knowing what everyone else knew. Guess that goes the same for all of us. You make your decisions on what you know yourself, oblivious to what goes on behind your back. It’s easy to think he was naive, but we’re saying that from the outside. To him, he’s wondering around in his own little world, trying to be nice.’

  ‘I wonder if we’ll ever hear from him again. It’s weird not knowing what happens.’

  ‘Well, that’s life, Becq. How many people do you meet and then drift away from. Some people leave your life and you’ll never know what happens. In fact, in real life, you seldom get to know someone’s full story. It’s frustrating when you think about it. That’s an important thing to realise. He may turn up, but I think his story has ended for us.’

  Becq sighed, felt sad. ‘I did like him a lot.’ ‘But you weren’t totally committed. I noticed you near one of the villagers last night.’

  Becq gave a coy smile. ‘I just wanted to see what he was like. His breath stank though, and he had horrible teeth. I’m entitled to try though, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. You’ve no commitments, and it’s the first time I’ve seen you confident enough on the subject. Guess the island’s changed you more than you think. But he was not quite an island beauty for you then?’ Yana was holding back a laugh.

  Becq wanted to steer away from the subject. ‘Do you think Manolin will be okay?’ ‘Who knows? I guess so. He’ll be a lot happier there than back home. Besides, he’s surrounded by beauty.’

  ‘It’s horrible that she’s so beautiful. I’m so jealous.’

  ‘I meant the island. Don’t let it get to you. Men will look, but deep down, they don’t want a pretty one to settle down with. Trust me. They’re too much hassle, too much effort. High maintenance. Men really want a nice homely girl, someone that will provide support and love. You’d be surprised by what a decent man will want.’

  ‘The problem is,’ Santiago announced to Jefry, as he tipped back a glass of the rumel’s hidden stash of gin, ‘we men want a pretty girl. One with a body to make him cry. What’s more, they want her to stay that way.’ He slumped back on a chair in his cabin, and his panama fell to the floor. Santiago looked down, frowned at the item, considered reaching it, then sat back up. He looked over at the candle on the table at his side and placed hi
s glass down.

  ‘It’s true,’ he continued. ‘Be they whatever size they prefer-some men like’em chubby, others like’em as bendable as willow -they have to be pretty. Unless you’re really getting your kicks out of the art of fucking, and want to sleep with the ugliest ones around, and I know a few who will. Some decent chaps, too. People’s sexual tastes often amuse me. I know many a politician that likes being buggered by a six foot skinhead. You certainly won’t read about that in any of the papers. But that’s straying from the issue. Anyway, point being, is that I reckon Manolin is staying there only because of her-Miss Island Beauty.’

  ‘Aye,’ Jefry said. ‘She was nice. I’ll give the little runt that.’ ‘Oh, no, no. Never say “perfect”, Jef. Never. The perfect woman does not exist. The perfect partner does not. You remember that.’

  ‘Or something less misogynistic. Well, she’s pretty damn perfect to me. Nice arse. Very polite. So damn caring, too. She’ll weather well, I’ll bet.’

  ‘Careful, man. The perfect woman only exists in art.’

  ‘Nonsense, Santiago. What crap are you peddling-?’

  ‘You see,’ Santiago said, ‘the decent painter or composer, will always present to you, in their work, a perfect woman. The ... joke ... that they all share is that the woman will only, can only,’ he waved a finger in the air, ‘exist in their work.’

  ‘Not sure I follow.’ The rumel lay down on Santiago’s bed, placed his glass of gin on the floor.’

  ‘You see, they are creating someone that they want to taunt the viewer with. One where you can’t see the faults. Specifically unavailable to the likes of anyone. In fact, they may do it to point it out to us that they do not at all exist in the real world. Point being, is that one should not even be looking for such a thing. Of course, it makes for a painful life back in said real world. Mark my words. Manolin thought his last wife was, as you say, perfect. Look what happened there.’