by Carmody, Sam
Fucking crazies, Michael yelled to Paul above the noise. Shivani lay curled up on his lap, eyes closed. Despite the heat, she was wearing one of those furry hoods that made her look like a sleeping Eskimo. An Eskimo in a miniskirt.
Nut jobs, all of them, the German said again, tugging a pack of cigarettes from his shorts pocket.
Paul nodded in reply, quietened by what he had just seen. The helpless look on the girl’s face. Roo Dog’s demented joy. The strange theatre of it all. He sculled the last of his beer.
All these city girls, Michael declared, shaking his head, the boys cannot handle it. They lose their minds.
From the slight terracing of the tavern’s restaurant they had a good view of the crowded front bar. Even in the slam of bodies everyone was aware of the deckhands; the menace in their movement and the violence in their laughter. People skirted warily around them, fashioning any available distance in the same way baitfish do around larger predators, the crowd contracting as one away from each hazard.
Shivani stirred, lifting her head from Michael’s shoulder for just a moment before closing her eyes again.
She alright? Paul asked.
She is fine, said the German, raising one of her limp hands with his. She is the dreamer. Always sleeps when she is stoned. Probably a good thing, though. Going to get fucking wild in here soon.
Through the windows Paul could see more bodies out on the square of grass at the crest of the dunes that they called the beer garden, t-shirts and summer dresses rippling in the sea breeze. There must have been several hundred people at the tavern. He couldn’t believe the numbers he had seen that day in town. At lunchtime there were queues at the bakery that went out the door. The caravan park was full. The rivermouth might as well have been a beach in the city for all the people down there; big cackling groups, lolling about on beach towels, getting drunk and sunburnt.
Is it always like this? Paul asked.
Shivani says every New Year’s it is big. People just come. I do not understand. Always lots of people, she says. And always some shit happens.
Like what?
Oh God, Michael said, covering his eyes with his hands. Like, last year, he said, his smile gone. Shivani said that last year there was this one girl. She came up from the city. Prettiest thing in the whole place. All those boys losing the plot, watching her dancing and stuff. She goes off in the dunes with some backpacker. American, I think. Surfer. Anyway, of course the boys followed them up there. Fucking lunatics. They scared the surfer dude off. Roo Dog was swinging a star picket around.
What about the girl?
Jesus, Michael muttered. Those boys were walking up and down that dune like ants, so I’ve heard.
You’re not serious? Why aren’t they in prison?
I do not think the girl reported it. And the American just got the hell out, apparently. Went east.
That is so fucked, Paul muttered, almost to himself.
Yeah, the German nodded. It is.
Paul watched Anvil, all red eyes and leering smile, careening through the crowd like a white shark.
Michael gently squeezed Shivani’s nose. The sleeping girl didn’t move.
I’d better get her home, Michael said with a sigh. One more drink, maybe. You?
Paul shrugged. They had been at the table since five o’clock. He was as drunk as he had ever been.
I shall get us another jug. Mind sleeping beauty, would you?
Michael levered her from the arm of his chair onto Paul and lurched off towards the bar. Shivani collapsed against him, out of it. She smelt of marijuana and perfume. Paul could feel the heat of her small body, her bare legs resting heavy on his lap. A sleepy finger clawed at his chest. Her breath was cool on his neck. He was instantly hard. Paul looked out across the tavern and saw Michael in the roll of the crowd. Under the green glow of the lights the place could have been underwater. The room shimmered. Everything seemed slowed down, almost graceful, as though being pulled by a tide. Shivani moaned, shifting a little, turning her head so her mouth was now on the skin of his collarbone. He had never had anyone on him like this, never taken a girl’s weight on his body before.
You like the look of her, yeah? Michael said, suddenly beside the table, the jug in one hand.
What? Paul stammered, trying to sit up in the chair. Shivani roused, looking up for a moment.
That girl, the bar chick, he said, sitting down.
Paul eased back into his seat. Kasia, he said.
Kasia, Michael replied, clicking his fingers like an old man. What do you think?
She’s pretty, I guess.
Yeah, yeah, Michael mused, raising his eyebrows. Could certainly do worse in Stark. That is for sure.
Shivani woke. She sat up on the arm of Paul’s chair and glanced at him; a dazed, puzzled look. She pulled the hood back from her head and yawned.
Michael, take me home, she whimpered. Why is it so loud?
Come on, dreamer, Michael said. He stood and pulled Shivani up from the chair. Get in my bed.
Michael finished the rest of his schooner and put it down on the table. You coming back now? he asked.
Paul shook his head.
You are so wasted, man. The German grinned. See you in the morning, yeah?
Out in the beer garden the wind blew strong. Paul couldn’t hear the sea but he could feel it, its warm salty breath already in his clothes and stiffening his hair. A covers band sweated under the stage lights. The huge crowd was packed hard, occupying a rectangle of lawn no bigger than half a tennis court. Paul stood as close to the stage as he could get, each step nearer like going deeper underwater, the pressure around him greater. A lead guitar cried out, filling the air like an alarm. A soaring distressed melody. Paul closed his eyes and felt the weight of the crowd pressing in on his body, a big, hot current, drawing him back and forth, threatening to consume him. He laughed, giddy from the force at his back and on his limbs, the danger of it. He listened to the fevered singing of the crowd around him.
Then he noticed the singing quieten. The band up front continued but Paul felt the change in the bodies around him, a ripple of unease spilling from somewhere metres behind. The crowd tightened, stepping awkwardly into each other like spooked cattle. He heard the intensifying sounds of anger and desperate voices. The people at his back scattered and suddenly there were shouts and wide eyes, faces wild as though possessed. Paul heard the slapping thud of flesh into flesh and saw someone on the ground. It was one of the bartenders, his long blond hair sprayed over the lawn like a halo, young face grimacing in fear. There was a large cut above one eye. Anvil circled over him, hysterical, ordering the boy to stand up. Then, right in front of Paul, no more than two metres away, there was a girl, screaming, trying to pull her arm free from the long bony fingers around her wrist. Another gangly hand crawled at the front of her skirt and cupped between her legs. Paul saw Roo Dog’s vacant eyes and joyless smile, like a zombie in the gloom away from the lights of the stage. The girl threw her head back, her eyes pleading, her wrist still in the man’s grip. Kasia.
Paul felt himself lunge forward, a stumbling run, falling into Roo Dog’s ribs. He heard the hollow knock of a chin against the back of his head and when they hit the ground the deckhand gave a muted grunt and went slack underneath him. Paul rolled off and scrambled to his feet. It was then that he felt the sudden heaviness on his jaw. Everything went noiseless and dark and indistinct, as though someone had just knocked him from the beer garden out deep into the night ocean. All he could hear was Anvil, the screams faint in his ears. Paul turned away from the voice, still on his feet, and saw the blank glow of faces. There was the taste of blood in his mouth. He waited for the next hit. He closed his eyes, resigned to it. Then someone grabbed his forearm. He was being pulled away from the stage, away from Anvil, back through the writhing wall of people. He could only just make her out. The black singlet. Her light brown hair bouncing in front of him. The girl weaved and pushed and ducked through the boil of bodies, all swe
at and skin and open mouths. She held his arm firm, leading him. They stepped over discarded cans and plastic beer cups. The grass was slippery under his thongs, his toes sticky. Kasia began to run and he staggered with her. It felt as though he was being drawn through a portal, the beer garden a blur. They ran to where the crowd thinned and where the tavern yard turned to bush. There were two others with them now, another girl and the long-haired guy he had seen on the ground. Blood was streaming from his brow. The four of them sped through the dark, down a thin sandy path. Dune scrub danced at Paul’s feet. He heard the girls’ shallow breaths and nervous laughter. The sea breeze in his ears. Music far behind him.
Paul woke to the tray of the utility shuddering against his back and the drone of bitumen passing below. Above him the sky was so bright with stars it was almost unreal, and with the warm wind tearing over the tray and through his hair he imagined for a moment he was strapped to the belly of a spaceship, looking down on the universe. The brief vertigo made his heart beat a little harder and he smiled at this. He turned and saw Kasia sitting next to him, leaning back on her hands and looking up, her hair whipping forward over her face in the breeze. She was older than him. He could tell by the way she sat there, limbs relaxed, composed. Her face calm. Serene.
The ute slowed and Paul felt the suspension lurch as the vehicle clambered onto a rougher, looser surface. The tyres scratched for grip. The tray rumbled. He could smell dust in his nostrils. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched the dark clouds trailing behind. Low walls of bush lined the wide gravel track. The vehicle slowed again and this time it stopped, the engine cut. The ute ticked and whirred as life left it. Paul could hear the crash of surf. Kasia turned to him and saw he was awake. She smiled.
He followed them down the short sandy path that led to the bluff, listening as the others talked. The blond guy was now shirtless, holding his scrunched-up t-shirt to the cut above his eye. His name was Matthew. He had a British accent. Paul couldn’t tell where the other girl was from but they called her Fran. She carried a plastic bag full of bottles that clinked and chimed on the walk down to the shore. From the path they could see over the long sweep of the point. Paul watched the white trains of water, thundering down the cape. The moon cast a pale slick over the sea. The tolling of breaking waves was loud in the dark around them. He couldn’t tell if the breeze had backed off or whether the bluff sheltered them from it, but the air was still and warm. They walked to where the headland gave way to the bay and where the water subdued, protected by a furrow in the reef like a shielding arm. Matthew continued up the rocky point, the t-shirt still to his forehead, while the girls put down their things. Paul sat near them and watched as they both pulled their work singlets off over their heads and dropped them to the ground. And then, breathless, as they unclipped their bras. The girls joked nervously about the black water that waited for them. Their skin glowed, luminous against the dark rock. Paul couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He almost said something about the danger, about him being a good swimmer but being too drunk to help if they got into trouble. But the words didn’t come out. Fran shucked off her jeans and Kasia unbuttoned her khaki skirt and the two of them stepped down towards the water, two small figures in the shadow of the bluff. Soon they had dipped down from the rocks, out of view.
Matthew was now just a silhouette at the furthest end of the point, backlit by the phosphorescence of the surf. With his hand to his head he looked like a man trying to hold on to his hat. Beyond him, rising from the plateau of the reef, was the bluff. Under the clear night sky the red walls looked almost blue, its bare, cratered slopes like something out of Star Wars. Paul lay flat on his back and felt the percussions of the breaking waves in the dense rock beneath him. He thought of the photos on Elliot’s wall and wondered if he had ever been here. Paul could imagine him out on that point, sitting on his surfboard, eyes lit up.
Hello, Kasia said above him, drying herself with her t-shirt. And Happy New Year. She raised her arms behind her head, wringing her hair.
Oh . . . Paul stammered, sitting up.
We have not had introductions, she said in a mock-serious voice, holding out her hand, grinning. My name is Kasia.
Paul, he replied, rushing the word, trying not to look at her bare breasts. My name is Paul.
They shook hands. He looked away towards the bluff. Saw Fran and Matthew walking away in the direction of the car, slipping into the darkness of the path. Kasia sat down. He was fiercely aware of her body next to him, the sound of her breathing.
You do not like to swim? asked Kasia.
Not at night I don’t. Not in the middle of nowhere.
Oh, she sighed, disappointed. It is so lovely. So warm.
No thank you.
Paul looked at the dark water. He wrapped his arms tight around himself. Kasia grinned at him.
Where did the others go? he asked.
Francesca will come back for us, Kasia said. They went back to town. Matthew is still bleeding a bit. He might need stitches.
You okay? I mean, what happened back there, at the tavern . . .
Yeah. I am good. Fucking losers, she said, shaking her head.
What were they doing?
God, I do not know what happens in their heads. We just finished at the bar and came out to see the music. And then that skinny one grabs me.
Roo Dog.
Yes, that horrible one. He tries to kiss me. I push him off but he will not let go. And then Matthew tells him, Stop. Next thing, the tall one comes and punches him. So crazy. Then you come, falling down. Like Superman, kind of. Kasia laughed.
Paul grimaced.
No, no, she said. It was very brave, Paul. Not pretty, but brave. She gave another laugh then reached over and ruffled his hair.
I can’t believe them, he said. That they could do that.
I do not worry about it. I have seen guys like that before. They are in every place, not just here.
A large wave thundered far up the point, the sound of it suddenly everywhere.
Besides, she said, I have only been in this country a few months. I have got more to do, you know? They cannot scare me off.
How long will you stay? Paul asked.
In Stark? I am not sure. It is just so different from home, you know? It is kind of shit here, she said with a sigh, but it is somewhere else.
What’s it like where you’re from?
Cold! she gasped. In January, like around this time, it is fucking freezing. She leant back and laid her head down, closing her eyes.
No, no, she continued. It is beautiful. Like, where I am from, in Chelm, it is lovely. Old, like, really old buildings. Five hundred years or more, even. Big rivers. The woods. All the tourists love it. I have just seen enough, you know? I needed to get out. I thought I should go to a wild place, far away. She laughed. Like everyone else does.
Paul lay back down beside the girl. He stole a look across at her and saw the water beaded on her legs and the patchy translucence of her underwear.
What about you? she asked. When will you go home?
After the summer. Think the skipper will pull the boat out around May, for the winter. I might go back to Perth then. But I don’t know. At home, it’s weird now.
You are the one with the brother. I heard some things.
Paul nodded.
You have not found him?
No.
And your parents send you here? she asked, puzzled.
I wanted to come.
But they let you?
I’m not a kid.
No, she said. It is just, I cannot understand. I would have thought they would want you with them.
Paul shrugged.
Where do you think he is?
I don’t know. It’s been so long. Over four months. The police say to be prepared for bad news.
Bad news?
They think he might not be coming back. He might not be alive.
She watched him, said nothing.
I’m just not sur
e if I can go home yet, Paul said. I don’t really know if I want to.
Kasia sat up. Come on, she said.
What?
You must swim.
No. Please. I can’t. It’s still dark. Whitetips feed at night.
White what? Kasia laughed, pushing herself to her feet.
Reef sharks.
And monsters, maybe? she said. A Loch Ness monster?
No. Just sharks. They are bad enough.
Really?
Forty-eight teeth. And that is just the exposed ones. A great white has two hundred and fifty back in its mouth.
My god, she said, with a big smile. You have a phobia.
When I was a kid I was too scared to swim in the neighbours’ pool. I was convinced that a great white shark would come out of the pool light. Swim up the pipes, the wires. Break into the swimming pool through the light fixture and eat us.
Paul looked at his hands. Inhaled and hoped more words would materialise in his head. Something that sounded less unhinged.
There will be no sharks, Kasia said. I promise. She stood over his legs and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up.
How can you promise? he said weakly. He could see the prickled skin of her thighs, the fine hairs. He felt dizzy with her there, that close to him.
There you go, she said as she pulled him to his feet. The girl lifted his shirt and he helped her drag it over his ears. Despite the warm air he began to shiver.
Good boy, she said to him.
Kasia held both his hands in hers. In the moonlight her pale blue eyes were like halogen globes. He couldn’t speak.
Come on, she said.
Kasia led him over the cool plates of rock to the small keyhole in the reef. She stepped down into the darkness, still holding his hand, drawing him in. Paul thought of Circus. He thought of the hardness in his shorts.
Paul slid into the sea with her, letting his weight go. He kept one hand on the lip of the reef. His feet searched for the bottom but it was deep. The current spun around his legs in broad columns of water. His breaths were shallow. She pulled him to her, wrapping her legs tight around his waist. Her arms hard across his back. Her chest against his. She sighed into his ear. He drew a long, jagged breath.
