The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Thirty-eight

  The air was crystal clear and Joe could see a dolphin way ahead playing under the bow of the ferry. The ocean was flat like a sheet of glass and he sometimes glimpsed the seafloor.

  Lola came skipping up towards him at the railing and pointed down at the dolphin. ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen one in the wild before!’ She was really excited, wearing her wide-lens designer glasses and a white, wide-brimmed hat. ‘Ducky, this is fun!’ The dolphin slowed, came in directly below them then suddenly shot in under the hull. ‘Will he hit the propeller?’ she asked, leaning over the railing.

  ‘No,’ Joe said, chuckling. ‘He’ll be fine.’

  He looked out and saw approaching Fraser Island – a national park – less than a kilometre away. The thick jungle seemed impenetrable even on foot and there were several holidaymaker four wheeled drives coasting along the beach – flat and smooth like a runway. And the sky – it just looked big; it was impossible to feel negative under it.

  Lola started rocking her head from side to side like she was singing to herself; she was in a heck of a mood. The ferry adjusted its course and the boat ramp came into view.

  ‘It’s time,’ Joe said. ‘We should head back to the car.’

  They got inside their four-wheel drive, the other passengers around them did the same, and he heard the revs of the ferry engine drop. He felt the bow nudge the bank then saw the tailgate begin to fall and the clear seawater between the cars. His spirits were aroused; he loved the island – everyone did.

  The first vehicle dropped down from view and pulled away up the beach towards the timber. Joe hit the sand, they soon drew under the canopy and it was suddenly very cool in the car.

  ‘So, where are we going?’ Lola asked.

  ‘The eastern beach, then down past the shipwreck towards Eli Creek,’ he said. ‘We don’t have time to see the whole island in just a weekend.’

  The sandy track made you feel as if you were driving on a bed of feathers, and sometimes beams of light broke through the canopy, lighting the track. They drove into a bright pool of sunshine and it flared in the windscreen.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s play a game. What do you want to know? About me, I mean. Ask me a question. Any question.’

  He wasn’t so sure anymore. But after baring all to Dan, the irony was kind of funny and he actually laughed to himself.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘OK, so shoot – fire away.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ducky,’ she said. ‘Don’t be a pansy. Talk. Ask me... Ask me about my plans for the future. What are yours?’

  It was a good question, actually.

  ‘Me? Plans? I guess I want to pay my house off.’

  ‘Oh, you’re no fun,’ she said, looking out her window. ‘Play along. You know what I mean.’

  ‘I know what you mean and that’s my honest answer.’

  She glanced at him. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘That’s it?’

  The car went silent for a moment and he looked at her – to get a sense of what she was thinking.

  ‘So, why are you not ambitious?’ she said.

  How about that? – she was serious. It was fair enough from her point of view – she had done well.

  ‘Paying off a house seems ambitious enough.’

  A large shadow passed over the car and she turned black in the shade. She stuck her tongue out at him – joking, of course.

  ‘Does that bother you?’ he said.

  She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Darling,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t bother me. I love you just the way you are.’ It was the second time she had said it and felt better then the first. It just fixed everything when she said it. He looked at her, the cabin filled with light and it went quiet for a while – beautifully so. She looked through the glass at the timber and, as he watched, a smile slowly appeared on her face.

  ‘What?’ she said, looking away. She turned and gently pushed his shoulder. ‘Oh, Ducky,’ she said. ‘You know you’re my man; you’re my Ducky.’

  He stared at her, feeling euphoric about the adventure of the island and the one in their relationship.

  She continued looking at the timber. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

  She looked down and started picking at her jeans. ‘Oh... nothing,’ she said.

  ‘Ooo,’ he said. ‘Now, this sounds interesting.’

  She smiled, as if to herself. ‘Can I ask you a lateral question? What’s been your longest relationship?’

  He wished she hadn’t asked that one. ‘Oh, I don’t know…’ He did, but it wouldn’t pay to advertise it now. ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Are you being honest with me?’ she said.

  ‘Not just at the moment.’ He glanced at her and she smiled.

  I’m learning, he thought.

  Their four-wheeled drive reached the peak of a dune and the sea breeze hit them through the open window. Even though he’d see it before – it still impressed him. A long straight, perfectly formed beach with snow-white breakers busting on the sand all the way to the horizon. The ocean was as blue as an emerald and noisy – you really knew you had arrived at something.

  ‘Oh, this is gorgeous, sweetheart,’ she said.

  It was.

  ‘Hey, look,’ he said, pointing at rusting hulk of the S.S Maheno on the beach. ‘See the old shipwreck?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said.

  ‘It was once a luxury liner.’

  A mobile phone rang and Lola began rummaging through her bag. ‘Who in heavens?’ she said.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  ‘It’s my cell phone,’ she said. She retrieved it. ‘Oh, it was silly to bring it,’ she muttered. ‘But, I’ve got to keep it with me.’ She answered, her eyes widened and she started speaking Spanish. ‘Mama,’ she said.

  He smiled and turned off the engine, smelling the salt and sand of the cool breeze. He watched the white breakers far away and slowly scanned up the beach, until the line between sand and sea was lost in the mist and spray of the breakers. Lola was talking eagerly, sometimes glancing at him and smiling. He turned his face into the sea breeze and gazed at the large expanse of ocean. The next significant landmass was South America – fourteen thousand kilometres away.

  She hung up and shouted at him. ‘That was mum!’

  ‘I know!’

  ‘Hey, do you mind if I make another call?’ she asked.

  He did – it was destroying the mood. ‘Sure, why not?’ he said.

  He reclined his seat back and began watching the clouds. They were moving slowly above the windscreen, casting cool shadows over vehicle. Lola began talking to the office. The timing was awful and he, unfortunately, began recalling what she said as they drove through the rainforest. He remembered his secret list of why he was a good catch – a high-paying job, a house almost paid off. Very suddenly, it seemed to be all adding to a secret dossier that was being assembled against her in his head. It had begun the night on his porch. As he listened to her talking, he felt genuinely rotten. He looked at her and she smiled, talking. She didn’t have a clue.

  What was happening in his heart? The truth is – he didn’t know, he just felt awful. Her journeys across the globe, her command of languages, her status in the company – she was just f—king smart and he now realised it was causing resentment and gathering traction. He turned and looked at her, talking money and contracts with Peterson. He now understood that in every moment with her he just felt... smaller. Very, very suddenly he thought to himself, I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it.

  ‘Relax,’ he thought to himself. ‘The doubt you are feeling will pass.’ But he now had a God-damn seed in his head and it hadn’t been addressed. It never would; he would never raise it. He was shocked that a soul, once elevated to lofty heights and of genuine spirit, could also at the same moment, contemplate such self-destruction
. With such a prize like her to be had you’d think your mind would say, ‘take her, and run and to hell with your insecurity’. He stared at the blue sky – white-faced he was actually mulling over his options.

  She ended the call and slumped back into her seat. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said.

  He sat up. ‘That’s OK.’

  She looked at him and followed his eyes up to ocean. She had no idea, that during that call, their relationship had tripped up ever so slightly. ‘What are you thinking about?’

  He shrugged. ‘Ah, nothing.’ He noted at the waves breaking on the Maheno’s half-rusted hull. He remembered from the tourism pictures how proud and majestic the boat used to be.

  Once the sea gets into the metal, he thought, I guess it’s just a matter of time.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘What’s going on in that little head of yours?’

  ‘What you were saying before,’ he said, ‘about my interests: you need to remember my life has been very different to yours.’

  ‘Oh, sweetie,’ she said, ‘I know that.’ But she didn’t then provide a confirming hug. Despite her sensitive antennae, she had not sensed his tone of retreat. He slowly shook his head, looking at the ocean – he knew, deep down in the mystery of his male psyche, he had made the decision to back off.

  In the far distance, over the sea, thick clouds were approaching the island.

  ‘Chr—st – and it was such a beautiful day,’ he whispered. He turned and looked at her. ‘There’s rain coming,’ he said, barely glancing at her. ‘We better get the tent up.’

  She waited a few seconds, looking at him. ‘Sure, Ducky,’ she said.

  He started the engine and headed along the dune and back onto the track. They crawled down a steep bank into the forest and the shade of the canopy, and entered the cool light of the campsite. At some point during the trip down, her suspicions had crystallised.

  ‘Thank you for sending me flowers, Ducky,’ she said. (He had done so last week).

  He pulled the car keys from his pocket. ‘You’re welcome, darling.’ He opened the tailgate and pulled out the tent bag.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ she said.

  He walked to an area of clear sand and started unrolling the canvass. At least he was good for something. ‘Nothing, sweetie. I’ll take care of it.’

  Lola stood back and watched, ready to help. He pulled out the tent poles and pegs. ‘Hey,’ he said, starting to slip the poles through the runners. ‘Does your family know about me?’

  ‘Oh, of course they do, silly,’ she said. ‘I was just speaking with my mother about you. I’ve told you before.’

  He looked at her and saw she now had a very worried look. But there wasn’t a God-damn thing he or she could do about it. He remembered how happy he had once been in his single life.

  ‘Joe, look at me,’ she said. He slowly turned and stared at her eyes. ‘Now, listen to me carefully,’ she said. ‘I know you – I know something’s wrong.’

  He stared and saw her eyes were growing watery. She stiffened her body and stamped her foot in the sand.

  ‘Come on, Joe! Don’t do this!’ She was upset but he didn’t feel a thing.

  ‘Do what?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Stop it! I know you. There’s something! Remember our honesty?’

  The truth, he thought – always with her, the God-damn truth.

  He raised his hand calmingly and spoke firmly. ‘As God is my witness, Lola,’ he said, ‘there is no problem, so please stop it.’

  She waited, staring at him. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, pointing to the forest. ‘Go under the canopy and shelter from the rain. I’ll have the tent up in a moment and everything will be OK.’

  He hated lying, but had no choice.

  He looked down and listened to her feet moving softly away through the sand. The rain started and droplets began kicking up the dust. Soon the black dots joined and the sand had turned dark. He looked up and saw her standing out in the open. She was staring at him, with her white wide-brimmed hat drooping in the rain. He picked up his hammer and started tapping in a plastic sand peg. He simply felt, because he had not lived a life like hers, there was something wrong with him. He was in so much pain, including, surprisingly, psychological pain – and if you haven’t experienced that you’re in for something new.

  ‘Everything will be OK,’ he thought, hitting a peg. ‘You just need a break, to get yourself sorted. Later you’ll say sorry and get back with her. You just need to have a life and to be able to compete with her and not feel inadequate anymore.’