Thirteen Pearls

by Melaina Faranda

  Kaito slid his arm around my waist. His eyes were, as usual, dark and unreadable. He leaned forward to kiss me. We were exactly the same height. I kissed him back, but I felt far away, my mouth dry. Did I really want this? Did I want to be with Kaito?

  Kaito pulled away. ‘I wanted to give you something special.’ He slipped off the strap from which the gleaming black pearl nestled in the hollow at the base of his throat, and placed it around my neck.

  I stepped back, stumbling on the cracked concrete. It was as if the pearl had burned my fingers. I had admired it and been fascinated by the story of how he had found it in the wild, but it felt as if he was giving it to me now to bind me to him because I was drifting away. I struggled to think clearly in the moment. A little kid part of me bluntly saying, Don’t want it, while the grown-up part was making excuses and trying to analyse why exactly it didn’t feel right. Was there any way it could be made to feel right?

  But the little kid part of me was alive and well, kicking and screaming like Aran. I knew I couldn’t keep the pearl. It was like a test in a fairytale. I wanted to deserve it. I wanted to be part of the magic of this smooth and unknowable, princely boy. I wanted to be a princess who was given the magical gift of a black pearl. But I didn’t love him. So I couldn’t accept it.

  If Kaito hadn’t given the pearl to me maybe I could have floated along, almost in a dream, pretending to myself, but aware that, in less than a few weeks, I’d be flying home to my real life and it would all just become a story I could tell Tash.

  Instead, I pressed the pearl back into his palm. ‘I can’t take this.’ And then I ran along the jetty to where I could hear Leon and Aran laughing together beneath the mango tree.

  Kaito didn’t return to the home–shed until it was dark. At some stage I thought I heard the faint, melancholy strains of the shakuhachi.

  By the time I had put Aran to bed (he ’d chattered away merrily in completely incomprehensible bursts of Thai), Kaito was in the kitchen drying up while Leon washed the dishes. I couldn’t meet Kaito’s eyes. Instead, I rabbited on mindlessly, trying to fill up any awkward silences. The awkwardness was mainly mine. Out on the jetty I’d been cowardly; executing the most non-breaking break-up in history.

  Leon noticed a difference (I saw him checking us both out with a puzzled expression), but he didn’t say anything. And he didn’t comment either when it was Kaito who said he was heading off to his tent, without looking at me.

  ‘Going to be some wild weather tomorrow, the radio reckons,’ Leon said. ‘There was a storm warning. A low coming down from New Guinea. We better get down to the plant first thing and secure all the lines.’

  Kaito’s dark eyes were shuttered, as if he couldn’t care less.

  ‘Tell me about pig shooting,’ I said to Leon, once Kaito had left.

  He narrowed his eyes as if trying to work out if I was winding him up. ‘It’s pretty gory. Chicks don’t normally want to know that kind of stuff.’

  ‘Why do guys get so obsessed with it?’

  ‘It’s a bloke thing. A hunter thing. We ’re genetically hardwired. And it’s not like I don’t care about animals.’

  He grabbed a handful of peanuts and tossed them in one-by-one.

  ‘But when I’m pig-hunting it’s a fair battle. I’ve got a dog and a knife and there ’s three hundred kilos of muscle and gristle and razor sharp tusks bearing down on me. It’s a total buzz. It’s like you both know that one of you is going to die and everything goes calm and clear. Everything feels real. The colours are brighter; you can hear your own breathing. It’s like a dance.’

  I nodded, not sure if I understood. Did I have a killer instinct? Not for the sake of it, no. But if it came down to me and a full stomach or starvation, I’d do it in a heartbeat. At school, when we’d had to dissect a sheep’s lung, half the class had walked out and a few had even thrown up, but it hadn’t bothered me. What it did make me think, listening to Leon, was how similar and different we were. I’d never grown up with a brother so boys were a mystery. They seemed like a different species, but then they’d do something that was exactly the sort of thing I’d do. Maybe it hadn’t helped having a dad who was more like a mother than a father.

  We raved on until Leon gave me a hug when Aran started his nightly cry and I said goodnight. It was a friendly hug and Leon smelled of beery goodwill. In some ways I wished it had been a little less matey . . .

  CHRISTMAS DAY WAS BUSINESS AS usual with no sign of the storm the radio had predicted, but on Boxing Day, Leon reported that we might still be in for rough weather. The morning began as every other one had – hot and grey. Aran and I played in the tree house and then we left his elephant to keep guard on our pirate treasure (a small pile of shells) while we wandered down to the processing shed to see how the boys were getting on.

  Leon and Kaito were out on the tinny securing lines for the oyster frames. The water was already rougher than I had seen it previously, with gusts of wind whipping up white caps on the murky grey sea.

  I took Aran back to the home–shed and switched on the radio. Among the usual static-filled white noise I finally found an update: storm warnings for the Cape York peninsula and Torres Strait.

  Back in Cairns, I loved storms; I was thrilled by the violet forks of lightning and brilliant flashes that illuminated the mountains behind us. Mum always got a headache just before a storm and had to lie down. I was the opposite; I was completely hyper. But this felt different. I didn’t get that electric feeling of anticipation so much as a nagging sense of foreboding.

  With Aran in tow, I systematically scouted around, collecting anything outside the shed that could get blown around and trashed. We dragged the plastic table and chairs in under cover and stacked them tightly against the shed wall. By the time the boys returned for lunch, soaking and traipsing puddles of seawater into the shed, the brooding black clouds erupted, pelting sharp needles of rain against the windows in horizontal sheets.

  Wind arrived like a whirling dervish, howling around the home-shed and rattling at the windows. Every now and then there ’d be the thump of something I hadn’t secured was tossed against the tin walls. I’d left the radio on, but now it was impossible to hear anything resembling a voice, only a wall of static.

  ‘Some storm.’ I pressed my nose against the fogged-up glass door to peer into the swirling grey-whiteness before a loud crash made me spring away.

  Leon stopped towelling his hair. When he looked up, my heart quickened. If anyone was going to be casual about a storm, it would be him. But he wasn’t.

  ‘Did you hear any more weather warnings, Edie?’

  I shook my head. ‘The radio cut out. Last bulletin said that the storm would pass by us and head out to sea.’

  Something shattered outside, making me jump. Aran raced into my arms, his eyes big and startled.

  ‘Problem with cyclones is that they can change course just like that.’ The click of Leon’s fingers inside the confines of the shed was suddenly far more sinister than any of the groans and thumps and bumps coming from outside.

  ‘What do you mean cyclone?’ I demanded. ‘No one said anything about a cyclone!’

  My voice was shrill. Aran started to cry and babble in Thai. I knelt to look into his eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ I assured him. ‘It’s okay. Just a silly storm.’

  ‘There’re severe and non-severe cyclones,’ Leon said.

  ‘I know that!’ I snapped. Since planning my sailing trip, me and the Bureau of Meteorology website were second-best friends. So I also understood the significance of Kaito murmuring to Leon, ‘When’s high tide?’

  Something icy numbed my spine. It was foolish, but I crept to a window, inching over as if the bad thing outside would somehow see me and swipe me with its claws. Through rain and salt streaked glass I saw branches flying through the air. I ducked just as one barrelled towards me and speared into the window. The glass shattered, showering me with tiny shards.

  ‘Shit!’ Leon yelled. He was beside me
in two leaps. He grabbed my arm and yanked me into the centre of the room. An oyster shell flew in through the jagged gap where the window had been. ‘Okay, everyone into Red’s room. Now!’ he ordered.

  We hastened into Red’s corner. I saw immediately why Leon had chosen it. There was only one small sliding window that was on the leeward side of the gale. We pulled the mattress onto the floor. I sat Aran on it and told him it was a new game and he had to stay there. Then I stripped the remnant cushions from the sofa while Leon and Kaito collected the mattresses from my cubicle.

  I raced back into Red’s curtained-off cubicle with an armful of cushions. Outside there was a tearing sound as if sheets of roofing iron were peeling off the shed. I glanced up fearfully. The roof shook, but it was still intact. When I looked down again Aran was gone.

  ‘Aran!’ I ran into the living room and kitchen. He wasn’t there. Rain knifed through a gap in the sliding door. I wanted to vomit. ‘Leon! Kaito!’ I screamed.

  They both appeared with a corner of mattress in each hand.

  ‘Aran’s outside!’ A gale of wind caused the whole shed to shake, and the tin walls undulated. ‘He ’s out there!’

  Neither hesitated. They both ran to the door. ‘I’m coming too,’ I shouted over the howling wind.

  Leon pushed me back inside. ‘Stay here in case he comes back.’

  It made sense, but I couldn’t bring myself to huddle in Red’s room. Instead, I fetched the sofa cushions and, making an armoury out of them, stared fixedly at the sliding glass door, willing Aran to return. He had seemed so terrified by the storm – what on earth could have made him go out there?

  Another branch hit the door. I held my breath, waiting for it to shatter, but the wood bounced off and rolled to the ground. Stones, leaves and sticks pelted against the windows and walls, making a hideous racket. As the tin lifted and groaned, I huddled deeper into the cushions, worried that a sheet could rip off and guillotine me. But worse – far worse – was the knowledge that Leon and Kaito and Aran were all out there and I was waiting here, safe, and unable to help.

  What if the wind blew them into the ocean, or if a snapped-off branch bludgeoned them to death?

  It felt like hours had passed before a dark shape appeared at the smeary sliding door. I rushed over to scrape the door back.

  Kaito staggered inside, holding the side of his head. Blood seeped between his fingers.

  ‘Kaito! Are you all right? What happened?’

  Kaito gave no response, only stumbled further into the shed and collapsed onto the cushions. I stared, trying to remember my first-aid course. Then I raced into the kitchen and grabbed a clean tea towel to hold against the gash.

  I found myself gabbling, asking Kaito about life in Japan, treating him to a step-by-step rendition on how I built my boat. Anything to keep his eyes open and focused on me. But the whole while I was acutely aware that Leon and Aran were still out there. The island was so tiny. Surely if Leon had found Aran they would be back by now? What was stopping him? Them? Aran was so little and light. What if he had been blown into the sea?

  An eerie roar made me rush to the sliding door. A surge of water trammelled towards the shed and slapped against the glass at ankle height. The next wave was bigger. A steaming froth of water pushed against the shed so that the iron bulged inward for a single awful moment before there came the hideous suck of a wave receding.

  I raced to Kaito and, grabbing his arm, half-carried, half-dragged him into Red’s bedroom to sit on the iron-framed bed.

  Another wave slammed against the door. I shuddered. This time a thin slick of water seeped across the floor. Then another wave battered the shed. Thirteen Pearls was flat as a pancake. If the waves were coming this far, then they were sweeping across the entire island and I knew, without a doubt, that Aran and Leon were dead.

  BY THE TIME THE WIND died to something more like a regular storm, it was almost dark. I clutched Kaito. We had survived. We were alive. The tide had receded and with it the terrible waves that had threatened to wash away the shed. But I felt no sense of celebration, only a stark, surreal horror. Three days ago we’d been sitting around eating seafood and reading out lame jokes from bonbons. Now the island was ruined, half-drowned, and the ravages of saltwater would ensure nothing could grow here for a very long time.

  I thought briefly about our fledgling vegetable garden and that’s when the tears finally came.

  The floor was awash. Putting my shoulder against the sliding door, I used all my remaining strength to push it open. It was half off its tracks and buckled from the onslaught of waves. But it had held. It had held!

  Outside was a scene of devastation. Clumps of sticks and seaweed littered the non-existent garden. The outdoor furniture had washed away. Numbly, I shuffled around behind the home-shed. The mango tree was still standing; the tree house was still intact.

  And there was a sound coming from inside it. A whimper. A rush of love and thanks filled me as I practically leaped up the tree. Aran was huddled around his soaked elephant. And, curled around him, was Leon’s still body.

  The relief I had felt was just as swiftly consumed by horror. Leon’s body was clammy and cold. I gingerly felt the base of his neck.

  There was the faintest throb.

  I started to scream for Kaito, screamed like a crazy banshee woman.

  He staggered out to beneath the tree, still clutching his head.

  ‘Help me! Help me get Leon inside!’

  Together, somehow, we carried Leon down from the tree and into the home–shed where we laid him on Red’s mattress.

  I rolled Leon into the recovery position, checked his airway and then gingerly felt along his head for injuries.

  It was twenty long minutes before Leon groaned and slowly opened his eyes. I had been sitting beside him the entire time, holding his hand and listening anxiously for his breathing.

  ‘W—’

  I shook my head and shushed him. ‘Don’t try and talk. We’re all okay. Aran’s here and so am I and so is Kaito. We’re all okay.’ And I said it again, like a mantra, ‘We ’re all okay,’ because it was the most wonderful thing I had ever said in my whole life. And then I sank my head against his shoulder and sobbed.

  Thirteen Pearls was ruined. The oysters had been smashed to smithereens and only a masochist would try and start up again. When Uncle Red arrived, I thought he would cry. We ’d done the best we could: clearing up piles of debris and pop-riveting loose shed panels back together, but nothing we could have done would ever have been enough.

  I was a mess, alternating between relief that we ’d all survived and anxiousness about what would happen next. Obviously I’d have to go home; there was no work to be done on the island apart from helping him to salvage anything that we could. And it seemed a low act to ask for money from someone who’d just had his livelihood decimated by a cyclone. I wondered if he had any savings; if I could at least ask for a partial payment. I disappointed myself with my pettiness.

  You’d think a cyclone would make me never want to go near the sea again, but actually those pounding waves had had a curious effect on me. I wanted to live more intensely, with more raw, undiluted life-greed than ever before.

  It turned out that Uncle Red wasn’t as devastated as I thought he would be. On my final night, he confessed to us all (after downing five stubbies) that he had actually been to Darwin to see Lowanna. They’d arranged to meet there because she ’d refused to come to Thirteen Pearls after she ’d flown back to Australia; she ’d hated every lonely, domestic-slavery moment of it. There was a chance of reconciliation, but it would be on her terms. She wanted him to come and live in Darwin with her and Aran.

  I felt more relief. It was good news for Aran, and there was good news for me too, because Uncle Red had been insured. He did try to short-change me (just as Mum had predicted) by offering me two thousand dollars, but I stuck to my guns and in the end he upped it to three thousand. A grand short of what I’d been promised and what I needed,
but there was always Mr Halabi and tahini-stinking Kevin.

  On my last night, before I was getting a lift to Horn Island, Aran was especially affectionate. His hot little body wiggled in beside me sometime during the night. Through a sleep haze, I’d dimly thought, Damn, I forgot to make him wear a nappy . . .

  But the next morning, my sheets were dry. He hadn’t wet. On the way across in the tinny he ’d clung to my hand, clutching his elephant with the other. And when we said goodbye at the airport he started to cry. In seconds, I was bawling too. Uncle Red had to prise him off me. Not one for sentiment, he started to march away well before the plane was due to leave. Aran kicked and struggled and reached for me, howling the same words over and over. ‘Pom rak kun! Pom rak kun!’

  I watched as they walked away, a big knifing ache in my heart, tears streaming down my cheeks and dripping off my nose. I’d left three pages of instructions with Leon and Kaito because they were staying an extra couple of weeks to help fix as much of the damage as they could. My list ranged from: Aran needs to wee just before he goes to sleep (his favourite place is the hibiscus) right through to, He’s only allowed to kill twenty bad guys a day before he has to play in his tree house or do something active outside.

  Saying goodbye to Leon and Kaito had felt like losing two of my best friends. It’s not like we’d spent a lifetime together, but Thirteen Pearls was another world – it made every interaction intense. Life on a tiny island was so circular, so . . . intimate.

  After Uncle Red and Aran left the airport, I was surprised to see a familiar face. ‘Uncle Bill! What are you doing here?’

  The old islander rose off the bench with rickety knees. ‘Little bird told me you were leaving and I wanted to say goodbye.’

  Fresh tears welled in my eyes. Who would have guessed how a month in the Torres Strait could have changed me? I was turning into such a sook.