The Eye of the Sheep

by Sofie Laguna

  ‘Robby should be here,’ said Uncle Rodney, his hands full of metal floaters. ‘If he’s taken up the love of fishing like his old uncle.’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Rodney, yes. He should be. He should be.’

  ‘Best fishing in the world on the island. Could get him a job on the mackerel boats. Better than the bloody crays, or whatever he’s up to. He’d be better off here.’

  Dad picked up one of the long rods standing in a row. ‘Kid wants to get out on his own, I guess.’ Dad didn’t say anything about the last fucking time or what Robby did to his face.

  ‘If he wanted work he could’ve got in touch. I could have sorted something out. Keep it in the family. Got long enough to be on his bloody own.’

  ‘Kids do what they want. You did, remember?’ said Dad. ‘Remember bloody Sydney? Remember Sandra?’

  ‘Bloody Sandra. Touché mate.’ Uncle Rodney grinned. ‘How could I forget bloody Sydney? Sydney and the stripper. Jesus.’

  ‘What rods are you using lately?’ Dad wanted Uncle Rodney to think about fishing rods and not Robby.

  ‘The ultra-light is best for the flathead, but it cuts out the grunter bream. Dave sticks to his bloody heavy thing whether it means he’ll catch anything or not. Stubborn bastard.’

  Soon Amanda and Dave came into the shop. When Amanda saw me she gave me a cuddle. ‘G’day, Jim. Excited?’ I wished Amanda was my teacher.

  We drove down to the pier and there was Ashley Lynne tied to the pole, her nose pulling at the rope. She was bobbing up and down and the sea was dark beneath her, sloshing and splashing up. ‘Ahhh, Ashley, my love,’ said Dave.

  ‘Watch it.’ Amanda pinched him. She pulled a basket out of the truck. ‘Lunch,’ she said.

  ‘All aboard,’ said Dave. ‘Come on, people.’

  There were boats tied up all along the pier and beyond them was the sea, no waves. It led to the line that said a person had died. I had seen it at Westlake Nursing when someone needed a monitor. It was the horizon and it was in all people but you only saw it when you were old. It circled the world but different countries got to see it depending on whether it was night or day. Inside me the needle spun around the dial, speeding up. The Lady Free was the only boat I had sailed and she was a fridge.

  You had to step over one part where if you looked down you saw the sea. If you wanted to get on the boat that was what you had to do. Dave stepped over then Amanda did, then Uncle Rodney did. ‘Right, Jim. You next,’ said Dad tightly.

  Uncle Rodney held out his arm to me from Ashley Lynne’s deck. ‘Come on, Jim. The sea waits for no man.’

  I didn’t want to go. Four faces were waiting for me, smiling and trying to tell me it was a good idea. I looked down at the crack between the boat and the water. ‘What about Ned?’ I said. ‘What about Ned? Ned is all alone today, Uncle Rodney, he won’t like that, will he?’

  ‘Ned will be okay,’ said Uncle Rodney.

  ‘Hey, Dave, put a plank across for Jim, will you? Might make it easier,’ Amanda said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Dave. He pulled one of the bench seat lids out of Ashley Lynne and he turned it upside down and made a plank for me to walk across. I could not see the ocean and there was no crack. I took a breath and crossed and then I was in Ashley Lynne.

  ‘Good on you, Jim,’ said Uncle Rodney.

  ‘Come on, Dad,’ I said. Then Dad stepped on the plank and shook it and pretended to fall and Uncle Rodney said, ‘Jesus, you haven’t changed.’

  Dave started Ashley Lynne’s engine the same way you start a car. He turned a key connected to her motor cord which drew up the petrol’s energy and she rumbled for on. Dave turned Ashley away from the pier and then we were off across the sea, the wind blowing our hair as we cut through the water.

  Ashley Lynne sped so fast she beat me. She took up all the movement; I had no choice but to be still. I saw the sides of the island thick with trees as we charged towards the horizon. Ashley roared in my ears. Soon Dad’s face changed, as if the wind was blowing away the memories of everything that happened before so that he didn’t know what had happened; he had no memory of worry. There was only Ashley Lynne and the island and the rings of forest and the sea.

  Soon Dave stopped the boat and dropped the anchor so that Ashley bobbed in one place, held steady by the chain. Amanda pulled thermoses of tea and coffee from the basket and juice for me. The sun was midway up in the sky. It had no guard around it. There was no smoke transformed into cloud on either side. It was hotter.

  The men got out the fishing rods and Dad gave me one and said, ‘You need patience to fish, Jim. You got patience?’

  I nodded. Did I?

  ‘Amanda?’ said Dave. ‘You going to win catch of the day?’

  ‘Oh, the fish love their Aunty Amanda. Bait me up, will you?’ she said, putting down her coffee cup.

  ‘Dave, mate, bait me up too while you’re at it,’ I said.

  ‘Bloody clown,’ said Dad, but not angry – proud.

  Dave stuck prawns through our hooks and Amanda and me sat on Ashley’s edges with our rods dangling into the water. Ashley rocked me up and down and I held my rod and I was just one of everybody, not different, neither faster nor slower. We all had our own bodies but the bodies were an illusion. The invisible substance inside us was the same. I had patience. Soon I felt a pull. Uncle Rodney noticed my line going further out to sea and he said, ‘Jesus, what’s Jimmy got?’

  I pulled back but I stayed slow.

  ‘Give him a tug,’ said Uncle Rodney. ‘Come on, mate, a bit of a tug. Just let him know who’s boss.’

  I tugged.

  ‘That’s it, Jim. You’re a natural. You still got him.’

  Dad was looking at me and so was Dave. I watched my line pulling and my rod bend to give space to the fish. When Mum danced me round the carpet she took a step then I did. It was the same with the fish. I pulled back again.

  ‘Okay, that’s it, Jimmy, time to bring him in now. Wind your reel, that’s it.’ Uncle Rodney showed me how to wind.

  ‘I can do it, I can do it,’ I told him and I began to wind in my fish. I wound and wound and it got harder and harder and I used my strong hand and I kept pulling and the fish got heavier as if it was multiplying, and everyone on the boat was watching, including my dad.

  ‘Go, Jimmy, go,’ he said softly and then all things in Ashley Lynne were tuned to me as the silver fish rose from the water and into the sun, flicking and twisting on the end of my line. I was against it in a battle and the weight was heavy and about to break and everyone was shouting, ‘Go, Jimmy, go! Jimmy, go!’ and I pulled and the fish pulled and Uncle Rodney was right there, trying to help, but I told him, ‘No! I can do it, I can do it!’ And up and over went the fish, silver as mercury, onto the deck and he slapped and slid and I bent down to him and I tried to put my hand over him but he was too slippery and everyone was shouting and laughing, ‘You got him, Jimmy! He’s yours!’

  ‘Look at the size of him!’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘A bloody great grunter!’

  ‘Go, Jimmy!’

  And then my hand landed on the back of the flipping fish and I felt him trying to move against me but my force stopped him. It was me over the fish. Then I grabbed at the hook trapped through his silver lip – my hands were shaking; I had never touched a fish before – and I unhooked it and I threw the fish high and everybody grew quiet as he flew through the sky, seeing his home the sea beneath him, knowing it was coming, only seconds away, able to hold on, only just, and whoosh, down he went.

  It was so quiet, there was only the sloshing of water as Ashley bobbed on the surface above the fish now swimming deeper and deeper, away from the boat. It was a long quiet wait – which way would it go? Which way?

  And then Dad cheered. ‘Hooray! Hooray!’ and clapped as if it was the show he’d waited so long to see and it was more than he’d expected. It was better, better even than he’d hoped for as he shouted and clapped and cheered on his feet for me, for me,
and that was the sign for everybody else. ‘Hooray! Hooray! Catch of the day!’ they shouted. And I never needed to catch another fish. That was my fish.

  The rest of the day I sat at the back of Ashley and watched the pathways of foam and froth that we left behind us melt into the sea and I ate Amanda’s chicken sandwiches and tried something on top I never had before called avocado. ‘I like it, Dad. I like it! Avocado!’

  By the time we got back to the jetty all of the lines on Dad’s face had disappeared and were hooked invisibly around me. Thank you, Ashley Lynne.

  It was our last visit to the beach. In the afternoon we were catching the plane home.

  ‘Oi, Jim,’ Dad said, his eyes sparkling. ‘Coming in?’ He held out his dripping arm. The scar from the mower blade dragged down between the legs of his girls. The sun shone over us. He smiled. He was still and sure, his words with space between every one. Behind him, beneath the shining sun, the waves grew broad and blue, then curled over, smashing, sending white foam flying.

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ I answered. ‘Coming in.’

  I took his hand and he pulled me up from the sand. He led me in, pulling me through wave after wave of broken foaming water. It was as if he knew the water’s direction, its intention. He wasn’t scared of the change. I held back, and the line of our arms pulled tight.

  ‘Come on, Jim,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t do it, Dad, can’t do it,’ I turned to go. I could see Uncle Rodney standing on the shore, watching us.

  Dad’s arm stayed tight. ‘You can do it, Jim.’ He gave my arm a little jerk, catching me by surprise; I had to follow. He pulled me on through the water that rushed towards us, as if we weren’t there, as if we were too small to make an impact on its shape. I couldn’t stand. I gripped my dad’s arm harder. My feet touched the sand and sometimes they didn’t. We rose and fell together.

  ‘Dog paddle,’ said Dad. He was as firm as dry land – the Cutty Sark far away in the high cupboard to the south.

  I kicked away at nothing, my breath quick, my dad a steady line as the world of water beyond him tipped and straightened. And then we were beyond the breakers and I could see where the wave began; a swell that sharpened as it gained a body and momentum. Beneath the ocean the engine of the earth roared, pushing the water forward, but here it was quiet, the waves smooth as glass. Up went my dad and me, over the top and down the other side. ‘Bloody beautiful, isn’t it?’ Dad said.

  ‘Bloody beautiful, Dad! Bloody beautiful!’ I shouted across the sea.

  I watched a wave coming towards us, growing higher and higher, thinner at the top as it curled over, preparing to crash over our heads.

  ‘Take a breath, son.’ Dad took hold of my hands and pulled me down under where it was quiet and the movement slow. I opened my eyes and he looked soft, made of water, like me. We were one thing, connected by our hands leading to our arms leading to the rest of our bodies. I had begun with him and he ended with me. Waves couldn’t break it, Cutty Sark couldn’t, Merle couldn’t, Mum couldn’t; nothing could. I felt the wave passing over the top give us one quick pull, then we burst up into the sun. Dad let go of my hands, and the world above the water was shining and foaming with light and change.

  The next wave that came was as solid and full as a mountain. ‘Over this time,’ said Dad, and over we floated. Far away down below I saw Uncle Rodney and Ned watching and then the rest of the island behind them and then I looked up and saw the whole endless blue sky.

  When we came out of the water something that had been pressing on my chest, a weight that had been there for a long time, was gone. Miniature rainbows covered the wet sand. Uncle Rodney gave us a thumbs-up and I gave him one back. Ned barked and I ran towards him, water flying up around my feet.

  Uncle Rodney and Ned stood with us at the airport. Dad held the suitcase. His shoes were on his feet, his coat was over his arm and his belt was looped through his trousers. We were going back.

  ‘I’m going to miss you, Jim.’ Uncle Rodney looked sad.

  ‘Who will throw the ball for Ned, Uncle Rodney? Will you? Will you throw it?’ I asked him.

  ‘Not as often as you, kiddo.’

  ‘What will he do? What will he do? Uncle Rodney, what will he do?’

  Ned licked my hand with his soft tongue.

  ‘Ned will miss you, and so will I. You’ve got to drag your old man up here again, Jim. Meanwhile, I’ll be working on my ping-pong skills.’

  ‘Ping-pong ping-pong ping-pong,’ I said.

  The aeroplanes roared overhead. One took off past the window, its wings like super knives to cut pathways through the air. Soon we would be on an aeroplane. My stomach moved to make room for the seed. ‘Ping-pong ping-pong ping-pong ping-pong,’ I said, louder. ‘Goodbye, Ned, goodbye, Uncle Rodney, ping-pong pong-pong ping-ping-ping!’

  ‘Settle down, son,’ said Dad.

  Another plane wheeled its way down the runway, propellers turning faster. Propellers inside me turned faster too. It was high up there, very high.

  ‘Ping!’ I shouted. ‘Pong!’ Where was crying? Were the switches somewhere inside me too? Why couldn’t they be found? ‘Ping! Ping! Ping! Pong!’ I shouted. A little girl stared at me from behind the legs of her mother.

  Dad put his hand on the top of my head. It was warm and strong and I felt all the ping and pong drawn from me as it travelled up my body and through Dad’s hand. From there it entered his refinery and was purified to nothing. I turned to my dad and put my arms around him. I breathed in my old man and it slowed me down as if I had counted one hundred sheep.

  Uncle Rodney said, ‘My turn, mate,’ and he hugged me, and if there was any fast left it was lost in Uncle Rodney’s chest.

  I went to Ned and put my arms around his neck. He stayed still as I held him, his centre holding us together.

  ‘We’ve got to go, son. Don’t want to miss our plane.’

  ‘Yes, Dad, yes. Our plane.’ I pulled away from Ned. Our time was over. Now there would be another time. What were the instructions for crying?

  We put our bag into the tunnel and watched as it went behind the curtain, and waited for it to come out again.

  ‘What happened to it in there, Dad?’ I asked when the bag came out the other side.

  ‘Not a lot, son. You didn’t miss out on much.’ He smiled.

  I smiled too. ‘I hope you’re right, Dad, I hope you’re right.’

  Without waiting or stopping to check the temperature – the same quick way he entered the sea – Dad took my hand as we crossed the tar towards the steps that led up to the aeroplane.

  As soon as we were in our seats we both leaned back and closed our eyes. The side of Dad’s hard brown hand lay against mine, and we rested there, information travelling between us without obstruction: the changing shape of the sea, Uncle Rodney’s voice, Ned, sun, sausages, green ball, pink lemonade, the Statesman’s button, blue and white striped shorts. The messages, big and small, moved back and forth through the skins of our touching hands. We didn’t wake until the lady said, ‘Preparing for descent.’ Dad blinked and swallowed and our hands pulled apart as we prepared for descent.

  Mum was waiting for us just outside the airport, her dress blown back against her legs by the wind. She grabbed at it to hold it down. There was a scarf covered in berries around her neck that I had never seen before; strawberries and raspberries and blueberries and mulberries and all the other berries in the world there in Mum’s scarf, her neck pink and sweet, and lipstick red on her mouth.

  ‘Mum!’ I shouted, running to her.

  She put her arms around me and held me tight.

  ‘Jimmy, my boy!’ she said as if they were the words of her favourite song.

  ‘Uncle Rodney’s got a Statesman, Mum,’ I said as we climbed into the Holden. ‘The windows come down when you press a button.’

  ‘Boy, did he enjoy pressing that button,’ said Dad.

  Mum and Dad’s laughter was a harmony made of two tunes. One held up the other, lifted it, bou
nced it and caught it again. They took turns.

  I rested against the back seat and a long breath of air that had come all the way from Broken Island was released into the body of the Holden.

  That night I lay in the sewing room in my bed, eyes half closed, listening to the brothers’ lullaby in my ears. Smack click shit smack click shit two on the black two on the black shot mate shot. I was drifting on the seas of Broken Island when Mum came into the room.

  ‘It was good, wasn’t it, Jimmy? Your holiday?’ she said softly, sitting on the edge of my bed. I couldn’t stop my weight tipping towards her. Beneath her words, I heard her wheezing breath, trying to push through its message.

  ‘It went well, Mum, it went well.’

  She smoothed her hand across my back. I rolled away. I wanted to trace the thread that joined shadow to shadow. Why hadn’t I seen it in the house before, linking chair to cupboard to carpet to train? I wanted to watch it disappear, feel myself grow fractionally faster, my cells begin to spin, then just when I thought it was gone forever, see it appear again, making me as slow and sleepy as Ned lying on the hot sand.

  ‘Goodnight, Mum,’ I said.

  There was a small gap of quiet. Mum sat in it, wondering, until she got to the other side.

  ‘I love you, Jimmy,’ she said. Then she left the room.

  On Monday Dad put his green and glowing vest over his shirt and kissed Mum on the mouth. The pressing of their lips caused a chemical reaction that lifted the curtains. When Dad stepped back and looked at her I saw a thousand tiny lines that ran from his body to hers.

  Even though my holiday with Dad was over it was still holidays from school, so I stayed home with Mum and drove her up the wall. We piled cheese on tomato on meat on milk on pasta sheets on meat on cheese, on and on and up and up and up went the layers.

  ‘Your father loves lasagne,’ Mum said as she greased the tray. She was pink and stained with the berries as she said it. Your father loves lasagne.