by Tabatha Wood
We took a bus from our house to Moa Point Road. We could have walked the whole way, but I didn’t want to tire him out too early. It would be nice to spend some time together in the sun. I watched him skipping down the path in front of me, his sunhat flopping around his face, his jandals slapping on the ground. He turned and smiled at me; his cheeks were framed by curls, a gap in his mouth where he was missing a baby tooth. I saw so much of Bekkah in him. My beautiful boy.
He looked at me for a long time, holding me in his gaze, before mouthing, “I love you, Daddy,” and setting off at a run towards the rocks.
I dropped the bag and started after him, shouted his name and told him he had to stop. He ignored me and carried on, heading straight for the sharp edges that cradled the water. He kicked off his jandals and began to climb on the rocks. I was surprised at his speed and terrified that he would fall.
I called his name so many times, but he did not look back. Eventually he stopped at the very top of one of the rocks. He wasn’t high up, but he was far out towards the water. I caught up with him and began to clamber up behind him. He turned and put his finger to his lips.
“Wait, Daddy,” he said. “The little whale is here.” He pointed out across the bay and I looked out in the direction he showed. I saw movement in the water, a flash of black and white.
“Come down,” I said to him, quietly. “Come back to me.”
“I can’t, Daddy,” he replied. “She’s here to help me.”
I moved towards him, intending to grab him, to stop him from moving any closer to the edge.
“Daddy, no!” he cried out, just as I was about to grasp his leg. “I must listen! It’s important!”
The orca was swimming in circles in the water, making clicks and whistles as it moved. If I didn’t know better I might have believed that it was trying to communicate with my son. He was listening intently, and replying with sounds of his own. Of course that was impossible. No matter how earnest he seemed, or how strongly he believed, he could not speak to sea creatures. Could he?
I watched him for a moment before I reached out quickly and snatched him from the rock. He struggled and screamed.
“No, Daddy, no! Put me down! Put me down!”
I dragged him away from the ocean, as he writhed and kicked in my arms, landing hard blows from his heels on my bare legs.
Behind us the orca leaped out of the water, covering us with spray as it landed. I could hear it chittering as I fought with my struggling child. He kept shouting that I had to let him stay. That the Beast was coming, but he knew now how to beat it. That the orca had told him the special words.
I was tired. Frustrated. Scared.
After one more kick I reacted without thinking.
I slapped him.
He stopped shouting, merely looked at me with his big, sad eyes. I apologised immediately. I had never, ever hit him before, and I promised him that I would never do it again. A livid mark blossomed across his cheek. I leaned down to kiss him and he flinched away from me. I went to speak but then I saw his eyes widen and his jaw fall slack as he stared over my shoulder. I turned, and something hard yet strangely rubbery, like the edge of a heavy bicycle tyre, struck the side of my face.
I was dazed and I stumbled, but did not fall. I looked around, trying to see what had hit me, and I saw my son standing once again on the rocks. He was standing in a starfish pose — legs wide, arms outstretched, his head tilted upwards to the sky. An unholy wail was coming out of his mouth.
I saw the sea churn and seethe before him, as if the very waters were boiling. Giant tentacles rose from the waves, grasping at the air, thrashing and flailing among the surf. They came so close to him that I was sure he would be smashed against the rocks or tossed into the sea. I shouted his name, but he did not respond, and I tried to run towards him. I was hurled backwards by the blow of a massive tentacle, and thrown to the ground.
Two eyes emerged from the water and fixed themselves upon him. I remembered the Colossal Squid on display at Te Papa, how huge it was. That was a mere baby compared to this monster. The creature was immense. Each eyeball was easily the size of a car, set into each side of its bulbous head. Its black pupils were fixed upon him, unblinking and intense. I watched as it rose up, grabbing the rocks with its giant arms, using its suckers to heave itself out of the water.
It snapped its tentacles in the air, twisting so close to his body that I felt sure they would engulf him and drag him down to the depths of the sea. I was terrified I might lose him. I could not let this Beast take my child away from me. I picked myself up and ran to the rocks, reaching up to grab his legs. I looked up, saw his face; something made me pause.
He stood stone still on the edge. His wail deepened to a mournful bellow, like that of a frightened cow. But he didn’t seem frightened. In that moment he seemed bigger and stronger than I had ever seen him. No longer a child; now he was a great warrior and a protector of the sea.
Finally, he grew silent. The creature stopped, its tentacles calm and still. Both of them seemed to be regarding each other carefully. Staring each other down. He put his hands in the air and spoke; words I did not know, in a tongue I had never heard before. It made me think of the land and the sea, of a language as old as the Earth. Whatever he said, he said it with great strength in his voice. This was a declaration. An admonishment. A demand that could not, and would not, be ignored.
The monster bobbed in the water before him. It looked like it was thinking. Contemplating its next move. As if it were far more sentient than it had any right to be. Slowly, I saw it recede. Its eyes began to sink beneath the surface. Its tentacles twirled and fondled the air before disappearing into the waves.
He scrambled from the rocks and I threw my arms around him and kissed him, over and over and over. I took his hand and pulled him away from the water’s edge, and this time he came without resistance.
“I did it, Daddy,” he said with a gleeful grin, almost as wide as his whole face. “I kept the city safe.”
“You did. My little warrior.”
We were almost at the path when I heard the splash behind me. Felt a giant band wrap itself tightly around the full of my chest and haul me off my feet.
I heard him shouting as I was dragged backwards to the water.
“No! You can’t! I sent you away! You can’t take my daddy from me!”
It’s cold and black. I can’t see anything. There’s blood on my face; it runs into my eyes. A pounding pressure crushes my chest. I’m clamped in an iron vice; squeezed so tight it makes my face bulge. The weight of it; oh, God, I can barely stand the weight. I struggle to breathe. Bubbles of spit cling to my lips; every breath I take arrives with a wheeze and rattles around my crumpled lungs. Every part of me is broken.
I tilt my head to the left and I can just make out the shape of her, slumped in the seat beside me. Except she’s not there any more. I know straight away that she is gone.
I hear him wailing from behind me. I try to call out to him, to tell him it’s okay, that I’m here, but I can’t speak. My voice catches in my throat and leaves nothing but a painful, bloody burble. I hope to God that he’s not hurt.
This moment, I know I won’t ever be allowed to forget it. Our life is ripped and turned as topsy-turvy as the mangled car. Everything we knew, every happiness we’d found, snatched from us all in an instant.
It’s just me and him now.
“Daddy!”
I heard him crying out for me. I had to get back.
I clawed at the rocks, desperate to gain purchase, to stop myself from being plunged into the churning waves. The Beast was strong and fast, I had no chance to grab a hold. A pāua shell grazed my fingers, and I snatched it without thinking, or knowing why.
The edge of the shell had been ground by the waves, making it razor sharp. I hacked at the tentacle as it began its descent into the water. It was like trying to fell a tree with a butter knife, but I was determined. This monster would not take me away from my chil
d. He would not lose me too.
The skin split and black slime oozed from the wound. I slashed harder, plunging the keen edge of the blue-green shell into the Beast, gouging it with all my strength.
The tentacle’s grip seemed to loosen. I kicked and writhed and twisted my body until I could slither free. I took a deep breath and started swimming for the shore, trying to avoid the rocks in the water. I knew they were rough and jagged, and could cause me even greater harm.
A heavy weight came down on my back, forcing me deeper underwater. My cheek grazed the edge of the rocks. I felt my flesh split, and hot blood rushed from the wound. I pushed away with my feet, reaching for the surface. I gasped for air as my head broke the surf. I could see the shadows underneath the water as the monster rose to catch me. The clear blue painted black as it bled.
A sacrifice. That’s what he had said it had come for. Was that me? Could I save the city and my son by letting go?
No. To hell with that. He needed me.
I took a breath and filled my lungs and dived back under the surface of the waves. The Beast was rising to meet me at great speed. I had no time to think. I aimed for its head, the pāua shell held out in front of me. We regarded each other, the monster and I, as we swam towards one another, aiming our bodies like fighter pilots aim their guns in the sky.
Its one eye was bigger than my whole self. Yet I was not afraid. I plunged the shell with all my might into its giant head; slicing and chopping and tearing at the soft tissue. Its tar-like blood stained the water, covering me as I fought. I did not stop. I opened up a gaping hole; a vicious, ragged maw. The creature shrieked and writhed, it thrashed its tentacles and tried to throw me off.
My anger sustained me. My love for my child made me determined. I did not stop. I could not stop. I would never, ever cease fighting. Not while I still had breath in my lungs and strength in my hands. For the memory of Bekkah. For my boy.
The Beast was viciously wounded. Quite clearly in terrible pain. The thrashing ceased, the monster relented. It twisted and pushed itself away from the bay, headed out towards the open ocean. I swam, exhausted yet victorious, back to the shore. It was not dead, perhaps not even fully vanquished, but if it ever dare return, we would be waiting. I would be ready.
My son stood at the edge of the shore. His eyes and arms wide open. His expression a mixture of pride and awe. I was his Warrior Father. Together we were protectors of the city, and the land on which it stood.
I ran towards him and lifted him high.
“You did it, Daddy! You beat it! You won!”
I kissed him many times and spun him round in my arms.
“We did it,” I told him. “You and me together.”
“Always,” he replied, and reached out to me. He put one small hand over my heart.
Behind us, the water shone and rippled, as the Beast dived down to meet the dark.
Whispers
She swims in silence. She feels the movement and sees the spray, as she is tossed and turned in the water, but she hears nothing of the churning waves as they hurl themselves into the shore. The birds that swoop through the long, white clouds move without heraldry, lost in the hush of their soundless wings. The absence of noise is tranquil, it brings with it a great sense of calm. She kicks with her legs, pushes with her arms, and propels herself along with the gentle current. She drifts in parallel with the golden beach.
She spends almost an hour in the ocean. Sometimes swimming out as far as she dare go, where her feet can no longer touch the bottom, other times simply floating on the surface, enjoying the feeling of her body being weightless and free. When she finally heads back to the shore, the light is fading on the beach, leaving long shadows on the water.
She walks through the shallows, feeling the tide pull at her ankles, as if begging her not to leave. A brazen wind rifles through her hair, tousles wet strands across her face. She senses a change in the air. A sharp snap, a feeling of pressure.
Grey clouds swirl over the ocean in the distance. A storm is coming. She remembers the news announcing it this morning; warning people to be prepared. It has been talked about by the media for many days prior. There were suggestions that this one could be a big one; a force to be reckoned with. Such warnings are not unusual. They frequently turn out to be overly dramatic. It takes much more than the threat of a strong wind to worry a Wellingtonian. She, like most others, is not particularly concerned.
At her car, she strips out of her swimsuit and dries herself, dresses in denim shorts and an oversized T-shirt. She looks out at the sea for a moment, watching as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the sky lit up with vivid streaks of red and orange. Colours so bright and complex no painter could ever hope to capture them exactly. The clouds above grow shadowy and more sinister, slashing thick, black streaks across the vibrant glow. Like the dark hand of the Devil reaching out to destroy the world’s light.
She opens the glovebox and takes out a small box. Puts her hearing aids into her ears and turns them on.
Immediately her head is filled with noise.
She is used to this, but still she hates it. It always feels so violent and jarring. The silence brings to her its own music after a while, a gentle whisper, the sensation of a tender caress. All sounds are too loud after that. She has been deaf since she was four years old, worn hearing aids since she was six. She cannot remember what the world sounded like before that. She is given a glimpse into the lives of those who hear normally, thanks to two small pieces of technology, but they come with their own problems and limitations. She wonders sometimes if it would not be easier to simply take them out, throw them as far out into the ocean as she can. What might it be like to fully embrace the silence, instead of always trying to find her place amongst the noise.
She shuts herself inside the car, takes a breath before turning the ignition. She doesn’t want to go home. Back to the arguments and the accusations. Feeling like she is always misunderstood. She wants to stay here by the ocean, watching as the sun disappears. She can think here, put aside her worries for a while.
She turns the ignition and starts to pull out into the road, when a loud thump on the bonnet startles her. She is scared for a moment that she has hit someone by accident, maybe a cyclist or a pedestrian she did not see. She looks up to see a boy, perhaps sixteen years of age, his open palm resting on the car. He looks frightened. He realises she has noticed him and runs around the front of the car to the driver’s side door. Instinctively, she flicks the lock and moves away from the glass. He leans into the window, shouting through the glass. She cannot properly hear him, but she can read his lips.
“Let me in!” he is demanding. “Please, let me in! I can hear them coming!”
She shakes her head. She does not know this boy, will not allow a stranger into her car, especially when she is on her own.
“Go away!” she shouts back at him. “Leave me alone!”
He grows more frantic, slamming his fists into the glass and clawing at the door handle. She reaches for the steering wheel and holds her hand on the horn. She needs to draw attention to herself, perhaps then he will go away. He puts his hands over his ears, screws up his eyes and nose. He shakes his head frantically, back and forth, as if the sound of the horn is hurting him. She takes her hand away, but still he reacts as if he is being assailed by some dreadful noise.
She watches him from behind the glass. He keeps his hands clamped over his head as he stumbles into the road. She flinches, afraid he will be hit by a moving vehicle. His eyes are mostly closed, his head bowed deep into his chest, his hands claw at his ears. She watches in fear and disbelief as he thrashes and writhes around. Finally, he stops. He stands straight, and lets his arms fall to his sides, appears calm. He watches as a bus approaches on the opposite side of the road. He waits as it grows closer. It draws next to him, and he steps out deliberately into its path. His broken body crumples by the front right tyre. A pool of blood surrounds his head.
She can’t look.
She feels guilty. She feels sick.
Other people run across the road to help him. The bus driver gets out of his cabin, white-faced and shaking. She knows she should do something, but she has no idea what. She does not fully understand what has just happened. The wind whisks a piece of takeaway wrapper out of a nearby rubbish bin and flings it high into the air. She watches it as it dances in the dying sun before floating back down to the ground. She is frozen; torn between feeling like she should stay and wanting simply to run.
She sees a woman walking her small dog on the path by the side of the beach. They seem calm and happy. She wants to warn them of the traumatic scene further down the road. The horror and the blood.
The woman stops, puts her head to one side as if she has heard something she didn’t quite catch. Her face changes, her eyes grow wide. The wind whips the woman’s long hair across her face, wraps thick strands around her neck. She struggles to untangle it, pulls in vain at the tendrils that have wound themselves in tight knots. The dog starts barking. She can’t hear it, but she can see its open mouth and shaking body.
The woman starts to panic, uses both hands to rip and tear at her hair. It’s no use. The woman is smothered and strangled simultaneously. She lets go of the lead, and the dog runs away. She makes no attempt to follow it, still wrenching at the hair that covers her face. As the woman spins and plucks at the air, she trips and falls, her head smacks hard on the pavement. A thin, claret river begins to trickle onto the path, mixing with the dust of golden sand.
She watches, terrified yet perversely enthralled. What should she do? What can she do? She has witnessed two strange tragedies in as many minutes. Her head is spinning. She puts the car in gear and pulls out into the street; the car tyres squeal as she slams her foot to the floor.