by John Muir
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THE CRAB CATCHER
The parents were keeping a dutiful and attentive eye on their young son while he was exploring the low-tide pools among the small rocky outcrop separating the two long sandy beaches. They had chosen the eastern side of the rocks to catch the occasional cooling breeze that puffed along the beach from offshore. At the moment there was no breeze.
Mid-week, with schools in and being just prior to lunch, they almost had the beach to themselves. Whether the beach was deserted on the other side of the rocks they did not know as the rocks were just a little too high to see over. Frankly, lying in the sun and picking up its warm rays, they did not care about the other side.
The occasional exerciser would power-walk from the distance until they reached the rocky outcrop, then, rather than risk wetting their expensive ‘walkers’ scrambling over the rocks or into the shallow sea, they would return the way they came. The crowds would start after lunch, but their family would be gone soon to have lunch at a picnic spot further along the highway they were traveling on this holiday. The only other human in sight was a man in a sailing dinghy apparently making his way back to shore.
Their nearly five-year-old, pre-schooler, gave them a wave. His parents both answered and watched him return to his engrossing rock-pool exploration.
He poked his driftwood stick into the first of the small rock-pools and swirled the stick to panic or disturb any of the inhabitants into moving. He was annoyed with himself; the disturbed sand swirled and floated in limbo hiding anything that might be swimming around.
While he waited for the sand to settle he glanced up at the ocean. He used both hands to shade his eyes. Just beyond the small breakers was a man standing in a heavy wooden rowboat with a sail. He was easy to see; the waves were small. The man was lowering a sail. Then the man sat down, his back to the beach, and put an oar into the ‘thingy’ on one side, then put the other oar into the ‘thingy’ on the other side. The man turned his head slightly each side firstly using one oar and then the other as he came in gently on the waves. It had always been a mystery to the child; people who rowed boats did not face the way they were going. It was stupid. What would happen if his Dad drove the car with his back to where he was going?
Where he was standing on the higher rocks he had a view in both directions all along the beach. His parents on one side of the rocks, the strange man on the other. He looked again at the man in the rowboat. The man was definitely heading toward his bay as the place where the beach was steeper and the water deeper than anywhere else along the beach.
Briefly he thought about abandoning his post and running back to his parents.
Then focusing his attention back on his rock-pool, and this time with much more care, he slowly and carefully moved the stick around. Still nothing.
He looked again toward his sunbathing parents to confirm they were still near his rocky playground. A strong breeze in his face made some of the finer sand grains flick into his face. As he rubbed sand away from his eyes he saw his parents’ were both lying on their backs. At about thirty metres away he knew he was about at the distance limit he was allowed to roam. He had already explored ten metres of rock without any success. The breeze blew an occasional waft of his Mum’s perfume.
He loved playing here. His little rock-pools were like secret caves from where he could shoot the invading pirates and charge out to rescue the princess. It was his island where he had been washed ashore in the shipwreck. All the other passengers had died in the storm. The lions, tigers and elephants which had been on the ship in cages had all escaped and he had been left alone with his pet dog to survive. He was sure he would get a pet dog next year, so there was no trouble in practicing for its arrival now.
Again he looked up toward the sea for some sign of a sailing ship to rescue him. The man in the dinghy did not count. He did not want to be rescued by pirates; so he had to be careful. If he saw any ship with skull and crossbones he knew he would have to run into the jungle and hide. Again there was the same silly man, still with his back to him, the rowboat starting to glide in on the surf. It looked like he had sun-burnt skin. He must be old as well as silly because the man still could not see where he was rowing.
The boy could see the man was old and had a grey beard just like Santa Claus. But it was not Santa because this man did not have a red hat. He could also see that the old man was wearing a rain parka just like his Dad had. But one of the arms of the jacket was empty and tied up above his shoulder. He realized the old man must have only arm and was why he was only using one oar at a time. He thought about one-arm pirates. Long John Silver had one leg. This man was not carrying a sword that he could see.
For now he was safe. Only the approach of the old man worried him. It looked like he was going to come close. Maybe he was a pirate in disguise. Because the man had his back to him he could not see if he was holding a cutlass in his mouth.
When the bow of the sail-lowered dinghy touched the broad band of sand, the man jumped out at the stern. Using his shoulder he began pushing the dinghy higher on the sand.
The old man stopped and gave a wave with his one arm. He noticed the previously empty arm sleeve had come loose and was flapping in the breeze. Instinctively he waved back; then remembered his parents’ instructions about not communicating with strangers. He hoped they had not seen his action
One of the stronger waves, with its last dying gasp, just managed to reach one of the rock pools and poor a few precious drops of water into a pool. He knew his parents would come to collect him soon. They had tried to explain to him about tides and that his rock pool would be covered in water when the tide came in. He just did not like the idea that it might come into his castle first before it went to the rest of the beach.
The second pool was a bit larger. He took his time gently poking under the rock ledges. Success; several tiny silver fish scattered in various directions, quickly taking shelter under other ledges. A tiny crab was standing on its haunches waving an even tinier claw at him in remonstration.
Not in the mood for any show of defiance, he pushed his stick down on the crab and buried it under the sand.
A bigger fish, larger than his finger, darted from one side of the pool to the other. He had to find it again.
He sat on a flat rock and put his feet into the water which almost came up to his knees. It was nice and warm. It made him feel like he wanted to pee, then he remembered he had done that just before they came to the beach. The thought quickly vanished. He leaned forward prodding under the ledges where he thought the fish might be. It would not come out. The fish had tricked him and swum under the ledges to another place.
Wanting to both catch the fish and run up the beach to tell his father about the pirate at the same time, he did not know which to do. A quick glance toward his parents showed they were now both lying on their stomachs allowing the sun to cook their backs. Because this part of the beach was deserted, his mother had removed her top. They would be annoyed if he disturbed them now.
With a gentle stir under another ledge, a much larger crab emerged. This was bigger than his thumb. It took up the same stance as the previous one. He rejected the urge to squash it into the sand. Gently he lowered the stick on top of it. The crab grasped at the stick with the larger of its two claws. The little boy slowly raised it above the water to his eye level to have a closer look. The crab hung on precariously.
Directly behind his line of sight to the crab he saw the dinghy, old man still behind it pushing it higher on to the beach with his shoulder and one arm, making use of a higher extra wave.
The wave quickly surged back pulling the dinghy back into the sea. Its bow still clung to the sand. The old man had suddenly slipped and went down behind the dinghy. He looked around but there was no sign that the old man had magically appeared on the beach. He looked intently at the boat.
The loose arm of the man’s parka suddenly appeared over the stern and flapped in the breeze. It bobbled around
like the tall skinny balloons of figures he had seen at the side-shows. Next he saw the man’s leg doing a funny dance over the stern. The empty arm had disappeared.
He wondered what game the crazy old man was playing. It was not peek-a-boo like his parents tried to play when he was small.
The leg began to flail wildly. The little boy became frightened. Something was wrong. He looked toward his parents. They were now standing up, his mother with her top now on. They were rolling up their beach towels in readiness for departure.
He dropped his stick, skipped quickly over the rocks and onto the sand before running at his fastest speed toward them.
As he approached his mother realized that something was wrong.
“What’s happened?” she both mouthed and signed at the boy.
“Uurrgh, uurgh, uurgh,” answered the boy waving his hands frantically in front of him before pointing back past the rocks.
“What’s wrong?” asked the father who also both mouthed and signed at the boy.
“Uurgh, uurgh, uurgh,” repeated the boy grabbing his father’s hand trying to pull him towards the rocks.
“Something must have scared him in the pools,” said his mother.
“Maybe he wants to show us something in the pools,” said his father.
The boy then grabbed his mother’s hand and started pulling her.
“Dammit,” said his father, “I wished he could learn to hand- sign.”
“It’s not his fault, he’s not stupid,” the wife reacted. “Deaf mutes are slower to learn sign language.”
The boy kept pointing, but apparently at something past the rocks.
His mother pulled her hand away and mouthed and signed, “Not now darling we have to carry on driving on our holiday.”
The boy turned and started to run toward the rocks but his father was quicker and grabbed him before he had time to get away.
The boy kicked and gurgled in an effort to get released. The harder he struggled the tighter his father held him.
His father looked along the beach at a distant approaching get-fit beach walker with his dog. He suddenly felt embarrassed that someone might think he was kidnapping the struggling child or being physically abusive.
They made their way back to the car, the boy still struggling and gurgling. His mother sat him in the back-seat child booster seat and snapped the child-proof locks shut. The boy continued to gurgle loudly and wave his arms around as they drove off.
“Bloody hell,” said the father, “I hope these tantrums won’t happen too often.”
“Let’s skip stopping again and go direct to the motel. He probably needs a sleep, maybe too much sun,” said the mother.
After a couple of hours, they arrived at their booked motel. The boy’s actions had continued for nearly an hour until finally diminishing to a small crying session. The boy then fell into a fitful sleep.
The latter part of the afternoon was spent passing time with the child who seemed to have overcome his earlier upset, even going to bed without a fuss at the usual time. The parents had fed him first and waited for him to fall asleep before phoning for a motel delivered meal. The boy had fallen asleep quickly, much to their relief.
Soon after the meal was delivered they heard the boy’s gurgles from the bedroom. The mother rushed in to check on him. After she had been gone a few minutes the father too entered the bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“He’s having nightmares, maybe about whatever upset him today. Who knows?”
“Well hurry then, it’ll be a pity to let dinner get cold.”
The father left the bedroom and while sitting at the table used the remote to switch on the television with the sound down. A few minutes later his wife emerged.
Hearing the sound of the introductory music for the news he turned up the volume.
“Ah good, just in time for the 7:00 p.m. news,” said the father. Behind the head of the newsreader was a film of a wreath floating on a quietly moving sea. The background then changed to a photo of an old man in sporty sailing clothes standing on a racing yacht.
“Today saw a tragedy for one our yachting greats in yacht design while doing recreation sailing in the sport he had spent donated his life to,” started the announcer.
“His body was found at Kennedy’s Beach jammed under his old family single man sailing dinghy. A man walking his dog found the body and said the accident must have happened only moments before as the dinghy was at the low tide mark on the turn on the tide. The whole country will mourn the death of this courageous man who only three years ago lost his arm in a tragic car accident which also took the life of his wife of 40 years.”
The man looked at the woman. “Isn’t that near where we were today? A pity nobody was around to help him. He was a great sportsman. Such a tragedy.”
They finished eating and watched the rest of the news. Then both picked up the books they had selected a few days before as holiday reading.