One Would Think the Deep

by Claire Zorn

  ‘What the hell is a chick like that doin’ with you?’

  ‘She’s a classy lady, that one,’ said Minty. ‘She got an eyesight problem or somethin’?’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘You better get a job, buddy, if you wanna keep her around.’

  ‘Whatever. You can talk.’

  ‘Yeah, I can ’cause I’m gonna win the World Title. Won’t need a job.’ He said it jokingly, but there was a new resolve in Minty’s eyes and Sam wondered if this time he really meant it.

  22

  Sam showered, found some clean clothes and headed off up the street toward Gretchen’s house. When he got to the gate he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock, or go in, find the front door and then knock. He didn’t really want to meet either of her parents but he couldn’t taste her on his lips anymore.

  He needed to.

  The gate was unlocked so he opened it and went in. The front yard had little white pebbles instead of grass, with big stepping stones for a path. Lush green plants lined the path: aloe vera, birds of paradise, maidenhair ferns. He still remembered every plant name Pop had taught him. Big double doors with stained glass greeted him on the veranda, surrounded by clay pots of all different sizes and shapes. He pressed the doorbell and contemplated bolting. But then it opened and a tall, graceful woman looked out at him. She had dreadlocks and a cheesecloth scarf wound around her head. No make-up, big pale eyes like Gretchen’s. She smiled in a way you wouldn’t expect of someone who had found a stranger on their front doorstep.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Are you a friend of Gretchen’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lovely.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Please, come in.’ He wondered if she was high. No one should be this serene.

  He stepped inside to a small foyer area with more clay pots and a flight of steep timber stairs, the scent of lime and coconut in the air. The woman led him up to a big open space with lounges and a kitchen with huge glass doors looking out over the ocean. There was music playing, something he hadn’t heard since his mother was alive. Sixties folky stuff, Joni Mitchell.

  ‘Gretch,’ she called up the hallway. ‘There’s someone here for you! Can I get you something?’ she asked Sam. ‘I’ve just made a pot of raspberry leaf tea. Or I have sparkling water if you’d prefer?’

  ‘Um, no I’m okay.’

  ‘I’m Christa, by the way.’

  ‘Hi. I’m Sam.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Sam.’

  ‘Thanks. Same.’

  Gretchen emerged from the hallway. She looked surprised to see him standing in her kitchen.

  ‘Hi Sam.’

  ‘Hi.’

  Christa opened the sliding doors and slipped out onto the balcony, closing them behind her.

  ‘Did she say anything weird? She can be weird. Try not to pay attention to what she says. Try not to connect her to me.’

  ‘She seems nice. I mean she said something about raspberry leaves, but other than that …’

  ‘Yep. There it is. That’s the weird bit.’ Gretchen bit her lower lip and they both stood there in her kitchen without talking. Her cheeks were flushing pink, accentuating the freckles across her nose.

  They both started to speak at the same time. She laughed, more as a way to fill the space than anything else.

  ‘Want to go somewhere?’ she blurted.

  Sam followed her across the grass on top of the headland, near the car park and the track down to the rocks. She sat down on the grass and flopped onto to her back, looking up at the sky. Sam did the same. For the first time in his life, lying on the grass looking at the sky seemed a worthwhile way to spend a few hours. He lay next to her, close but not quite touching. She didn’t say anything and he felt a crushing pressure to make conversation.

  ‘Was that your mum?’

  Gretchen turned her face to him. ‘Yes. For better or worse.’

  ‘She has dreadlocks.’ Talking about her mum wasn’t great, but it was a start.

  ‘She’s a poet.’

  ‘A poet?’

  ‘Yep. She makes pottery too. She’s a potting poet.’

  ‘Didn’t know you could make a living from poetry.’

  ‘Pottery on the other hand …’

  ‘You can make a fortune out of that stuff.’ Sam was proud of himself for making a joke. He hoped it didn’t show.

  ‘Exactly. No. You can’t make money from poetry. Unless you win a bunch of prizes. She’s won some. She teaches at the university as well.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘Don’t go thinking she’s cool. She’s not cool. Dad works there too. He’s a psychiatrist and he teaches. He’s not cool either.’

  ‘Is he going to analyse me if he meets me?’

  ‘Only if you’re interesting.’

  ‘Am I interesting?’

  ‘Well. You’re mysterious. That helps.’

  ‘Mysterious?’

  ‘Well … no one knows anything about you except for the fact that you’re Minty Booner’s cousin. Something I am willing to overlook.’

  He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over her, placing his other hand on the grass by her shoulder so he was above her.

  Her curls were a swirling halo around her face and as she smiled a dimple formed in her chin.

  He kissed her, letting his body fall gently onto hers. She grasped his neck and shoulder and he had to move his knee up beside her hip to take his weight and free up one hand, which slid up her back, under her shirt. Just touching the back of her bra unleashed hot sparks in his chest. He curled his tongue around hers and she made a little noise which he interpreted as approval. She caressed the back of his neck and put her fingers through his hair, then she pulled away from him with an expression he couldn’t read because he didn’t know her well enough yet.

  He rolled over onto the grass beside her.

  ‘Do you feel better now?’ she asked. ‘I feel better now. Less tense. I was tense before. Now less so. I get tense a lot.’

  Sam laughed.

  ‘I talk when I get nervous.’

  ‘I noticed. Are you nervous now?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Sam could hear the waves crashing on the beach. Seagulls swirled around in the sky above them.

  ‘I really hope one of them doesn’t poo on me,’ she said. ‘I’m nervous about that.’

  ‘Same, now you mention it.’

  ‘So, what do your parents do, Sam?’

  ‘You sound like you’re interviewing me for a job.’

  ‘Give me a break. I’m under a lot of stress at the moment.’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t have any. I don’t know my dad and my mum died,’ Sam closed his eyes and counted back, ‘three months ago.’

  She left it way too long to say something.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s okay. You didn’t kill her.’

  ‘Someone killed her!?’

  ‘No, just … It’s not your fault. Don’t say you’re sorry.’

  ‘That’s really recent.’

  ‘Yeah it is. It’s why I moved down here, it’s why I moved in with Minty. He … I know … I know what he seems like, but he’s good to me … he’s the only one.’ Sam was learning that it was easy to talk to someone when you were lying on your back on the grass looking at the sky instead of each other.

  ‘Can you ask me about something else?’ he said.

  ‘Um … What’s your favourite song?’

  ‘One song?’

  ‘Yep. One.’

  ‘“Mojo Pin”, Jeff Buckley,’ he answered.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘“1979”, Smashing Pumpkins. At the moment anyway. I change it all the time. I mean, there are so many songs in the world. Millions.’

  ‘Millions.’

  ‘What’s your favourite song that’s really embarrassing and you would never tell anyone?’ she
asked.

  ‘I’m not telling you.’

  ‘Aha! You know exactly what I’m talking about. You have one! You like a really embarrassing song! You’re not cool at all! Ahhh, wait until this gets out. It’s all over for you. Come on. What is it?’

  He turned his head and saw her smiling up at the sky. ‘No.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘“I Want to Know What Love Is”. Aghhh. I can’t believe I told you that.’

  She cracked up. ‘By Foreigner?’ She made fists and sang the chorus into the sky.

  ‘So you know it then.’

  ‘Yeah, I do and it’s terrible.’

  ‘No it’s not. It’s romantic.’

  ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’

  ‘You know it’s true. So what’s yours?’

  ‘“Turn Back Time”, Cher’

  ‘I don’t see what’s embarrassing about that.’

  ‘Exactly. And I’m not embarrassed by the song, I’m more embarrassed on Cher’s behalf for the outfit that goes with the song.’

  ‘The seat-belt harness thingy?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘I really don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You can tell a lot about a person from their secret favourite song. It’s also fun to guess what someone’s secret song is. It’s something I am particularly good at.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Did you pick mine?’

  ‘No. I honestly thought you were going to say “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins. I thought there was a high probability you played air drums to that song. I still think that.’

  ‘I’m not going to confirm or deny playing air drums to Phil Collins.’

  ‘Hillary Clinton, for instance: I think her secret song is “Lady in Red”’

  ‘She does wear a lot of red.’

  ‘Yep. John Howard, his favourite is “Fernando” by Abba.’

  ‘You’ve thought a lot about this.’

  ‘I have. I think he sings it to Janette and she secretly hates it, but can’t bear to tell him. The Queen: her favourite is “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, but she also loves Abba, “Waterloo”. She appreciates the historical context.’

  Sam laughed.

  ‘Any other insights?’

  ‘Well, I also think a good way to gauge someone’s true self is to play “What Would You Rather?” with them.’

  ‘What would you rather?’

  ‘What would you rather: making out with John Howard or the Queen?’

  ‘Oh man.’

  ‘You have to choose. It’s like you are Princess Leia and Darth Vader is going to destroy your planet before your very eyes if you don’t answer.’

  ‘I’m Princess Leia? Is that part of the game?’

  ‘Not usually, but let’s roll with it.’

  ‘I thought you hated sci-fi?’

  ‘I make an exception for Star Wars. Two words: Han Solo. But you are trying to distract me! You’re avoiding this! I need an answer, your planet is going to die, ahhhhhhhhh!’

  ‘Oh man. Um. The Queen. I guess. I mean, she was a babe back in the day. I’ve never said that out loud before.’

  ‘I know! And she has a great bosom. Excellent choice.’

  Sam couldn’t answer. He was laughing too much.

  He kissed Gretchen goodbye on the street outside her house, pulling her close to him, smelling her skin and her hair. As he walked back to the Booners’ he saw the spindly frame of Nana in the veranda light again, swiping mozzies off her skinny brown arms.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Allo love.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Come up to the van? I’ve made a casserole. Lorraine said you’re good to come if you’d like. She even opened the door when she spoke to me.’

  ‘What sort of casserole?’

  ‘Typical male! Beef and mushroom.’

  It was too tempting after weeks of barbecue chook and takeaway.

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘C’mon.’

  Moths flickered at the streetlights as Nana led the way back up past Gretchen’s house and along the headland to the caravan park. People were sitting outside their vans, smoking and drinking. She said hello to every one of them like they were old friends and she’d been there for years. To a few of them she announced that Sam was her grandson. Sam waved and she beamed at him. Her van was a tiny tin can, white with an orange stripe belting its middle and faded sixties-style floral curtains in the little window, which was barely bigger than a porthole. The canvas annex was almost bigger than the actual van. A line hung from the light pole to the side of the annex, two bright bikinis hanging out to dry. Two folding canvas chairs sat out on the grass and she motioned to them.

  ‘There y’are. You have a seat and I’ll get you some dinner. Want a lemonade?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She ducked through the door into the annex. Sam sat down and looked up at the stars in the clear velvety sky. She came out and handed him a steaming plate. ‘You right with it on your lap?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  She returned with a can of Kmart-brand lemonade and an old Nutella jar with Bugs Bunny on the side.

  ‘You’re not eating?’ he asked.

  ‘Already eaten.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Go on, two, four, six, eight.’

  It was rich and creamy, the meat falling apart on his fork. It was weird to cook a casserole when the weather wasn’t too cold, but it tasted so good he didn’t care. He tried to remember the last time he had eaten one of her meals and couldn’t. He only had fragments of shapshots: Christmas ham, apple pie, jelly and ice-cream with custard.

  She smiled as she watched him eat. ‘I miss cooking for you boys. That Lorraine, I don’t know how she keeps you all fed, although from the look of you, she doesn’t. I tried to teach her, but she wouldn’t have it. Your mum was slightly better. Not much.’

  ‘No one cooks like you, Nana.’

  ‘Ah. That’s my boy.’

  ‘You go swimming with Minty?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘How long you been swimming?’

  ‘Well. Let’s see. I started swimming in the ocean when I was in Italy. Got a job as a cleaner in a hotel. They liked me because I could talk to the Pommy customers. Those Italians know how to cook a meal, but it’s better for you, you know. Lots of vegetables, never eaten so many vegetables. I was happy, didn’t need so many sweets to cheer me up. Started swimming and walking and the weight slowly dropped off. Now you can’t keep me out of the water. Up north at Port they have a swim club and I go every day and do laps and ocean swims. That’s the ticket.’

  He ate the casserole and downed the lemonade as if he hadn’t eaten for months. He hadn’t felt so hungry since his mum died.

  ‘Michael been teaching you how to surf?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘You stand up yet?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You good at it?’

  ‘Not as good as him.’

  ‘So who’s your sweetheart?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your girlfriend.’

  ‘How do you know if I’ve got a girlfriend?’

  ‘You’re a handsome devil. You have a sweetheart. Who is she?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Well, she’ll be thrilled to hear that.’

  ‘Just a girl I know from round here.’

  ‘Nice girl?’

  ‘Yeah. Lives up in that big house on the headland.’

  Nana raised her eyebrows. ‘Does she now? You’re like your mother, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Lofty ambitions. You aim high. Not a bad thing. You keeping up with your studies.’

  ‘School? I’m not going.’

  ‘What d’you mean you’re not going?!’ she squawked like Lorraine.

  ‘I can’t … I just don’t see the point.’

  ‘You gonna get a trade? Do an apprenticeship?’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe. Dunno.’

 
Her silence told him what she thought of that.

  ‘Do you remember how Pop used to build us the little jumps for our skateboards?’ he asked her.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He wasn’t all, you know, uptight, no fun.’

  She turned her head and looked out over the caravan park. A kid rode past on a bicycle.

  ‘Do you want some dessert?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She stood up and took his plate without meeting his eye, disappearing into the caravan. Sam sat in the fold-out chair and listened to the cockatoos screeching like dragons overhead. Nana returned and handed him a plastic bowl of fruit salad and green jelly. When he was little jelly seemed like the most delicious thing on the planet: all those dinners at Nana and Pop’s. She always gave them dessert in her good bowls, glass ones with pictures of gold bunches of grapes around the rim, like she trusted her grandsons to be careful and never break them. He’d felt so safe there, like nothing in the world would ever go wrong.

  ‘Nana.’

  ‘Yes, love?’

  ‘Do you know …’ His mouth went dry and he forced the jelly on his tongue down. ‘Do you know who my dad is?’

  Her face changed. She put her dessert on the camp table, untouched. ‘You don’t wanna go there, love.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. I want to know.’

  ‘He wasn’t a good man.’

  ‘That’s the way it is in our family, isn’t it? No good men?’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ll be a good man.’

  Sam felt his lip wobble. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘I’m not doing this, love. I promised your mum. I promised both of them.’

  ‘You promised him as well?’

  ‘No. That’s not …’

  ‘Who did you promise?’

  She gripped the arms of the picnic chair, her pink fingernails gleaming in the fluoro light. ‘There are things you’re better off not knowing, love.’

  ‘You don’t get to decide that.’ He felt it uncoiling in his gut. He clenched his fists on his knees to stop the shaking.

  ‘Look,’ her tone was the same as when they were kids and she was telling them the rules in her house. The walls were up. ‘I’ve got nothing to tell you. He wasn’t worth wasting your breath on. This ends now.’

  ‘Nana …’

  ‘No. Enough.’

  He couldn’t speak. He stood up and walked away from her, on auto pilot back to the Booners’.