by Erin Hortle
The car hit us. Not full on, but still, it was enough to send me flying. I landed heavily on my chest. My breasts compressed beneath me. I skidded on them across the red gravel that edges the road. Momentum rolled my jumper and shirt up under my chin and exposed my stomach and chest. I was shredded. Strips of skin and flesh peeled back to expose the silicone beneath. I ground to a stop. Chin down like a brake. A disembodied octopus arm in my fist. Suckers still clinging to me. She lay a few metres away.
I hadn’t let go. I’d flung the octopus. Ripped her arm from her head. She twitched. Nerves.
Look at us, lying here, I thought, as the world went slack. The octopus and I.
TWO
A SEAL’S TAKE
The tide is low and the swell is small. This makes the little male seal happy. It means he doesn’t have to ride the green bulge of a wave up onto the shit-stained cliffs of the haul-out; instead he can laze on the beds of lower rocks, which are fuzzy with lichen and limpets and weed. He closes his eyes and steadies his breathing to match the lap of the waves and rolls himself from side to side, letting the texture of the bed massage into his fur and rub at his skin. It’s absolute bliss, but it’s short-lived.
There is a splash, a spray of droplets, a grumpy growl and a presence to his left. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s an alpha. He keeps them closed, halts his rocking and tries to keep his breathing steady, so the alpha will think he’s asleep and leave him alone. It’s a trick he and his friend used to play on the other pups, when they didn’t want to romp with them. It’s the breathing that’s key; they can hear if you’re awake.
The alpha harrumphs and the little male seal’s skin twitches uneasily.
He’s taken a gamble, he realises, and a risky one at that. He should have moved aside and submitted the moment the alpha appeared. He tries to hear past the alpha’s irritated huffing, past his angry presence to the ocean lapping so that he can anchor his breath and slow his heartbeat.
But the alpha seems to know he is awake, or maybe he doesn’t care that he’s asleep. The alpha’s breathing quickens, and he charges. The little male seal feels it and hears it at the same time, and he opens his eyes to see a familiar maw dripping with squid-ink. The alpha’s teeth are bared, and his whiskers and mane ripple in anger as he lumbers closer. The little male seal tries to scramble out of the way, but the alpha is too quick. He lowers his head at the last moment and throws all his weight behind his shoulder, which rams into the little male seal and tosses him into the swirling kelp that fringes the rocks.
The little male seal lets himself sink, spiralling slowly down through the silken tassels and, even though the density of the water dampens his voice, he can hear the alpha honking and roaring into the air above that this is his rock and a certain cocky beta-half-pup should consider himself warned or else.
He considers himself warned.
He knows this alpha. He watched him closely this last harem season as he wasted from muscled bull to spent skeleton. He’s lucky. The alpha has only bulked back half his fat and muscle and he’s lazy with a full belly of squid. If it were just before harem season he would have been twice as vast and twice as testy. He would have likely used his teeth. Last harem season, the little male seal watched a would-be-alpha, who contested the alpha for mating territory, wither and die starving with a ripped-out throat. The little male seal then watched the alpha roar and mount his friend. Her tiny body was flattened under his weight.
If you are male you are pup, then you are half-pup, then you are beta-half-pup and you have to swim south to a haul-out. You stay there for two or three seasons and you come back full-beta. When you are full-beta, you live at the haul-out and return north for every harem season. One day you might win a harem and become alpha.
If you are female you are pup, then you are half-pup, then you are beta-ready and you are invited into a harem. You are mounted and then you become beta, with your teats that ooze thick milk and your hungry new pup each season, and, of course, your harem. Harems are not fixed groupings; females join them and leave them as they desire each season, although they often stay the same. Sister-beta bonds run deep.
He and his friend were pups together, and they darted and spiralled beneath the waves and wrestled on the shore, and piled on top of each other while they slept. Then they were half-pups and they herded schools of silver fish together and gorged themselves. They preferred the crisp, clean flesh of the trevally to the metallic tang of the couta or the oily meat of the mackerel. They trapped octopuses in caves and then played tug-of-war with their stretchy bodies—that was her favourite game. His favourite was when they would see how deep they could swim, mostly so they could listen to the way whale calls echoed in layers through different depths of ocean. They would dive deeper and deeper until the whales’ yowling blended unbearably with the pressure in their ears and they would have to shoot back to the surface.
Then, this last harem season, she became beta-ready, which surprised them both.
She told him in low grunts and murmuring barks that she had always thought the males signalled to you that you were ready when their thick pink cocks poked out at you through their fur. But she knew she was ready before the males arrived and fought for territories.
He rubbed his body against hers, this way, then that, to ask: How?
She told him that her body felt slinky by sliding herself up and down against him. The friction released tiny, tickling bubbles from their fur. She kept rubbing, curling around him, and so told him that the seaweed felt slippery and sensuous against her skin, more so than ever before, and that her fur had become radiant. She explained to him that some betas had told her that she smelt beta-ready and asked her if she wanted to share an alpha with them this harem season, and she felt curious. Don’t you feel curious too? she asked him by rubbing her body against his, this way, then that. Doesn’t your body feel curious?
He rubbed his face through her wiry outer fur and into her woolly underfur and breathed in deeply. She did smell beta-ready: no longer fishy and milky and fleshy like a pup, but sugary and briny and … something else, something … alluring. He felt his body stir. He drew away and showed her how his fledgling cock was peeking through his fur. They both watched sadly as it retreated like a scared wrasse withdrawing into a swaying mane of seaweed.
They knew what it meant: their life romping together was coming to an end. She had shown him that he was now beta-half-pup. At the end of the harem season he would leave with the other males and not return until he was a full beta.
She grunted and so told him: Find me when you come back.
But they both knew it would be years before he would be big enough to win her harem and become alpha.
That harem season, he swam and floated close to shore with her and her harem-to-be. They watched as the alpha males and would-be-alpha males roared and fought for prime territories along the rocky coast. The alphas stretched their bodies seductively to better display their bulk and thick coats to the groups of cruising females, who admired them from the water.
They watched the alpha honk and roar and rip out the throat of the would-be-alpha with his teeth and the little male seal cringed, but the harem all laughed and rubbed their pregnant bellies against one another in frenzied delight. They rubbed against him, too, and so told him: One day that will be you. He did not know if they meant the alpha or the would-be-alpha.
He will ram his cock in me and then in you! they told his friend, barking over the top of one another in lusty excitement.
And then we will lie together and look at the stars and clouds!
And we will nuzzle into one another and smell his flow in all of us as it mixes with the smell of us and the smell of milk and shit!
And, if we like, after he’s mounted us, when he’s not looking, we can rub and grind on one another until our bodies shudder in pleasure!
When he’s not looking, because he gets jealous when we do that!
And we don’t care if he’s jealou
s because it feels so good and it helps the pups grow in our bellies!
We are all mothers to them, then!
But sometimes we do it to provoke him!
If he sees us, he chases us apart and then mounts us!
Yes! We mount each other and then he mounts us, roaring!
And our pups will suckle our teats; and we will swim and feed together and all the time he will be there!
Yes, he will be there erect and ready and waiting for us!
Because he can’t go anywhere for fear of losing us and we can come and go and lure him on and into us as much as we please!
He can’t go anywhere; he’s ours for the whole season!
We share him, and through him, we share each other!
We are sister-betas now!
Or we will be soon!
Just you wait!
Yes, just you wait!
He waited with her as the betas went ashore to pup. He could feel her nervousness and desire vibrating through the water and, even though it didn’t peek out, he was constantly aware of the cock hidden inside his fur. He was aware that he was a male and that he couldn’t yet be part of this new order into which she was about to swim.
They floated together, until enough time had passed for the pupping to be complete. Then, anxiously, she went to shore to take her place in her harem, who were milling about him—their chosen alpha—and nursing their hungry new pups.
She rubbed her body against his as she left, telling him that she would come back out to feed soon enough, that she would see him then and tell him all about it, and that this wasn’t yet farewell.
He floated on his back with his head and flippers held up above the ocean’s surface to the warmth of the sun. He watched absently as the water dried and turned into a web of gritty crystals on his flippers. His gaze slid past the pattern of salt to the shore when the alpha honked and roared, then threw himself onto his friend’s back and began humping violently at her body. The rest of the harem sprawled languidly in the sun and grunted happily to one another. Once the alpha was done with a shudder and growl, he rolled off her and she shuffled away. Her sister-betas surrounded her, nuzzled her and rubbed at her with their bodies while their pups gambolled about them.
Other beta-half-pups drifted, too young to go to shore this season. They barked at each other, and herded fish and squid together.
The little male seal noticed the way the beta males lurked restlessly on the shore, watching with their pink cocks erect. Frustrated maybe, but maybe not. They whittled away their time and arousal mounting one another ferociously, then feeding ravenously, while the alphas slowly wasted away, unable to eat, trapped into protecting their territories and roughly servicing their barking harems, who lolled together, laughing, bruised but content, in a mess of sperm and shit and milk and pups.
He barked to a fellow beta-half-pup drifter, and so told him: The life of a beta doesn’t look so bad to me.
The fellow drifter agreed by butting against the small male seal playfully.
The male seal’s cock stirred. Maybe he would mount this fellow drifter one day. Maybe the drifter would mount him. Maybe one day he would be big enough to be alpha and mount his friend and all her harem. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t care; maybe he wouldn’t even want to. Maybe he would.
He thought about how she smelt. He missed romping and hunting with her already.
He takes the alpha’s warning seriously, and leaves him to enjoy the fuzzy bed of rock.
He dives deep and listens for a while to the clicking of the fish, the chirruping of dolphins and, curling up on currents from the depths, the whisper of whale song. He watches drifting beams of sunlight taper out into the swaying green expanse above him and, from somewhere far away, he hears the vibrations of boats, their whirring motors and rustling nets. He resurfaces, swims as fast as he can for a bit, then floats, dozing.
He romps for a bit with another beta-half-pup. They roll in the tickling turbulence of the swell as it hits the shallow rock ledges that jut out below the cliffs, and bark at one another, laughing. They herd a school of whiting into a bustling ball and feint and dodge out of the paths of diving gannets and shearwaters, who help them round up the fish from above. They gorge themselves on the fish’s crunchy little bodies, then drift, dozing, on the surface, holding their flippers up to the sun. When he wakes, the other beta-half-pup is nowhere to be seen or heard.
He swims some more, dives deep and shoots back up to the surface for air. He dives again and rushes at the surface, this time trying to breach it just to see if he can, like he and his friend used to do when they were half-pups. He manages to launch his head, his shoulders and some of his body up and out, but not his tail. He’s getting bigger and heavier every day. He drifts for a while with his flippers in the air, floating hungrily, but he is too lazy to hunt just yet.
And then he hears them. He hears them slipping and rubbing against one another. He hears them schooling so tightly they have become one writhing and fluttering body. He wonders what is herding them so absolutely. He can’t sense a shark or dolphins. He can’t sense another seal.
He swims curiously towards them and the water becomes murky with their faeces and something else, something sweet and rotten. Decomposing. It is the most alluring thing he has ever smelt or tasted on the water. And the sound! The sound of them slithering and thrashing together riles him into a frenzy and he rushes in their direction. The water becomes so murky he doesn’t see them—he doesn’t see the countless glinting, slick bodies swarming so dense it’s as if there’s no water dividing them—until he hits it: a webbed barrier, herding them, trapped, and blocking him from them.
It doesn’t give when he accidentally swims right into it. Nor when he rams it again and again. So he circles the tight-knit school—so vast, so teeming—knocking against the herding barrier, checking it for gaps enough to break through. He finds none.
He thinks for a moment or two, then he dives deep—as deeply as he can. Down low, the decomposing rot is so thick he can’t see anything and it worms its way up his nose and makes his head spin, but not in a good way. He shoots towards the surface, desperate for air and light and food—food food food—and, when he breaches, he kicks with his tail as hard as he can, launching himself as high as he can get. His head and shoulders and some of his body burst up and out of the water and onto the topside of the barrier. He feels himself starting to slip back down, so he wiggles his body and sculls at the air with his flippers and beats at the water with his tail. His balance shifts. He slides onto a bed of tight mesh which sags under his weight. He feels a thread pop against his belly, and then another and another. Slowly, the mesh breaks and he slips headfirst into the most tightly herded school of fish he has ever come across.
He doesn’t even have to chase them. He simply floats and plucks fish after fish from the flow that streams around him and under him, never-ending. He tears into their glinting bodies and is surprised to find their flesh is a strange orange colour, but he doesn’t care; they may look wrong, but they taste delicious. The flavour is delicate and meaty all at once. He bites into fish after fish and shakes them so hard their broken bodies fling into the air. After a while he is so full he stops swallowing, and simply tears into them for the fun of it. He tosses them into the air and swats at them with his flippers and he dives and swims through them, laughing at how they don’t even stream out of his way but let him brush his face up against their slick bodies.
After a while, he grows drowsy. He rolls onto his back and lets the swarming fish buoy him as he dozes.
He wakes when he hears a boat approach. He opens one eye and watches the humans who are lurking on its deck. They honk and bark at one another, making all sorts of strange sounds like:
Ohwelltheregoesafewthousanddollarsworthofsalmon.
And:
Itwaseasierbackinthedaywhenwecouldjustshootthemandbedonewithit.
And:
Toomanyeyesareonthesalmonfarmingindustrythesedays.
>
And:
Tootrue.
And:
Helooksbloodyhappywithhimselfdoesnthe.
And:
Ohwellheresfornothing.
One of the humans raises a long thin object in both his hands and points it at the little male seal. He feels something sharp hit his belly and his head lolls back and he plunges into a deep sleep while the fish bustle and whirr beneath him.
His eyes flutter open. His head rolls. His throat feels swollen and sore.
A human runs her hand over his body and murmurs, cooing. He thinks she’s trying to tell him to relax and that everything will be okay.
He widens his eyes and snorts to tell her he’s not sure if he believes her.
HewokewhenItaggedhim, she barks softly to another human, who the little male seal can hear rustling behind him. Thetranq-mustbewearingoff.
Illgivehimanotherjab, the other human rumbles.
He feels a prick in his side and his eyes roll and close.
His eyes flutter open. He is trapped in a roaring box. The floor vibrates beneath him and the walls shudder. He does not like it. His head throbs. He closes his eyes and sleeps.
His eyes flutter open. Sunlight burns in from where one wall of the box used to be. The dark shadow of a human moves across the light.
WelcometotheBassStraitmate, the human honks loudly, and pokes at him with a stick.
He tries to growl and roar at the human, but his voice is stifled by his parched throat.
Slowly, his eyes become accustomed to the glare and he sees blue tousled with gold: the ocean, pitching with breeze under sunlight. He shuffles towards it and stumbles down a ramp. Then he is in the cool and soothing water.
He swims aimlessly for a bit, confused. But when he reaches a current that feels familiar, he surfaces and looks back the way he came and sees how the layers of headland seem to lounge along the horizon, like a beta snoozing prostrate while her pup suckles her teat, and he realises where he is. He’s all the way up north, near the nursery and harem waters—the female territories!