Gorgo

by Carson Bingham

  “Listen to that damn crap!” he said. “That’s people for you. Never believe anything until it’s shoved down their throats.”

  I sat up on the bunk. “What’s next Joe? What do we do with our catch now?”

  Joe ground his teeth and cursed. “That radio operator up on the cliff sent the news out too fast. We’ve got to sweat it out right here until the government people show up. If we don’t, they’ll make it tough as hell for us to show it anywhere.”

  I groaned. “All that work—and nothing for it.”

  “We’ll get ours, Sam, I promise it,” Joe said grimly.

  His eyes were slitted and I did not like the look in them.

  “I hope something works out,” I grumbled.

  Joe turned and headed for the corridor outside the bunk. “I’m going to hit the sack,” he said. “In the morning we can get things moving.”

  “Oíche mhaith agat!” I said. “Good night,” I grinned. “I’m picking up the language fast.”

  “Sounds like good shark bait at that,” Joe said with a leer.

  I sat there a moment, yawning and thinking. I had been a long haul with Joe Ryan. I couldn’t say I particularly liked him, but he was tough, and plenty handy with himself. He was a fighter who usually got what he wanted.

  We’d served in Korea together, and that’s where I’d learned diving and salvage. I’d never had any particular aim in life, and looked up Joe down in Texas where he was working on the Gulf in a greasy sack salvage operation. We worked together a while, and then a sleazy little Cuban named Josélito Fernandez got us onto a real good thing—bringing in shipments of arms to the rebels in Oriente Province, before Castro took over. We got zeroed in a couple times, and almost had our decks shot out from under us once, but we made out.

  With the dough we couped from that operation, we bought the salvage rig and the bathysphere, and started out on our own. Once in a while we hit, but never really big. We had come up to the Irish coast to try for some of the convoy kills during World War II, and had just found a likely one when the big volcanic eruption took place. So here we were again, high and dry, without one cent in the bank, and a monster chained to the deck, ready to eat us all for breakfast.

  Hell, there was no use brooding about it. We were hard-working guys who had never made it. Sometime we would. And when we did, so help me God, would live it up big!

  I snagged a cigarette out of the pack, lit up, and went for a breather on deck. The stars were shining and it was a beautiful, clear night. I strolled to the foredeck where the monster was netted and chained down. A bright deck-light, located aft of the monster, was turned full on him, throwing the rest of the deck into shadows. A canvas canopy was rigged above the beast to keep the sun off its back during the day, and we had one of the ship’s fire hoses playing a stream of water on it from above. This water was trailing over the deck and draining out into the harbor through the scuppers.

  We figured it as best to keep the big thing wet. It was a sea beast, there was no doubt of that, yet it seemed partially amphibious. And it seemed to be doing all right so far. It had almost achieved a kind of resignation about its captivity. This helped morale on board ship, believe me. With that thing flailing about, God knows who we could get to ship with us.

  The monster was hunched over now, dozing. I could see its green body, with the plated metallic scales and its gleaming water soaked skin. And then, as I stood there, I had surprised to see the monster suddenly raise its head as though it had heard or sensed the presence of something on deck.

  It wasn’t looking at me. It was looking back the other way, toward the bow of the ship. Now, rising under its huge net, it turned slowly toward the shadowed area on the other side. I tried to squint into the darkness myself, but I could see nothing.

  Then, before I could move, I saw someone come out from behind a tarpaulin lashed over some oil drums. It was Sean McCartin! I was just about to jump forward and throw him off the ship when I saw Moira, moving furtively and cautiously across the deck behind him. What the hell?

  I was curious to make a move and tip my hand. I wanted to see what they had up their sleeves. Was this some kind of superstitious sacrifice to Ogra? The two of them crouched in front of the monster’s big head, staring up at it. The monster looked at them, silent contemplative.

  “Fáilte romhat!” murmured Sean. I recognized the words. “Welcome.” Sean spoke the words with respect. Beside him Moira bowed her head in obeisance.

  The monster rumbled and shook the net, but the two of them did not jump back. They looked at each other, and then I saw Sean cross over to the nearest shackle bolt which held the cable binding the net. He bent over and tried to loosen it.

  Moira peered about the deck, seemingly keeping a lookout for her brother. The monster turned then, shifting its stance so it faced the boy; it towered above Sean and edged forward against the confines of the steel net. Sean shook the shackle bolt again.

  I moved then, starting to come out from behind the deck light. But before I could say anything the monster struck with its huge talon. The blow did not catch Sean, but the net swung out, and its force knocked him to the deck. Moira cried out and jumped to him to pick him up.

  At that instant, while I charged across the deck myself, the monster raised its huge talon again, and struck downward, now thoroughly aroused. The sharp, lethal edge of it grazed Moira’s body, not tearing her flesh, but ripping her shirt and dungarees down the side like a huge razor.

  Sean rolled out of range of the monster, and Moira was shaking with terror when I reached her and gathered her to me. Now the monster was roaring and snarling slashing at the net with its talons.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I yelled at Moira. “You’ll be killed!”

  Now a voice called from the darkness beyond the deck light. I could recognize Jack Finn’s husky basso.

  “What’s going on out there?”

  “We’ve got it under control, Boats!” I called. “You can sit tight.”

  For a moment I froze there, cursing soundlessly. I didn’t want any trouble with Joe. If he knew these two members of the clan McCartin had come aboard, he’d have them keel-hauled. I was still holding the girl tightly, waiting for an okay from the Bos’n.

  “Long as it’s under control, Mr. Slade.”

  “Forget it.”

  I heard his footsteps moving away on the deck.

  I looked at Sean. “You hurt?”

  The boy was shivering. “No, sir.”

  I faced Moira. Her eyes were bright and wide and dilated. “How about you?”

  I realized then that I was still holding her body tightly to mine, protectively. She looked into my eyes, and then away with embarrassment. She let her hands stray down from my chest, and I drew my arms from around her soft, yielding body. I felt a stir within me, and I backed away deliberately.

  “I’m—all right,” she said, her voice shaken. She looked down at herself, and in her modesty, pulled the ripped clothing closer around her. I could see part of her naked breast, and almost all of one long leg. I looked away.

  “You two get off this boat fast,” I said in a low urgent tone. “How’d you get here anyway?”

  Moira stared at me defiantly, ignoring my question.

  “You needn’t look that way at him, Somhairle. ’Twas my own idea. This monster you’ve caught will only bring trouble to us all.”

  “Sure enough, if you keep trying to get close to him! He’ll oblige you with a full-scale clawing!”

  She bit her lip. Then she faced me again. “We rowed out here, if you must know. And we’ll try again until we succeed.”

  I shook my head in resignation. “I have a feeling you will at that,” I said. “Come on!”

  “Come on where?” she asked me with a toss of her gorgeous red hair.

  “I’m rowing you back to the beach.”

  “Sure and we can row ourselves, Somhairle,” she snapped, turning to her brother. She took him by the hand. “Come on
, Sean. We’re finished here, for the time being.”

  And the two of them hurried to the rail, Moira all the time clutching the shreds of her shirt to cover her nakedness.

  “Hold it!”

  I came after them.

  “And now what would you be wanting?” she asked impudently.

  “I’m going with you. I want to be sure you get to the beach.”

  Moira chuckled then, her face breaking into an amused smile. “ ’Tis a determined man you are at that, Somhairle.”

  I helped them over the side, and we climbed down to the rowboat tied up there. We rowed in silence across the calm harbor, until we had reached the beach. Sean jumped out and tugged the prow up onto the sand.

  “Okay, Sean, beat it. I intend to have words with your sister. You hear me?”

  Sean looked questioningly at Moira. She gave him imperceptible nod, and then the boy turned and started loping across the beach to the cliff trail.

  I helped Moira out of the boat. “Now would you like to explain to me exactly what you were trying to do?”

  She turned to me and stared at me as if I were daft. “But to set him free, of course. ’Tis Ogra, the sea god. Did you not know that?”

  I shook my head. “Frankly, it looks to me like some prehistoric link between the dinosaur age and ours.”

  “Scientific nonsense,” said Moira, sniffing. “You sound just like my stubborn father.”

  We walked along the beach and sat down in a spot under the cliffs, sheltered and cut off from the village.

  “Your father is an educated man,” I said after awhile. “How did he ever come to devote his whole life to this desolate island? Nara doesn’t even show on most maps.”

  She smiled secretly. “Haven’t you guessed? ’Tis a simple thing after all. He was a brilliant archeologist, and he took a fine job with the Irish government. But he was always like he is now. Never could get along with other people. They finally sent him off to this desolate island where he didn’t have to get along with anyone, to study the Viking and Irish wrecks. Fifteen years ago it was, and he’s been here ever since.”

  “You’ve never been off the island?”

  “Never since,” she breathed, staring out to sea. My eyes were growling accustomed to the darkness, and I could see her profile, the lively red hair flowing down her neck, the strong clean cut of her nose, the line of her lips, the upthrust of her breasts against what was left of her shirt. There was even a gleaming patch of her milk-white skin, visible through the torn garment, and the gentle curve of her left breast which I could not help seeing. I pulled my eyes away from her, and looked once again at the masts bobbing up and down in the harbor. It seemed a much safer view to observe.

  “This is no place for a girl like you.”

  She smiled. “What do you mean, like me?”

  I looked in her eyes. She was watching me with amusement, with the arch look of a natural-born flirt, with the look of someone who wanted to be a woman but who had never had the chance to be.

  “You should have men crawling at your feet, Moira. They would, you know, if there were any around here.” I touched her chin and lifted her face. The stars twinkled in her eyes.

  “There are men, Somhairle,” she whispered. “The divers. The villagers who work for my father.”

  “Not the men you should have, Moira,” I said, moving closer to her. “You should have princes, kings, men of wealth and power, and they would sit at your feet and tell you of your beauty and your charm.”

  “ ’Tis the Blarney Stone you’ve kissed, Somhairle, that much is obvious to me.” But her lips were wide and smiling and parted, and her teeth showed as she whispered.

  “Who would kiss the Blarney Stone, Princess, if he had your lips to kiss?” I leaned and touched her lips with mine. They were cool and calm and she closed her eyes and we stayed together for a long moment. Then she drew her head away.

  “Somhairle,” she said, and the sound came from deep in her throat, blurred and husky. “That was nice.”

  “Very,” I said, and I kissed her again. My arm slid around her shoulders now, and she turned slightly to me. Her lips moved against mine, and I could feel their growing warmth. The flesh of her body pressed against me, and though we were sitting side by side, we turned to each other, breast to breast. Her head went back slightly, and her hair fell down over my hand and wrist.

  After a long time, I drew back. “That was wonderful, Princess. Princess Nara.” I laughed.

  “Oh, Somhairle!” she cried, and flung her arms around my neck, pulling me tightly to her this time, her lips clinging to mine, moving against mine, with awakened desire. Now her body moved in to mine, fitting itself curve to curve, to my own. She writhed under me, pulling me over on top of her, until I was face to face with her on the sand, and she was clinging to me with her warm, soft, aroused body. She was like a flower opening for the first time.

  She had carried that body with her for twenty years, and she had thought she knew herself. But now she had suddenly learned that she did not know her body at all, nor what it yearned for, and she was more amazed at what it now told her, than she had ever been in her life.

  “Moira,” I murmured, tearing myself away from her lips for a moment. She lay there in the sand, looking up at me, her sea-green eyes slanted and oriental in the starlight. She gazed at me along her dark lashes, and her lair lay on the sand about her head, framing it like a halo.

  In our embrace my hand had pulled at the shirt on her back, sliding it down over one creamy shoulder. Now, as I looked down at her, I was conscious only of the fact that the shreds of the shirt had parted over her breasts, and that one of them lay completely exposed, its white softness before my eyes. She saw my glance and she looked at me and smiled.

  “Kiss me, Somhairle,” she said softly, and as she closed her eyes I leaned down and I kissed her. A tremor shot through her body. She moved in the sand beneath me. She thrust her head back away from me, her fingernails digging into my back.

  Then I touched her breast with my hand, and she closed her eyes, moaned softly and turned her head from me. The flaming red hair moved against my nose, tickling it. The smell of the fresh air came to me. It permeated my entire body.

  “Somhairle,” she whispered, as I held her there in a tight embrace. “I love you, Somhairle.”

  I closed my eyes. It wasn’t fair. This lonely, woodland kid, who had never even seen a man like me before, thinking she was in love with me. It was one of those obscene, miserable things and I felt sick.

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “You just think you do.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is the truth. I have asked my heart, and my heart has given me the answer.”

  I lifted her mouth to mine and kissed her again.

  “You see,” she said, looking into the sky beyond my head, “when you kiss me there is the ringing of bells in the air. There is soft music of the little people. There is the far-off singing of many voices. It is you I want, Somhairle. No one else. I know. A woman always knows.”

  I held her to me, trying to forget what a slob and bastard I was to get her into a situation like this.

  But she would have none of my excuses.

  “Take me, Somhairle,” she whispered. “I demand to be taken.” She clutched my hand in hers and I pressed her body, warm and quivering, to mine. Somehow I found the button to the dungarees she wore, and unbuttoned them, and slipped the clothes off her trembling flesh until there was nothing between us but the warmth of our bodies.

  She strained and twisted and clutched at me in the ecstasy of her stabbing, tearing pain, and with the unfeigned sincerity of innocence, she abandoned herself to me. And for me it was like dying and being reborn. It was a dizzying climb to a cloud of ecstasy such as I’d never experienced before.

  When the tumult and madness between us finally subsided, we lay there, breathless and sated and content, surrounded by the essence and magic of our love.

  Moira’s soft, flame-red hair f
licked across my face, and I opened my eyes. She was bending over me, her lips brushing my lips, her full, firm breasts teasing the flesh of my chest. I pulled her to me and desire swept through me again like that wild storm at sea.

  “Moira!” I whispered hoarsely.

  “Somhairle!” Her tongue was at my ear.

  Then I rose to one elbow, my face flaming, my tongue dry. I sprang to my feet, and I turned to her, my eyes dry. I sprang to my feet, and I turned to her, my eyes blurred and hot. I snatched my shirt and pants and moved off down the beach hastily.

  She sprang up to follow me. “Somhairle!” she cried in agony. “What have I done?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s what I’ve done.”

  “What have I said?”

  I turned to her, my heart pounding. “It’s me, Moira! I’m no good! I’m a lousy no-good son of a bitch, Moira! Do you understand that? It’s what I did to you. You need a decent guy, a good man, Moira! Not me. Now get away. You make me sick!”

  She staggered back from me as if I had struck her. “Sick?” she repeated, holding her hand to her mouth in despair. “I make you sick. When you mean all the world to me?”

  I clutched at something invisible in the air between us. I had no idea what it might be.

  “Sick!” I repeated.

  “Somhairle!” she sobbed, and threw herself at me, grasping me around the shoulders, hugging me to her naked body as if her flesh would bring me back to her. “Hold me, Somhairle! You don’t mean it!”

  I ripped her from me, sent her reeling against the sand. “I do! Leave me alone! It’s my misery now!”

  She stood up again and stared at me, wonderingly, forlornly. “What did I do, Somhairle?” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  How could I tell her that she had done nothing but love me, the finest thing in the world she could do? How could I tell her that it was my own shame that was angering me, for loving her? How could I tell her that I was not lying, that I was sick, that I could never love anyone pure and good and real like her.

  The black waves of remorse rose before me and I stood alone in a black, empty void, and I was blinded by self-loathing. I slapped her face without seeing her. I heard her stagger back into the sand. She lay there sobbing out my name. She wept heart-brokenly like a child who had just been senselessly punished.