Ocean's Gift

by Carlton, Demelza

  A dead body. The chill from this was more effective than any cold shower. “Who?”

  “Oh, it was more’n fifty years ago. Some bloke who got washed overboard in a cyclone. His body washed up here a couple of weeks later. They buried him up on the cliff.” He pointed at the white cross on top of the cliff that I’d never noticed before.

  The chill went bone-deep. That’s where I would have ended up last night, if I hadn’t made it home. Now, how did I make it home?

  35. Belinda

  “Why is one human so important to her? She could get another human to install her technology.” Maria’s grumbling resonated with my uneasy thoughts.

  “She tries to make amends for losing your father. Has she not told you this?”

  Her response came unwillingly. “He was a human fisherman. She does not speak of him to me.”

  Again, I found myself repeating a tale Grandmother Sephira had told me. “She came to these islands in a big storm. A storm so powerful the waves washed over the land and claimed it once more. She was swimming in the strong waves, when she saw a little fishing boat overturned. Two men were struggling in the water. One swam with a rope, but he lost it. The other could not swim and the waves pushed him under to where she drifted. She gave him air and took him to shore. She tended to his hurts and shared her warmth with him until the storm died down…”

  Maria interrupted with impatience, “And I am the result. A storm child, indeed. What has this to do with the human fisherman today?”

  Undeterred, I continued, “After he had rested, she swam him back to his people. His wounds bled and called the sharks. She sent the sharks away, but lost him in the water. When she found him, no air she gave him could bring him back. Death had claimed him.”

  “But that was long ago. More than ninety years. How can the loss of one human so long ago matter to anyone now?” She sounded puzzled.

  I attempted to explain. “It matters to her. His memory haunts her still, as she mourns his loss.”

  Her disbelief was clear in her expression. “Surely not.”

  I lifted my head above the surface and waited for her to do the same. “Of course it does. He called her Maria, thinking her an angel. She gifted this name to you, forever a reminder of her time with this man. It is far better than the name she chose for me. At least she did not call you a dragon! See for yourself. She stands on the cliff where his body was buried, shedding salt water for his memory.”

  We both watched Vanessa stand on the cliff, her tears glistening in the starlight.

  “Are you so sure she does not cry in memory of the pain he caused her, when he used her body?”

  I suppressed my amazement that she knew our mother so little. I replied as calmly as I could, “I am certain, for she presses her lips to the stone that marks his head and the words she whispers express sorrow and her desire for his forgiveness. If he had caused her pain that saddened her now, she would not hesitate to give his remains to the ocean. She would feed his bones and the stone bearing his name to the sharks. While she desires forgiveness, she does not forgive.”

  Maria reflected before responding. “Perhaps you are correct. It seems difficult to believe, even so.”

  I reminded myself that Maria had never known the touch of a man. I tried to be patient. “As you said before, you do not understand the attraction. Presumably, you would not also understand her feeling of loss when the object of the attraction is gone.”

  I hid both my smile and my satisfaction as she confirmed my surmise.

  “Undoubtedly. I think I do not understand her at all.”

  36. Joe

  When we returned to the anchorage, the Siren was tied up at her jetty again.

  I helped Skipper with the gear and the catch before I dragged myself back to my shack. Dead tired, I just wanted to climb back into bed and go to sleep, but I owed Vanessa an apology for standing her up last night.

  I knocked on her door, but I got no answer. I walked up the jetty to the Siren and called her name, but there was no answer there, either, from Vanessa or her deckies.

  Finally, I gave up and went home to bed. I was gone as soon as my head touched the pillow.

  It was mid-afternoon when I woke up. I tried Vanessa’s house again, but still she wasn’t home.

  I made a sandwich from some of the food in the fridge and headed across the island to retrieve my torch. It sported a few dents and there was water inside it, but I figured if I took it back to my shack and dried it out, it might still work. I could put it on the veranda, next to my lobster-scented steel-capped boots.

  I could see the gravestone we’d spotted from the water this morning and I went further up the path to take a look.

  The marble cross was chipped, so some of the words were missing, but the name and date were still clear enough.

  His name was Giuseppe and he died in 1921, more than 90 years ago. I felt the chill, again. Giuseppe, just like me. I bet they never called him Joe.

  I looked to the south, toward Little Rat Island. I could see the beach where I’d anchored the dinghy. It seemed such a short distance away, but last night it had seemed like the channel between the islands stretched forever. I turned my back on it and walked north, alongside the airstrip.

  There was a little beach here that I’d seen from the air and the water, but this was the first time I’d walked along it. A sleepy seal was sprawled across my path, so I turned around and went back up to the track. I sat on the cliff, facing the outer reefs that had been so close in the dark last night, but were out of sight from the island. The sun was sinking. It wasn’t far above the waves now.

  Not wanting to go back yet, I just sat there and watched the waves rolling, the sun setting and the stars appearing, as I let my mind drift. The stars spread across the sky, a Milky Way you never saw in Perth; only in the middle of nowhere – inland or out here. If it weren’t for the constant wind, the sound of the waves and surf, the peeping birds and the distant noise of generators, I could almost be back at any of our remote camps. No, there’s no snoring. It’s not an outback camp unless some bastard’s snoring.

  I could feel myself smiling in the dark. I clambered to my feet, turning toward the camps to head back. I could see the faint lights in the distance, but between them and me was a sea of blackness, full of treacherous rocks waiting to trip me up. Shit. I should have brought a torch. I remembered the metal cylinder I clutched in my hand and tried to switch it on. No, it’s still too wet to work. I should have brought a torch that works.

  I stumbled away from the cliff, hoping I’d hear when my footsteps reached the gravel airstrip. My feet were still on sand when I bumped into someone.

  “Oh, sorry!” Vanessa’s voice sounded as shocked as I felt.

  “Vanessa?” I asked.

  “Yes. What are you doing out here, Joe? Did you come looking for me?” Her voice sounded watery, as if she’d been crying.

  For the life of me, I didn’t have the guts to ask what had upset her. “I came looking for you earlier. I knocked on your door a few times, but you weren’t home, so I went for a walk. I dropped my torch in the water and it’s stopped working, so now I’m kind of stuck stumbling home in the dark.” A sudden thought struck me. What if she was upset because I hadn’t turned up last night? “I wanted to apologise for last night. I got back so late I don’t remember how I got home. I don’t even remember getting into bed.”

  “No worries,” she said softly. “Would you like to have a drink with me tonight instead?”

  “Sure,” I replied without thinking. After a moment, I added, “If we can manage to get back to your camp in the pitch dark.”

  She laughed. “I think my eyesight might be better than yours, or maybe it’s just my night vision. Let me help you home.”

  Her cool fingers crept around my arm and she moved closer to my side, so close I could feel the heat of her. I thought I was imagining it, until my thigh brushed against hers and I realised she really was that close to me.

&nbs
p; She didn’t say anything or move away, so I didn’t voice the apology on the tip of my tongue.

  When our feet crunched on the gravel of the airstrip, noisier by far than the whisper of sand, I breathed a sigh of relief. She laughed at me.

  “Why, don’t you trust me?” she teased.

  “It’s just that it’s so dark,” I explained. “I don’t know how you can see anything.”

  She laughed again, but didn’t say anything else. After a while, the crunching gravel gave way to the tinkling coral path, on the other side of the airstrip that led back to camp.

  “You’re good,” I told her, impressed.

  Another laugh in the dark. “I know.”

  There was more chance of stumbling now, with the shifting, uneven path, but her feet were sure and the few times I did stumble, her grip on my arm was enough to steady me so I didn’t fall flat on my face. Vanessa guided me to her house, not letting go of my arm until she had to open the door. The golden light spilling out onto the deck was blinding after the darkness, so I stood on the veranda to let my eyes adjust.

  “Come in,” she called, already opening the fridge. “Have you had dinner?” she asked, as I stepped over the threshold.

  “No,” I admitted. “I should probably go home and grab something to eat before I drink too much.”

  Her face lit up. “I have some pork sausages the girls brought over from Geraldton and the last of the field mushrooms. We could put them all on the barbeque.”

  Somehow I ended up standing at the barbeque on her veranda with a pair of tongs, turning the sausages whilst she did something in the kitchen with the mushrooms. When the smell from the sausages was making my stomach cramp in hunger, I called out to her, “I think the sausages are almost ready. Where do you want me to put them?”

  Vanessa came out holding a dish of mushrooms, which she dumped on the barbeque. Then she handed me a plate for the sausages. “Only a minute each side for the mushrooms.”

  I loaded up the plate with the sausages, hoping I hadn’t missed any, then piled the mushrooms on top. I carried it slowly into her kitchen, where she’d set the table. She’d even opened two beers.

  She picked up one of the fat pork sausages in her fingers and bit it almost in half before I’d sat down. I stared at her, stunned, then looked away before she caught me staring.

  The thought of her putting that much of the long pink sausage into her mouth and then biting down...I had a flashback from my vivid dreams of last night. I sat down hurriedly, pulling my chair right up to the table, and tried to concentrate on eating dinner.

  Neither of us spoke much as we ate. I was terrified of saying something wrong and she seemed too dreamy and thoughtful to notice the lack of conversation. When we were both finished, she offered me another beer.

  I was already sleepy from the one and I was worried I might inadvertently blurt out something I shouldn’t if I drank anymore, so I declined, getting up to go home.

  “You’ll have to come over again to help me finish the rest of them,” she said and I nodded.

  I thanked her for the dinner and the beer, stumbling over my words, not sure if I was even coherent.

  She seemed to understand and followed to see me out. As I stepped off her veranda, she asked me to wait.

  I was shocked at the feel of her lips on my cheek. “Thank you,” she said.

  I stumbled down the path to my place. I remembered getting home this time and getting into bed. I lay awake for a while, thinking about Vanessa. After a while, my daydreams drifted into the night-time variety and I fell asleep.

  37. Belinda

  After a night of swimming and fishing, followed by morning fishing with the vessel, Maria and I usually retired to the vessel’s bunks to sleep until the sun sank from view. Today, I wished to sit on the deck a little longer, so Maria descended to the bunks without me.

  The humans were awake, too. Fishing vessels were returning to their jetties. I saw more humans in the early afternoon than any other time of day. They tied up and unloaded their vessels, called out between jetties and the island and went into their houses.

  The Dolphin cruised along the anchorage. Skipper nodded and waved to me and I replied in kind. He did not smile, so I did not have to smile in response. The young human fisherman Vanessa liked so much stood on the deck of the Dolphin, but he did not see me as he watched the houses on the island. I suspected he looked for her, but she was not in sight. Like Maria, she slept.

  I had not seen any of the other humans as entranced by her as this one was. It made him appear young and sweet, even though he was an adult human. I understood that she would enjoy his company. Last night, when her thoughts were saddened by a human long since dead, he brought a smile to her lips.

  She worked hard for our people and she sought to help the humans, too. It hurt her when her efforts failed, but they did not diminish. She was perpetually worried for the future of our people and of the humans. If she could save us all, she would. If she could not, she would teach us to save ourselves.

  I looked at the young human who was so mesmerised by her body. Would he be so eager for her if he knew that the last human man she had willingly touched was my father, more than 80 years in the past? At least this knowledge would crush his unrealistic hopes. Our kind do not willingly touch humans, except where duty requires it. She has borne two children for her people. She has no need to touch a human again.

  I watched him assist Skipper in tying up the Dolphin and unloading their catch of the morning. Though not as practised in fishing as Skipper, the young human did not make mistakes. He was capable with his hands, carrying out his deckhand duties as Maria or I might. In six weeks, he had learned a considerable amount. I resolved to tell Vanessa this when she awoke. If she were required to return to land and fish with the Siren once more, she could employ him as a human deckhand, without the need for Maria or me.

  As he stepped ashore from the vessel, he was addressed by a fisherman from one of the smaller islands. Roma Island, perhaps. He listened to the fisherman, looking concerned, then retrieved a heavy-looking bag from his veranda. Lifting the bag onto his shoulder, he followed the Roma fisherman to his vessel and was soon on his way south.

  38. Joe

  The story of Vanessa’s generator and the Fisheries installation had spread across the island and then across the water. I went from being the newest deckie at the Abrolhos to the miracle sparky who could fix anything. I had skippers offering to do my deckie duties while I fixed their wiring. Skipper turned them down, refusing to take any other skipper over his “lucky deckie” on his boat, which meant my hours off the boat were suddenly in demand. I no longer had clean-up duties at the club.

  It was almost two weeks later before I could keep my eyes open after dark. I seemed to step off the boat from the day’s fishing only to be accosted by someone who needed an electrician to replace corroded wiring, repair the generator or take a look at their satellite dish. By the time I got home, with a pocket full of cash, an armload more beer and a stomach full of whatever dinner the happy fisher was only too pleased to share with me, I barely managed to collapse on my bed before I was out for the night.

  On Friday night, I found myself home before dark, as a job that had looked really difficult turned out to be five minutes of reconnecting wiring. For the first time in a week, I was forced to rely on my own meagre cooking skills. As I finished up my dinner, I thought about what I might do that evening. I figured I’d manage to stay awake for a couple of hours yet. My first thought was to get out of my shack, so no one could bang on my door to ask me to come over and just take a look at their…whatever. The whatever would still need fixing tomorrow and I wanted a night off.

  Once out of my place, my feet carried me to Vanessa’s veranda, almost of their own volition. I knocked on the door. I heard her swear, before I heard her approach. She swung the door open.

  I’d backed away from the door when I’d heard her swear. It was safer to be off the veranda and headed hom
e if she didn’t want me there.

  “Who is it?” she asked, peering into the dark. She wore a pale blue singlet top with her little shorts today, giving me a tantalising view of her cleavage from clear across the veranda. In her hands was a bowl of ice cream. She lifted a spoon to her mouth, which hovered in mid-air when she noticed me.

  She jumped in surprise. “Joe! What can I help you with?” The ice cream jumped with her – right off the spoon to splatter on her chest. It melted quickly on her warm skin, trickling between her breasts in a milky pink smear. She looked down. “Oh shit.”

  She swiped ineffectually at the ice cream with her hand, then snatched up a tea towel and dabbed at herself.

  I want to bury my face in your boobs and taste that ice cream.

  I realised I was staring at her and looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

  “I’m sorry, Joe,” she said. “Help yourself to a beer and some ice cream, if you like. I’ll just go get cleaned up and put on a fresh shirt.” She hurried out of the kitchen.

  Oh my God. What I’d give for you to take that singlet off and let me lick ice cream from your tits. You wouldn’t even need a fresh shirt...I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t voice the offer I was dying to make.

  I went over to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

  “There. That’s better,” Vanessa said cheerfully behind me.

  I turned around, taking a mouthful of beer. I almost spat it out again.

  She’d evidently cleaned herself up in the bathroom and put on an equally pale blue t-shirt instead. She’d forgotten to dry herself, though, and I could see her blue lace bra clearly through the transparent t-shirt clinging to her damp skin.

  “So did you want to go drink on the veranda or stay in here?” she asked me, getting herself a beer from the fridge.

  “Oh, in here, I guess,” I stammered. The light’s better in the kitchen and this is a view I do not want to miss, I thought, as I sat across from her at the kitchen table.