The Stranding

by Karen Viggers

  In the morning, Callista pulled an easel from the back of the Kombi and set it up across the road on the grass. She started to sketch the lines of the coast on a canvas, varying the curves of the beaches and the humps of the headlands to make them more interesting, raising the rock walls more dramatically. You could do that with art—change the rules, shift the skylines, embellish the colours. Pity it wasn’t so easy to change the rules of life.

  She applied a wash to outline the tones and then started squeezing out paints.

  Lex came across the road with a newspaper and can of lemonade and sat on the grass beside her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Trying to put some life into that headland over there.’

  He looked up, shading his eyes. ‘The colours are interesting.’

  ‘Different from what you’d expect. But they’ll work. You have to stand back to get the effect. And it’s too soon anyway. I’m just getting started.’

  He put his hand around her ankle and stroked her calf for a while.

  ‘I’m concentrating,’ she said. ‘Find something else to do.’

  ‘I like watching you.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘But you’re distracting me.’

  ‘What paints are you using?’

  ‘Cheap acrylics. Same as I use for my beach art. I’m just mucking around.’

  ‘When do you paint real things?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Things you want to exhibit and sell for a decent price.’

  ‘When the mood takes me.’

  ‘And what do you use then?’

  ‘Mostly oils. Sometimes better quality acrylics. Depends on how quickly I want it to dry.’ She gazed out at the frothing manes of the incoming waves. It had been a while since she last pulled out her good paints.

  ‘So you’re a versatile woman,’ he teased.

  ‘I’m a normal woman.’

  ‘There’s no such thing.’ He pulled out some grass and threw it at her.

  ‘What’s in the newspaper?’ she asked, trying to concentrate on working the headland. She needed to focus on creating an impression of the columnar rocks and the clutter of boulders at the base of the cliffs.

  ‘The Japanese again,’ he said, spreading the paper out on the grass. ‘They’re sailing south to start their annual whale research mission.’

  ‘Research mission? I thought they were harvesting for restaurants.’

  ‘Yes, but they call it research.’

  Callista looked down at the thin fair hair on his crown while he frowned into the paper.

  ‘There’s a Greenpeace ship heading down too,’ he said. ‘To disrupt things.’

  She watched him lift his head to look out towards the horizon.

  ‘That’s something I wouldn’t have minded doing when I was younger,’ he said. ‘It’s good to feel strongly about something. To have passion.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s all a bit irrational?’ Callista asked. She wasn’t sure she understood his way of seeing things. ‘It must cost Green peace a fortune to chase them down there.’

  ‘That’s what donations are for,’ Lex said. ‘That’s why they have members. So people can believe in things from home, knowing someone else will risk their lives to take action on their behalf.’

  ‘But what does it all mean in the end? The Japanese still get their quota of whales.’

  ‘Having Greenpeace down there keeps the issue on the front pages of the paper. That’s what it’s all about.’

  ‘Not about stopping the catch.’

  Lex smiled up at her. ‘It’s nice if they can do that too.’

  Callista dipped her brush in some paint and mixed a grey-brown.

  ‘Why does it have to be an issue?’ she asked, to be provocative. ‘Why can’t they have a limited catch?’

  ‘The Japanese don’t need to eat whales.’

  ‘Isn’t it supposed to be cultural?’

  ‘Only since the Second World War. I’d hardly call that entrenched culture.’

  ‘They probably think it’s inhumane to eat kangaroos.’

  Lex snorted. ‘Whales aren’t doing quite as well as kangaroos.’

  ‘Humpbacks are recovering.’

  ‘That’s what the Japanese say here.’ He flicked the newspaper with the back of his hand. ‘They say humpbacks can sustain a controlled harvest. But who’s ever been able to control the Japanese?’

  ‘Better to work with them on this, than have them go off and do what they want anyhow.’

  ‘They shouldn’t eat whales at all.’

  ‘That’s a value judgment if I ever heard one.’

  Lex looked at her as if he didn’t quite believe what she was saying. ‘Whose side are you on?’ he asked.

  ‘Nobody’s,’ she said.

  ‘You ought to have an opinion one way or the other.’

  Callista set down her palette. ‘I don’t like whaling either,’ she said. ‘But where’s the argument in it if the populations are recovering? We harvest everything else.’

  ‘They’ll kill too many.’

  ‘That’s why you have to work with them. So you can police them.’

  ‘We can’t even police them now, when they’re only supposed to be whaling for research. Research, my arse.’

  He stood up with the paper and then tossed it to the ground. The pages fluttered in the breeze. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said.

  Callista watched him stride down the grassy bank and along the sands towards the lagoon. She’d paint him in later. A black daub on the sand. It’d give the painting scale, and create a sense of solitude and loneliness—a single figure far down the beach. She wished she felt confident enough to paint herself in too, by his side.

  Fourteen

  Callista drove up to Jordi’s shack. It was a clear cool summer evening and Jordi was outside as usual, sitting by the campfire bent over his guitar. The gas lamp he’d rigged up was hissing quietly and the fire was a muted glow. As she dragged up a stump, Callista saw him lift the lid of the billy to check there was enough water for two. He set his guitar aside.

  ‘Hey, Jordi.’

  ‘Yeah, how’s it going?’

  He shook some tea-leaves out of a jar, tossed them into the billy and hooked it off the fire.

  ‘I love the way you do that.’ Callista wasn’t sure how to say that it felt familiar and comfortable, that it was part of the ritual of seeing him.

  ‘There’s nothing to it.’ He examined a couple of old tin cups and screwed up his nose. ‘Bit dirty,’ he said.

  She watched him dash some water into the cups from a plastic jerry can, then swirl his fingers around inside to loosen the dregs. He chucked the water onto the dirt at his feet.

  ‘What you been up to?’ he asked, filling the cups with tea.

  ‘I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Bit of painting. The markets. This and that.’

  ‘It’s that fella, isn’t it?’

  Callista grimaced. ‘The news isn’t out yet, is it?’

  ‘Nah. But it can’t be far away. I just know you.’ He spat into the fire. ‘You’re gone. I can see it.’

  ‘Is that such a bad thing? You encouraged me to go up there. And I think he’ll be good for me.’

  ‘More like you’ll be good for him.’

  ‘I’d like you to meet him. Properly,’ she said. ‘He’s nice, Jordi.’

  ‘Nice!’ He spat into the fire again. ‘Try again. What’s he really like? And I don’t mean in bed.’

  She thought a moment, stirring her tea with a tarnished spoon.

  ‘He’s cautious,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t want to give anything away.’

  ‘Reckon he’s hiding something?’

  ‘He must have some reason for being here.’

  ‘Can’t crack it?’

  ‘He’s seamless as an egg. He doesn’t want to talk.’

  Jordi poked the fire with a stick and threw another log on.
/>   ‘What’s gonna keep him here then?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’ll leave when he gets over whatever’s eating at him. They all do.’

  ‘You think I’m wasting my time.’

  He shrugged and poured himself more tea. ‘He needs an anchor,’ he said. ‘Something to hold him down.’

  ‘What? Like a relationship?’

  ‘Nah. That’s not enough. He needs something more routine and less threatening. He needs a job.’

  ‘Why would a job do it?’

  ‘It’s called investment. Once you get to know people, it’s harder to leave. When a relationship gets sticky, you can just walk out the door. Once you’ve got other friends, it’s harder to go.’

  ‘That’s cynical.’ Callista tipped the dregs of her tea out on the ground.

  Jordi sniffed. ‘Much as I love you, sis, I can tell you this. He ain’t gonna stay just for you.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’

  ‘You’re complex and emotionally untidy. He needs a broader focus than you.’

  She struggled not to be offended. Sometimes Jordi could be so frank it hurt.

  ‘So how do you know all this?’ she asked. ‘Not from life experience.’

  He stared at her, face hollow and thin in the firelight. ‘I watch people,’ he said.

  He poured the remnants of tea inside the billy onto the fire and doused the flames.

  ‘So, can we do dinner?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘Nah, if I have to meet him, we’ll go fishing.’

  Jordi took them to a rock platform near the mouth of the Merrigan River. Standing up on the cliffs above the foaming sea, Lex looked down with dismay at the tiny eroded access track that Jordi pointed to. It slid down a steep gully between coarse prickly bushes, and then they had to climb down a sandstone crack to reach the platform. This wasn’t quite the peaceful fishing expedition Lex had had in mind.

  On the rocks, he looked back up and tried to slow the excited batting of his heart. It had felt risky coming down, and if Jordi hadn’t been with them there was no way Lex would have done it. Too scary, too dangerous. He tried to concentrate while Jordi showed him how to set up the rod and bait the hook. They were fishing for salmon today, using pilchards for bait. Lex wasn’t sure whether the strong odour he could smell was coming from the bait bag or from Jordi’s hair. But the guy sure knew what he was doing. While Lex shuffled tentatively around the rock shelf in his boots, Jordi bounded here and there in bare feet. He must have leather for soles.

  Anxiously, Lex followed Jordi out to the edge of the rock shelf and looked down into the heaving sea. Waves smashed and poured over the rocks, and it all felt a bit too close. But Jordi was showing him how to uncock the reel and set himself up for casting. As he whizzed the line out, Jordi made it look like an art form. He indicated to Lex where to stand and went to fetch his own line.

  Lex held the rod, feeling like an amateur. He wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do if a fish bit, and wasn’t even sure he’d know it was nibbling. The tug and pull of the surf was confusing. And he’d look like a complete idiot if he stood here for half an hour and then pulled the line in with no bait left on it.

  Jordi rock-hopped past with a rod in one hand, his fishing basket in the other, and a fag in his mouth. He nodded at Lex and perched himself on another rock further out, even closer to the surf. Lex watched the surf spray sprinkle him as he set up his rod. Jordi looked so at ease, squatting down on the rocks, tying on the hook. And Callista, sitting further behind, nestled on a pile of rocks, looked comfortable too, in some sort of reverie, gazing into the waves.

  At first, he couldn’t relax. The constant surging of the waves over the rocks just below made his heart tumble. Jordi had said they’d have to retreat up the rock shelf as the tide came in and Lex wasn’t sure how he’d know it was time. He’d heard so many stories over the years of rock fishermen being washed away. And they were often experienced too. People who knew what they were doing. There was no way he could judge when a bigger wave was coming in. And he already felt too close to the surf. He didn’t want to wait until the sea was licking at his boots.

  Eventually though, as time passed, he began to relax and he leaned up against the rock behind him. It was mesmerising to watch the green swell rising up towards the platform and the waves splitting into rivulets of foam, frothing over the rocks and then sliding off with a hiss and a rush. The roar of the sea around them was soothing. It cut everything else out.

  After a while, Lex realised he was happy, surprisingly at peace, and somehow alone, even with Jordi and Callista alongside. He glanced around at them and saw their faces, smooth and still, their eyes glazed into distance, their minds pleasantly disengaged, just being there, thinking of nothing, like him. So this was why people fished. Not just to haul in a catch, but for this—this detachment, this solitude. He smiled to himself. It was a revelation.

  ‘Yo!’ Jordi called.

  But too late. A wave crashed suddenly over Lex’s legs, tugging at him, saturating him.

  ‘Pull back,’ Jordi yelled.

  He indicated to Lex where he wanted him to move to, and Lex galloped there with his heart in his mouth. The line snagged behind him. He dragged at it frantically as another wave foamed over the shelf and swelled around his knees. A larger set of waves must be coming in. He needed to get to higher ground, and he wanted to drop the rod and run, but it was Jordi’s rod.

  Then Jordi was beside him, fag still in his mouth. He leaned over and grabbed the rod with a firm hand. ‘You’re right, mate,’ he said. ‘Leave her to me. Just pop over there and I’ll fix her up for you.’

  Lex was happy to give the rod over. He scampered up onto the next rock ledge and watched Jordi standing amongst the straining foam, jerking the rod to free the hook. He gave the line three hard pulls and then the hook seemed to twang free or break off. Jordi reeled in the line and leaped up to where Lex was.

  He flashed a brief smile out of his beard. ‘That one came from nowhere, didn’t it?’

  ‘Bit close for me,’ Lex said.

  ‘You were all right.’ Jordi looked at his trousers. ‘Just got a bit wet.’

  He examined Lex’s line. ‘Lost the hook,’ he said. ‘I’ll just fix another one on for you.’

  Lex watched him lope across the rocks to fetch his fishing basket. He came back and pulled out another hook and baited it up again.

  ‘Here, you have a go at casting,’ he said, handing the rod back to Lex. ‘Like this. That’s right. Now cast it right out there.’

  Lex whipped the rod up and over his shoulders like he’d seen Jordi do earlier. He felt the line paying out from the reel and liked the sound of it.

  ‘If I don’t drown, I can see myself learning to like this.’

  Jordi flashed another small smile. ‘Look after my sister and I’ll see to it you don’t drown.’ He bent to pick up his own rod.

  ‘Oi,’ Callista called.

  Lex saw her waving from the rock ledge she had retreated to when the bigger set of waves had rolled in. She had a smile on her face like a fresh breeze.

  ‘Are you having fun?’ she called over the roar of the waves.

  ‘Great,’ he yelled. ‘Just marvellous. You’d better say goodbye to me now, in case I get swept away next time.’

  ‘You’ll be right. Just keep your eyes open.’

  They fished from the rocks for a couple of hours. Jordi pulled in a few fish, Callista caught one, and Lex pulled in some seaweed and lost two more hooks. But he figured he gained more than he lost. The easy companionship was some of the best he’d had here at Merrigan. There was a general feeling of camaraderie and support that went beyond Jordi’s aside about taking care of his sister. There was a sense of tolerance and acceptance, even with his bumbling breakage of lines and dodgy casting. And there was a peacefulness and startling proximity to nature that he hadn’t expected. It came with the near rush of the waves, and the intensity of the sound of water hammering ove
r the rocks and gurgling among the cracks. There was a strange exhilarating joy in the risk of it and the bonding that arose from sharing the experience.

  When they sat higher up to have lunch, tearing apart breadsticks and shaving slices of cheese, Lex felt the comfort of companionship, even with Jordi whom he hardly knew. He began to see that perhaps you didn’t have to have things in common with people to enjoy their company. There might be friendships he could make here in Merrigan after all.

  It was warm that evening, and the sun lingered round and hot over the mountains. The house seemed breathless, waiting for the sea breeze to arrive. Lex took out the fish that Jordi had cleaned and scaled for him, and laid it on the chopping board, not quite sure what to do with it. Fish and chips were usually his limit, except for those occasions when Jilly cooked up some fancy fish recipe for a dinner party. And then his job had been to produce appreciative comments and clear the dishes away. He considered stashing the fish in the back of his freezer and forgetting about it, then decided he might wander next door and see if Mrs B had any suggestions.

  There was a car parked beside her green Peugeot on the lawn and Lex almost turned back rather than interrupt, but Mrs B’s raspy voice called to him from the shadows of the verandah.

  ‘We’re up here having a cup of tea, Lex. Why don’t you come and join us.’

  He walked hesitantly up the creaky steps onto the verandah and saw Mrs B sitting on a weathered old lounge. There was a man beside her, leaning up against the wall.

  ‘This is my son, Frank,’ Mrs B said. ‘I’ve been wanting you to meet him.’

  The man stepped forward, reaching out with a friendly hand, and it was like meeting a younger masculine version of Mrs B.

  ‘Bit of a family resemblance,’ Lex said.

  Mrs B laughed. ‘I didn’t think anyone could look as cracked and craggy as me.’

  Lex and Frank shook hands.

  ‘Frank, get him a cup of tea, would you?’

  Frank smiled blandly and went inside to find a cup.

  ‘How are you, lad?’ Mrs B asked.