One Would Think the Deep Read online

  ‘I talk to her.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Dunno. Stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, well you go to dinner with her olds, you’re practically engaged to her.’

  Sam finished shaving and didn’t answer him.

  Christa opened the front door, just like the first time he had visited. Her smile was warm and she took Sam by the shoulders and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Welcome, Sam. So glad you could make it.’

  He followed her up the stairs into the living room. The sliding doors to the deck were open and the curtains billowed in the sea breeze. The house was like something out of a magazine. He could see a man leaning on the railing with a glass of red wine, looking out at the water.

  ‘Hey, Sam.’ Gretchen was sitting cross-legged on the calfskin rug playing scrabble with a kid who Sam guessed to be her brother.

  ‘Roan, this is Sam.’

  Roan beamed at him.

  ‘Hey man.’

  ‘Do you have a skateboard?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you bring it?’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Roan,’ Gretchen said. ‘Sam’s here for dinner. Not a skating demo.’ She stood up and stretched. Her pants were a loose, semi-sheer fabric and they hung from her hips. She was curvy, straight-backed and toned, like a dancer or an Olympic diver. She padded across the living room and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek. He could smell the vanilla conditioner she used in her hair.

  ‘Is this the famous Sam?’ The man came in off the balcony and offered his hand to Sam. He was short and bearded, with glasses, and he looked exactly the way Sam expected a psychiatrist to look. He didn’t treat Sam as if Sam was imagining the bits of Gretchen that were under her clothes.

  ‘I’m Marcus. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Can we get you a drink, Sam? Water, juice, wine?’

  Christa was floating around in the kitchen, checking pots and stirring things. ‘I have a lovely bottle of red open,’ she said, as if it was nothing to be offering underage visitors alcohol.

  ‘Ah, um. Just water, please.’

  ‘Marcus and I are vegetarian, so if you were hoping for a steak, I’m afraid we’re going to disappoint you. I have a spiced cauliflower dhal and a coconut eggplant curry.’

  ‘That sounds amazing, thanks,’ said Sam, accepting a glass of water from Marcus.

  ‘You’re most welcome.’

  ‘Come! Sit down!’ said Marcus. ‘I must interrogate you!’

  ‘He’s joking,’ said Gretchen. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s joking.’

  Sam sat on the couch and Gretchen sat next to him. Marcus took his wineglass to one of the leather batwing chairs that looked more like art sculptures than things you would actually sit on. Sam tried to figure out what his mother would have made of these people with their designer furniture and exotic food. They were kind. She would have paid them that.

  ‘Gretchen tells us you are new to the area, from Sydney?’

  ‘Yeah. Enmore.’

  ‘And how does our little enclave compare to city living?’

  ‘The views are better.’

  Marcus laughed a generous laugh and sipped his wine. Christa came into the room and selected an LP from the shelf. She lifted the needle of the record player and put it on. It was some sort of soul music, authentic-sounding. Sam figured that if he could make it through the evening without saying something stupid he would be okay. The unexpected thing was that he liked being there in the house with Gretchen’s family. They were relaxed in a natural way, not like uptight people pretending they were easygoing. They asked him questions and seemed to genuinely value his opinions. The conversation over dinner moved between politics to Australia’s preoccupation with sport to the reasons someone might choose to climb Everest. The kinds of things his mum used to talk to him about. Sam didn’t so much participate as sit and let it wash over him – the tranquillity of a family who had never known real fear. The only time he felt uncomfortable was when Christa asked him if he kept in touch with his friends from Sydney.

  ‘Yeah, you never talk about Sydney people,’ Gretchen said.

  Sam put down his fork. ‘Not much to say. I moved. They’re doing their thing. I’m doing mine.’

  ‘It’s like you are an alien with no past dropped into Earth,’ said Gretchen.

  ‘Well … that’s because that’s the situation exactly.’

  They laughed but kept looking at him like they needed more of an explanation. Like they had established an intimacy with him by feeding him lentils and offering him wine and they were his newfound confidants. Even Roan was leaning in like he was expecting more clues.

  ‘I dunno, I wanted to start fresh. Like, I’m not gonna call them and talk on the phone. And I’m not the letter-writing type, so …’ he trailed off and they laughed, seemingly satisfied. Christa got up and served rosewater pannacotta in little handmade dishes and Sam pretended it was something he had heard of before.

  After dinner they slipped out the front gate and he held her waist and kissed her, her arms around his neck.

  ‘Was that okay? I feel it might have been okay,’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, I like kissing you.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I’d like to eat a steak, but other than that, fine. Do they always offer your friends wine?’

  ‘No. It means they like you.’

  ‘Why do they like me?’

  ‘They can tell you’re a good person.’

  Gretchen’s words took him back to the apartment in Enmore. The spaghetti in the bowls. He held Gretchen’s soft hands and tried to anchor himself in the present moment, tried to ignore the way his breath shortened and the sick hollow feeling that threatened to open up inside of him.

  ‘I should go,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll walk back to your house with you.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want you walking back alone.’

  ‘It’s, like, three hundred metres.’

  ‘No.’ He kissed her lips. She kept hold of his hand as he pulled away.

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘Yes, Gretchen?’ He wanted to kiss her again.

  ‘What happened to your mum? Was she sick, or … ? It’s okay. Sorry. You don’t have to talk about it … I just. I want to know about you. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. She,’ Sam paused, ‘yeah, she was sick. Cancer.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  25

  He opened his eyes and Minty was in his face, the morning light still weak, the house silent.

  ‘It’s up, man! C’mon.’ He threw a wetsuit on the bed.

  Sam stretched and rolled over. ‘I’ll come down later.’

  ‘No way!’

  Sam opened one eye. Minty’s reaction was as if he’d said something deeply offensive.

  ‘You don’t understand, Sammy. This is it. I can feel it. I have this sense, when it’s goin’ to be crankin’, I just know. Intuition, like. You have to come down, I’m not lettin’ you stay here. Ay, how was your date? Where is she, under the bed?’

  ‘Shut up.’ Sam got up and fumbled his way into the wettie. It was impossible to say no to Minty.

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Seven cars were in the car park, more than usual for that time of the morning. A few guys waxed their boards on the grass; they whistled at Minty and he waved but didn’t stop, already at a jog by the time he hit the gravel of the car park. Sam followed him down the winding goat track through the saltbush and snake grass. It was steep, but each of Minty’s steps was quick and assured. Sam tried to keep up. The tide was out, leaving the rocky platform exposed. Usually it was windy out on the point, but this morning the fresh autumn air was still. Waves built just south of the furthest outcrop of rocks and rolled, perfectly coiled, north, around the headland all the way into the beach, almost a kilometre behind them. Other surfers began to trickle down
the headland. Sam hung back and watched Minty skip across the rocks, taking a direct line to the easternmost point, the most formidable spot to jump in, but the quickest way to the biggest waves. He would take his place first in the line-up and Sam was fairly sure no one would come along who could usurp him. A wave came in and broke over the rocks at his feet; Minty chose his moment and vaulted out, riding the foam as it sucked out to the ocean, sliding under the next rush of water that threatened to throw him back on the rocks.

  It wasn’t until Minty had paddled out that Sam got a sense of the scale of the waves. The other surfers tracked this way and that across the rocks, tentative in their choice. Most picked the easiest spot to enter, where the water was deepest. Sam’s heart was in his throat as the soles of his feet left the rock and the cold water splashed his face. He hadn’t felt this uneasy before. The ocean had become his solace, but not now. He wondered what he was doing wrong. He clawed across the water, buffeting the face of each wave, trying to block out the churn in his guts. People were streaming down the embankment now, scattering and throwing themselves at the water. Offering themselves. Sam lay on his board and watched the sets rolling in. It was quieter than you would think out on the water, the sound of the waves more like television static turned down in the background. It didn’t match up with the picture and Sam realised it was because the waves were so good, they weren’t collapsing on themselves and crashing onto the rock, they were rolling fast and perfectly smooth, like cresting and curling liquid glass.

  It looked like most of the other people out were decent enough surfers until you saw Minty get a wave. Others pumped and jerked the board around, hanging onto the wave for as long as it would allow them. Minty danced the board into the curl, swivelling calligraphy lines across the face. He switched directions and flicked the board off the crest of the wave like a skater in a half-pipe, landing the jump in whitewater, where you expected it to swallow him, but he sailed out upright. He did it again and again. It was absurd what he could do.

  A few times Minty rode a wave toward Sam and left it, gifting it to him. Sam almost wished he wouldn’t, he felt the preciousness of every wave, he had to use it well otherwise Minty would have sacrificed it to him for nothing. No one was more reviled than the person who took a wave and wasted it. Before, whenever Sam had caught a ride and managed to stand, he’d felt the brutal tranquillity of the rest of the world falling away, the present honed into sharp focus. But now he was wobbly, his reflexes jarring. During one ride he felt as if he was going too fast, bailing over the side of the board and tumbling under the water, panic coursing through his limbs. He came up, grabbing onto the board, trying to orientate himself and saw Ruby jogging down the grass track of the headland. She padded across the rocks to the eastern point without hesitation, vaulted into the water and paddled into the line-up next to Minty. A big one rolled in and Minty motioned that it was hers. She paddled onto it, springing to her feet in a quick, assured movement, pushing her weight through her back foot, driving the board across the wave then crouching down, slowing as the barrel curled over her. She rode it out until it died, when she dived off the board and bobbed up a few metres from Sam. She flashed a smile toward him and he was surprised that she’d even noticed him there.

  ‘Well, that was worth ditching work for.’ She hoisted herself out of the water and straddled the board. ‘How’s it goin’, lover boy? I saw you get caned. What happened?’

  ‘Dunno. You skipped out on work?’

  She didn’t answer, just looked out at the horizon, sniffed and swiped water from her eyes.

  ‘Don’t lose your job.’

  ‘As if.’

  ‘How’s things?’ Sam asked.

  ‘You know: work, school.’

  ‘Didn’t see you round last weekend. You haven’t been in?’

  ‘Yeah, I have, just not here.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Down south.’

  ‘Why?’

  She didn’t answer straightaway, her eyes were on the line-up. ‘Guy I know, he goes down there. He’s a bit older, different crew.’

  ‘Minty know about him?’

  She flashed him a look. ‘Why would Minty care?’

  He didn’t try and answer. They both sat on their boards, with the water rolling underneath them, and watched as Minty caught a spectacular wave. He did a jump off the step and swivelled the board.

  ‘He’s been practising?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  She nodded, watching Minty in silence. Sam expected her to paddle away but she didn’t. He sensed her wanting to say something.

  ‘You alright?’ he asked.

  ‘Had a fight with me mum.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Asked her about my birth mum, about what that woman – Aunty Violet – said. The Indigenous stuff.’

  ‘What she say?’

  ‘She went off her nut.’

  ‘Know what that’s like. I asked my nana who my dad is and she clammed up.’

  ‘What’s wrong with these olds, you reckon? What are they all so friggin’ afraid of?’

  ‘Dunno. The truth must be a scary thing.’

  ‘Guess so.’ She slipped onto her stomach and paddled back out into the line-up, leaving Sam bobbing over the waves.

  *

  It was hot in the sun and his mouth was dry with thirst and nerves. The swell seemed to be getting bigger. If he wasn’t afraid to die, why was he scared? He wondered if others could see it in his face, if Ruby could see it. Was he tolerated out here because of pity or because he was Minty’s cousin? Which was worse. What would you rather? He realised that he had been drifting further out the back and around the point without noticing it. He was in the channel that was pulling out directly to where Minty was, where the waves were biggest. He realised too late that if he kept drifting, the only way to get back in would be to catch a wave.

  Minty clocked him and beamed, raising his eyebrows. He thought Sam had made a conscious decision to take this on. Minty’s pride in him was evident, strong enough to steal Minty’s focus from the water. The swell out here was edging on four metres. As a wave built and rolled toward Sam – no one on it – he felt like he was going to puke over the side of the board. He could sense eyes on him, Minty’s and the others’. There was no choice. If he didn’t take it, it would be obvious he’d lost his nerve and he was shitting himself – he was a coward. Sam turned the nose of the board toward the beach and paddled, faster and faster; the wave picked him up. He waited for the stillness to come, the rest of the world to drop away, but it didn’t. He was trembling. Wobbly, he popped up. The water was moving too fast, it was all happening too quickly, the board was pointing down the wave, when it should have been parallel to it. His position was all wrong and he was four metres in the air. Time didn’t slow until the nose of the board caught the face of the wave and he was flipped, spearing into the water head first, whitewater all around, his body like helpless refuse, discarded by the ocean. His feet were somewhere over his head and he couldn’t quite account for all his limbs and what they were doing. Then a force like a shattering brick wall coming down on him, pushing him into an ocean floor that felt as hard and unforgiving as stone. The Leviathan had him. There was no breath. He couldn’t even remember his last breath. He wanted to inhale, his lungs telling him to breathe the water. What would you rather: death by drowning or a crushed spine? Somewhere there was light; he surged toward it and in a blissful moment his head broke through the water’s surface. He gasped and swallowed air. He was sorting the water from the sky when another wave came down on him and he was under, flipping, tumbling, with barely enough time to register what had happened. He was down there again, in the dark, chaotic vault, flipped and flung and useless. His eyes found the bright white bubbles, he followed them and then he felt something grip onto his upper arm. He was hauled out of the water and onto a board, gasping like a stunned fish.

  ‘You’re right. You’re up, you’re right.’

  On the beach
Shane slapped Sam on the back. His nasal passages were scoured with salt. He sneezed and it felt like someone dragging a thick rope up this throat and through his nose. His stomach convulsed and he spewed onto the sand. ‘Took on some water. You’re right.’ Shane sat him on the sand, stood over him with his arms folded. ‘Happens to the best of us.’

  ‘Why’d you pull me out?’

  ‘Not gonna sit back and watch you drown.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Shane picked up his board and jogged back into the water.

  When he was gone Sam let the tears roll down his cheeks.

  26

  Minty unzipped his wettie and rolled it down to his waist. Sam copied him. They sat together on the beach for a bit, the hot lick of the sun beating on their backs. After a while Ruby came in. She grinned at Sam. ‘You got caned, lover boy.’

  ‘Epic, ay!’ said Minty. ‘It is pumping out there. El Niño! This guy totally predicted it would be epic, ay. He’s a genie.’

  ‘That’s not the word you’re looking for, Mint,’ she said.

  ‘Whatever, Ruby Jean.’ The three of them started the walk up the beach. Minty turned around so he was walking backwards, facing them, doing little backward skips. ‘This is it, this is what I’m talkin’ about. The ocean, you respect her and she will provide.’

  ‘You’re full of shit,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Nah, you know it. It’s the vibe. It’s the El Niño vibe. Ay, you got any food?’

  Ruby looked disgusted. ‘No. I’m not your friggin’ mother.’

  ‘But sometimes you have food. I’m starving, Rube.’

  ‘Boohoo. You got money?’

  ‘I’ll pay you back.’

  Ruby narrowed her eyes and shook her head. ‘You owe me so much money, Minty.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘You need to learn to live like a normal person who pays for shit.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ruby Jean.’

  She shoved him on his shoulder and Minty put his arm around her.

  ‘Gunna come watch me in the Open?’

  ‘I’m not coming to watch you like some bimbo. You never want anyone there anyway.’