One Would Think the Deep Read online

  ‘Ha. Now he’s gotta get back in,’ laughed one of the guys. ‘He’s gonna have to get in at the bay.’

  Minty scrambled, kicking and pulling at the water. He dived under as another wave broke, rolling over him. Slowly he edged his way south, out of the channel where the waves were breaking. He disappeared around the headland as the sky opened up and the rain began to pummel down, soaking Sam through to the skin.

  9

  In the car, Minty went over and over the wave, buzzing with the details. His energy seemed to fill the whole car. He fizzed. Sam had never heard him say so much all at once. The storm passed as quickly as it arrived and Minty wound down the window and turned up the radio.

  ‘I thought you were going to die.’

  ‘I know! Same! How heavy was it! Shit. But I knew, brah, I knew as soon as I got that wave, I knew it was gonna be epic. Woah. Unbelievable.’

  They were flying along, ten kilometres over the speed limit, the little Datsun rattling its bones like it might disintegrate at any moment. Minty didn’t seem to care.

  ‘Dude, Ruby’s not gonna believe me! She’s gonna spew that she missed it. Ha. Did you see that?!’

  ‘Cop, Mint.’

  Minty slammed on the brakes as they approached a crest, the nose of a highway patrol car just visible between the bushes on the median strip.

  ‘Thanks, brah.’ Minty waved to the cop.

  ‘Way to finish a funeral,’ Sam said.

  ‘Oath.’

  They drove and Minty sang along to the radio. It was another half hour before he calmed down.

  Minty called Ruby and the three of them sat on the front step with a beer each. The porch light was on and bugs flicked against the light, clicking and falling, rising again. Midges, moths. Sam and Minty leaned back with their elbows propped against the top step and stared up at the sky – a twinkling ocean: vast and deep and unknowable, humans forever paddling at the edges. Ruby sat on the step below, leaning on Minty’s leg as he revelled in the retelling of the wave. Sam knew Minty had taken a day that was one of the most horrible in Sam’s existence and reshaped it entirely.

  ‘You shoulda seen Sam’s face at the turn-off! He was all like, “No way!”’

  ‘Man, I couldn’t believe it. Thought we were heading back home for a cup of tea. Then I see Mint’s got his board on the roof and I’m like, who brings a surfboard to a funeral?!’

  ‘Yeah, brah! Fully. And those guys, at the lookout, they think they farkin’ own the place, brah. Ha. You see ’em?!’

  ‘They were like, “Little Minty, he’s gonna die!” And I’m like, yeah, he’s gonna die! Shit!’

  ‘You take a photo?’ Ruby asked Sam.

  ‘Didn’t exactly have a camera on me.’

  Ruby sipped her beer, tilting her head back to look up at him. ‘How do I know you’re tellin’ the truth, Michael?’ She pointed the neck of her beer bottle first at Minty then at Sam. ‘You two having me on?’

  ‘Nah, Rube! I swear, ay. You’re just jealous. It was all in the timing. Like Sam said: El Nini.’

  ‘El Niño,’ Sam corrected him. ‘You surfed there before?’

  ‘Nah. First time. I’ve been waiting so long. I felt I was ready, you know. I felt it in myself.’

  ‘Why didn’t you bring Shane?’ Sam asked.

  Minty didn’t answer. He took a slug of beer and shook his head.

  ‘Shane’d never let him do that,’ Ruby said.

  ‘For real?’

  Minty stretched his neck side to side like it was the source of his discomfort. ‘Doesn’t want me gettin’ injured.’

  ‘Minty’s his meal ticket.’

  ‘Ay, Rube. Ease up.’

  Ruby let out a laugh, but it wasn’t in humour. ‘As if he’s not gonna ride on your wins.’

  ‘That’s not what it’s about.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he compete?’ Sam asked.

  ‘He did a bit. But …’

  ‘He’s not good enough,’ supplied Ruby. ‘He knows if anyone’s got a shot, it’s not him. So he’s all like making videotapes of Minty and training him like a bloody racehorse or something.’

  The pained expression hadn’t left Minty. He rolled the bottle neck between his fingers and stared straight ahead.

  ‘So … you’ve gotta comp in June?’ Sam asked Minty.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Amped?’

  Minty shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yeah. Dunno. I wanna win, but …’ He let out a long sigh. ‘There’s bigger waves, brah. You know, it’s all different when there’s judges and shit. It’s just about the waves for me. And there’s better waves than Archer Point. I wanna hit Pipeline or Waimea. I mean, there’s places here, in Oz like – Margaret River, Shippy’s. But man, Hawaii: it’s like Mecca. It’s my spiritual home.’

  ‘You’ve never even been there,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Yeah, but I feel it in me heart, ay? It’s the origins, isn’t it? There’s somethin’ about it. You know, they’re all doin’ tow-ins though – getting towed onto waves by a jet ski – dunno about that, ay. Bit like riding a mechanical bull or, I don’t know, shaggin’ a blow-up doll. There’s no connection. It’s gonna shift, I reckon, go back to pure paddle in. It has to. Otherwise it’s like getting choppered into the top of Everest and saying you climbed it. You do need a jet ski, sure, to pull you out if you get pummelled. Which I guess is a lot. You can be underwater for like four, five minutes.’

  ‘You still gotta ride the thing, though,’ said Ruby. ‘Not like a jet ski does that for you.’

  ‘Yeah, but, it’s the feel of it, you know. You should work for a wave, it’s instinct, like eating a moose you hunted yourself instead of buying it in the supermarket.’

  ‘You can buy moose?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Yeah. Canada. Saw it on the telly. You know what I’m saying, brah.’

  ‘So, you’re bored here.’

  ‘Yes!’ He nodded, pointing a finger at Sam. ‘Yes! Bored as. I mean, I could play the game, do the comps. But who gives a shit? If you’re just out there to do tricks or whatever, you’re not risking anything. It’s cool but, that wave, that wave today – that’s a farkin’ rush, brah. Once you’ve had that, that’s all you want. I just wanna get the biggest farkin’ wave I can paddle into. I want Waimea.’

  ‘Not here.’

  ‘You are so … what’s the word? You are so … sharp, brah. You got it figured.’

  ‘So win the comps, get the money and go,’ said Ruby.

  Minty narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly, like he was on the edge of some sort of enlightenment. ‘That’s it, Rube. That’s what I gotta do.’

  ‘That’s what you gotta do. Shane’s a dickhead, but—’

  ‘Ay, ay, ease up.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s always on at you about getting your head straight for a comp. Not letting the nerves get to you. He’s got a point. Make the choice. Go for it, don’t be all over the place. Put your head down, win the cash and go to Hawaii.’

  ‘I gotta watch the videos Shane makes.’

  ‘Yeah. Do that. Like every night.’

  ‘I’ll make you a tape,’ said Sam. ‘To listen to on headphones at comps. Might help with—’

  ‘Might stop you dropping your guts every time,’ said Ruby.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Minty.

  ‘How long you staying anyway, weather boy?’ Ruby asked Sam.

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t you have a dad?’

  ‘No. I’m the immaculate conception.’

  ‘Piss off, you know what I mean.’

  ‘You just want the camp bed back, Rube,’ said Minty.

  ‘Nah. Yeah, a bit. Whatever. Where’s your dad?’

  ‘Dunno. Dunno who he even is.’

  ‘You ever ask your mum?’

  ‘She said he wasn’t worth knowing.’

  ‘I know what that’s like.’

  ‘Ruby’s adopted,’ Minty said and she slapped the back of his leg. ‘What?’

  She gave him
a look of exasperation. ‘It’s my life, dickhead. That’s my information to give.’

  ‘Like you’re not givin’ him the third degree!’

  She ignored him and turned to Sam. ‘It’s a messed-up thing not knowing who you are.’

  ‘I know who I am.’

  ‘Oh? Lucky you.’

  The van swung into the driveway and parked behind Minty’s Datsun. Lorraine got out of the passenger side, pulling the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. She strode toward them, her stride visibly off kilter.

  ‘Whattya doin’ back here?’ she squawked. ‘I was lookin’ for you everywhere!’

  ‘We drove back,’ said Minty, stating the obvious in his wide-eyed way.

  ‘Your mum’s funeral!’ she said to Sam. ‘Your mum’s bloody funeral and you take off!’

  She was right. It had been his own mother’s funeral that day. It took one sentence from his aunt to pull down the facade he and Minty had constructed.

  ‘Leave him, Mum,’ Minty said.

  ‘I’ll do as I please. This is my house.’ She pointed a shaking finger at Sam. ‘My house, my rules, yeah? And my rule is you stay for a decent time … after your … After your own mum’s funeral.’

  ‘Sorry, Aunty Lorraine.’ Sam felt everything in him tighten. He had been loose and okay, now he was wound tight again and the trembling in his hands was back.

  ‘Oh yeah. Sorry are you? Geez, I’ve got a right mind to hand you over to your nan right now.’

  Shane got out of the van and loped across the grass. His suit pants were too short, mismatched socks peeping out from his black Volleys. He stood back, folded his arms and made sure Sam knew his eyes were on him. Sam could feel the beer and the way it made him hate Shane and his stupid polyester trousers. He was still a yob who thought he was a big man.

  ‘Wanna beer?’ Minty asked.

  ‘Oi!’ squeaked Lorraine. ‘I’m trying to have a word here!’

  ‘Go to bed, Mum,’ said Shane.

  ‘I’ll be talking to youse in the morning. You can count on it.’ She went up the steps and inside, leaving the four of them sitting in the porch light with the midges.

  Shane watched as the front door closed behind his mother. ‘You too, Mint.’

  Minty was confused.

  ‘I wanna talk to Sam.’

  Ruby stood up and and set her bottle down on the porch beside Minty. ‘This is when I call it a night.’ She gave Sam a grim smile and wandered off across the grass.

  ‘I need to talk to Sam, Mint. Go.’

  Mint took a swig of his drink and scoffed at his brother.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Shane walked up to where Sam sat on the step, leaned down, stopping inches away from his face. ‘Tomorrow. You’re gone.’

  ‘Oi, Shane!’ Minty protested.

  Shane turned to Minty, his expression hard. ‘Shut up, Mint. You don’t know what you’re talking ’bout. Stay out of it.’

  As if he was in charge, as if he had some authority over Sam and Minty. His mum would have told Sam to remove himself from the situation, to not let his anger control him and take control of it instead. She was gone.

  ‘Fuck off,’ Sam spat.

  ‘What’d you say?’

  ‘I said, “fuck off”.’ Sam stood, jutted his chin up and pushed Shane in the chest.

  ‘Oh come on,’ said Minty. ‘Leave it. Sam, brah …’

  Sam pushed him again and Shane grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t touch me, little boy.’

  Sam threw the first punch, his knuckles connecting clumsily with Shane’s shoulder. It had been five weeks since the last fight. His desperation to forget it only served to embed it in his mind so he was endlessly calculating how far it was behind him. Shane growled and pushed him away but Sam was determined, driving in, head down. It was on and the feeling inside was nothing but relief, a shattering, unfurling release. He had to work for it, but finally Shane swung back at him. For those blessed minutes his mind, his memory, was blank. The black hole shrank away to nothing. Nothing but stillness. They both ended up on the ground at one time or another. Sam got leaves and grass up his nose, in his mouth. He tasted the coppery flavour of blood on his teeth. He pummelled Shane and welcomed every returning blow. Minty shook his head and swore to himself. Eventually they both ran out of breath, though Shane was the first to hold a palm up. ‘Enough.’ Blood trickled from his nose.

  ‘Come on!’ Sam screamed.

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Come on!’

  ‘I’m done.’ He dropped his hands to his knees, doubled over to get his breath. ‘You’re out tomorrow, you little shit.’

  Sam shrugged, wiped blood from his eyebrow. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘You’re screwed up,’ Shane said.

  ‘You don’t say?’

  ‘I’m gonna have a shower.’

  Minty sipped his beer and watched Sam.

  ‘For real, brah? Didn’t know that was your thing.’ He held out another beer in Sam’s direction.

  ‘Nah, I need some water.’

  She’d never tried to shut down his feelings. She’d always given them space and acknowledged that they were valid. Sometimes it was helpful, sometimes it was infuriating and he’d shouted at her that if she understood she wouldn’t be so calm about it, she’d be shouting too. His mum bought him a Walkman when he was eleven and couldn’t sleep. Whenever he was wound up she would hand him his headphones. Listen. Breathe. Would she give him the same advice now? When the pain of it felt like it was shredding his skin? Would she smile in her quiet, calm way and tell him music would help?

  The pain only brought shame with it. Nearly a man and crying for his mum.

  In the morning the light was switched on and there were hands on his shoulders, shaking him out of his sleep.

  ‘You. Wake up.’ Lorraine’s breath smelled of instant coffee and cigarette smoke.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kitchen. Now.’ She turned and left Sam rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He pulled himself out of the bed, every one of his ribs making itself known. He found a T-shirt and stumbled into the kitchen. Lorraine stood, feet apart, hands on her hips, waiting for him.

  ‘That don’t happen here. Got it? Not in my house.’ She jabbed her finger in the direction of the lounge room. Shane sat on the couch, watching cartoons on the television with a box of frozen fish fingers pressed to the side of his head. ‘Come here, Shane.’

  He gave a loud sigh and stood.

  ‘I don’t need that crap in my house anymore. You wanna fight, you find somewhere else to live. You think it’s funny?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam. She kept her eyes on him and pulled up her T-shirt to show her pillowy belly. A scar ran up her side: a silvery, puckered ridge.

  ‘You know what happened here? Glen kicked me so hard he shattered three of my ribs. Needed surgery to fish out all the bits of bone from me innards. That sound fun to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He thought kicking the shit out of me and his kids was a good way to sort his stress out. Buggered if I’m going to let you think the same.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Shut it. God knows I don’t owe your mum much, but I owe her that.’ Her eyes welled up. She turned to her eldest and pointed a polished fingernail at him. ‘You? You should bloody know better.’

  Shane gave a loud sniff and didn’t apologise for anything as far as Sam could tell.

  ‘She would be ashamed, Samuel, and you know it. That does not happen in my house. Got that?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I can’t hear you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Now get out of my sight.’ She folded her arms and looked up at the ceiling. ‘God bloody help me.’

  She had let him put on shorts at least. And get his Discman. He left, head down, earphones in and rode his skateboard down the centre line of the street to the car park and the point overlooking the break. The sun was a bastard. He flicked the board up and walked barefoot across the grass until he could get a
clear view of the line-up. There was Minty, lying on his board, focused on the waves. Sam’s stomach was rumbling and his mouth was gritty. He walked back to the road and pushed off toward the main street. It was early. The bakery was open and nothing else. Sam felt in his pockets for loose coins. Nothing.

  He felt the days lined up in front of him, each one waiting to be endured before the next. Any cognitive thought he had about his mum’s funeral had been replaced by a dark static in his head which dissolved all meaning. Minty cared about nothing except the water. Sam didn’t even have that.

  He went to the Jewel car park and skated for a while. If he listened to Green Day loudly while he skated maybe he could pretend that he wasn’t on his own, that his mates from Sydney were with him and his mum was at home. It didn’t work. He didn’t hear Jono come up behind him and he swore when he turned around to see him standing there. Jono was with two younger kids, each holding a skateboard.

  ‘Sorry, man! Didn’t mean to creep up on you. How’s it going?’

  ‘Yeah. Alright.’

  ‘Whoa. What happened to your face?’

  ‘Nothing. Fight. It’s okay.’

  Jono looked sceptical. ‘Nothing. Sure. Hey, these are my brothers, Paul and Adam.’ He kicked one of them in the leg. ‘Say hello!’

  They mumbled a greeting. Sam felt the gaping void beside him where he wished a sibling was. There was Minty. But they weren’t brothers. Brothers were different.

  ‘You cool if we hang here for a bit? Mum wants them out of the house. They’re little psychos.’