Red Rocks

by King, Rachael

  ‘I missed you,’ she said. ‘Can I come in and play?’

  He stood aside and let her in. She dripped puddles onto the wooden floor, so he handed her a towel to dry herself with. She looked at it, unsure what to do. He mimed drying his hair and she nodded and copied him. Then they stood awkwardly in the living room. Jessie looked around with interest and Jake saw the room through her eyes: it was small and untidy, with newspapers in messy piles on the couch and the floor, dirty coffee mugs on the table and cheap old curtains at the windows. It was so different from his home in Auckland, which had polished wooden floors that shone, and rich oriental rugs matched with red velvet curtains. His mother kept the place immaculate and he was scared to even leave his schoolbag on the floor. Here he could leave his dirty sneakers on the worn living room carpet and there still wouldn’t be as much mess as his father made all by himself. He felt embarrassed suddenly, but then he remembered where Jessie was staying, and knew she wouldn’t mind a bit of chaos.

  ‘So, do you want to play cards, or …’ He was waiting for her to say something about yesterday, about their fight, about how she had run away crying, but she just nodded and said, ‘Yes.’

  He beat her twice at Snap and the sense of unease didn’t lift. It was strange having her in the house. She somehow didn’t belong, so far from the rocks and the smell of salt and fish and the seals.

  ‘Go again?’ he asked.

  ‘Can I look at your bedroom? Can we play there?’

  Jake shrugged. ‘Okay,’ he said. Most of the toys in there were from when he was younger, cars and trains that he didn’t take much interest in any more. He mostly just read books in there now.

  As soon as Jessie entered the room, Jake, who was behind her, saw her shoulders stiffen. She turned to one side with her face tilted up and he realised she was sniffing the air. Her pale face flushed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, but she said nothing and started pacing in a tight circle.

  ‘Jessie …’ He was about to tell her that she was freaking him out, to suggest they leave the room, when suddenly she dived to the floor and, with her fingernails scrabbling on the floorboards, disappeared under his bed. She let out an unearthly screech and emerged moments later with the sealskin clutched in her hands. Without stopping to think and giving her no warning, Jake stepped forward and ripped it from her hands.

  ‘It’s mine!’ he shouted. ‘Leave it alone!’ Jessie moved towards him and to his surprise, he shoved her away. Jessie stared at him and her eyes took on the darkness he had seen yesterday. He hugged the sealskin to his chest, waiting for her to pounce on him, to fight him — a fight he would lose. But instead, she backed away, and tears welled in her eyes.

  ‘You are no friend of mine,’ she said. ‘Or of the seals.’ She ran from the house, out into the cold rain, slamming the door behind her.

  Later that night, after the rain had abated, Jake took the sealskin from its new hiding place in his wardrobe. He still couldn’t bring himself to show his father, because he knew he had done the wrong thing by taking it. He thought about what Jessie had told him about the selkies. Could it be true? He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, holding the skin. He stood up and went closer. He draped the skin around his shoulders, wrapping himself in it until it was hard to tell where the skin ended and Jake began. When he looked into the mirror again he got a fright — it was as if he had caught a glimpse of a live seal, standing upright in his room. He gave a small yelp and tore the skin off, throwing it on the floor.

  ‘It’s just a stupid story,’ he said to himself and got into bed, pulling the covers up around his ears to block out the sound of the sea pounding on the beach. He lay there, listening to his breath in the hot darkness, and tried not to think of Jessie.

  9

  Jake opened his eyes. It was still dark. He could hear the gentle shushing of the waves on the beach across the road. It was a constant noise, so he wasn’t sure what had woken him, but in his dreams he had heard someone calling his name. He turned over and closed his eyes, trying to get back to sleep. Then he heard it again.

  ‘Jake.’ It was like a whisper, but it sounded far away, so he shouldn’t have been able to hear it. He sat up and held his breath to listen more intently. Maybe Dad was calling him, or talking in his sleep.

  ‘Jake.’ There it was again. It definitely wasn’t coming from the direction of his father’s room. It was coming from outside. Maybe Jessie was calling him, but he couldn’t tell whether the voice was male or female, young or old. He flicked off the covers and went and stood by the window. He pushed it open. The sound of the waves grew louder, and floating on them came his name, drawn out, like a sigh: ‘Jaaaake.’ And then: ‘The skin. The skin.’

  His own skin prickled. He looked at the sealskin, which lay in a crumpled heap where he had recklessly left it before he went to bed. What if his father had come in and seen it? He picked it up, hugging its warmth to his body, and went back to the window. All he could see in the darkness was the weak moonlight on the sea. He pushed the window open further and dropped the skin on the ground outside. He pulled himself onto the sill then down onto the grass, close below. The grass tickled his feet and he shivered in his pyjamas. His name came again, and this time there was no mistaking: it came from the beach. He picked up the skin, crossed the silent road and found the track over the rocks down to the sand. Jake looked back at the house, but from where he stood, all that was visible was Dad’s writing shed, and the windows were dark, blank eyes looking down at him.

  ‘Jessie?’ He called out, but the word was stolen from his lips by the wind. He shivered. Then another thought occurred to him.

  ‘Cara?’ It came out as barely a whisper. He walked down to the water. The moon was in the sky, but it was mostly hidden behind clouds, casting intermittent silver light on the rocky beach. He sat down on a log and cuddled the sealskin to himself to keep warm. Maybe he had dreamed the voice, or heard the wind catching on something, creating the eerie sound of his own name.

  He looked out to sea. He had never been down here at night, and he took a moment to enjoy the strangeness of it. In the patches of light, he thought he made out seaweed in the surging water, and something else, floating out there, waiting. Seals! He stood up, and shivered in the wind. He heard it again: ‘The skin. Jake.’ A row of seals, their wet heads dark against the sea, watched him, like a row of sentries guarding the sea. Or the beach.

  He swallowed hard, but did not feel afraid. His bones were cold now, but his arms were warm where they held the seal’s coat. He had an idea. He unfurled the sealskin and stepped inside it. Immediately he was flooded with heat, suddenly immune to the cold that had been licking at him. With the sealskin on his body, he felt as though it had melded with his own form. The sea beckoned and he longed to dive into it.

  It was impossible to walk in the skin, so he fell forward and landed on his flippers. He lumbered and jerked towards the water, moving like a seal. The water wasn’t as icy as he had expected; the skin kept him warm and dry. He dived beneath the surface, and felt suddenly fast and free. He spun around as he dived, swimming with a grace and swiftness he had never before experienced. The water was so clear, it was as if he was wearing goggles. He held his breath for a long time and then emerged, laughing, into the air. He rolled onto his side and waved a flipper at the bobbing, silent heads, still watching him. Clouds moved across the moon and everything went dark.

  Jake floated in the water, listening. All he could hear was the sound of the waves lapping the shore. He took a big breath and dived under again, feeling the velvet water slipping by him, the tickling of the kelp that floated in clumps near the surface. Above him, the moon must have emerged from the clouds: suddenly the water was filled with light and he became aware of shadows. He turned his head and saw dark shapes darting around him, coming closer and then veering away. He tried to chase after them, to play with them, but the seals were always just out of reach, just out of sight. He swam in circles, trying to catc
h a glimpse of them, until he was dizzy. He stopped, head spinning, and hung in the water and waited. Everything went dark again. Just as he was about to surface for another breath, he felt something brush by him. He spun to look at it and felt another body, pressing against him. Another bumped him from behind. Suddenly he was surrounded on all sides, and though he tried to kick with his back flippers, to rise out of the sea, the bodies around him kept him under the water. He felt hands pulling at him. Hands. Human hands. They pulled at his skin, tugging; it gave way and the icy water rushed in, surrounding his body, which now felt weak and small when only moments before he’d felt invincible. Jake gasped and took in a lungful of water, which hurt more than he could have imagined. He managed to struggle free for a moment, just enough to break for the surface and cough the water out of his lungs before he was pulled under again. He felt the last of the sealskin being ripped away from his body and as the moon came out again, he saw a woman’s shape above him in the water, her bright hair cascading around her head, the sealskin in her hand. Then he gave up and closed his eyes, letting the sea take him.

  Moments later, he felt the covers being wrenched out of his hands and he screamed.

  ‘Jake!’

  Jake squinted into the bright light. His father stood over him, and it was morning.

  ‘What’s the matter, buddy? You were shouting in your sleep.’ Dad sat down on the bed and stretched out a hand to brush Jake’s sweat-slick hair out of his eyes.

  ‘The seals,’ said Jake. He felt confused and thirsty. It should still have been night. He should be soaking wet. He shouldn’t be alive. There were no sounds now but the chirrup of a few birds in the trees behind the house.

  ‘Just a bad dream, mate.’ Dad patted his leg. ‘Do you want a glass of water?’

  Jake nodded. He knew it hadn’t been a dream — it had been so real. And yet here it was, morning; here was his dad, and the seals — people, creatures, whatever they were — had gone. And he couldn’t deny it to himself — the woman who had stolen the skin, who had swum in the water as if she were a part of it, was Cara. He looked with panic at the ground and the sealskin had gone. But when he looked at his closet, he could just make out its dark shape inside. Had he put it away after all, before he went to sleep? His head hurt. Jake gulped the cold water down while Dad stood and watched. He looked thoughtful.

  ‘I feel terrible that I haven’t been around for you more. It’s this damn book, I’m sorry. It was supposed to be finished before you came, and I have this deadline. I’ve been so distracted, too. I just can’t seem to concentrate.’

  Jake shrugged and handed the glass to his father. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, and lay back down. He didn’t feel fine.

  ‘No, it’s not. Look, I’m not going to do any work today. Let’s go for that boat ride I promised you. The weather looks much better today. We’ll take the rods and do some fishing. What do you say?’

  Jake thought about Cara and the seal-people and hesitated. But he pushed the thought aside — it was only a dream, after all. Everything looked so normal now that it was daytime.

  ‘Just the two of us?’ he asked. ‘Okay.’

  10

  As Jake climbed in, the fishing rods clattered in the bottom of the dinghy. The life jacket scratched his chin. He wished they didn’t have to wear them, but Dad insisted. His dad pushed the boat out a little way, then jumped in. His jeans were rolled up and beads of salt water clung to the dark hairs on his legs. He grabbed the oars, slotted the rowlocks into their holes and began rowing in earnest.

  It was the perfect day for it: blue sky with a few puffs of cloud skating across it, and a light breeze that wasn’t too cold. Jake enjoyed the sound of the pull of the oars, and the bucking motion of the little boat. He sat at the front and had to twist his body to see where they were headed: out past the island in Island Bay.

  ‘That should do it,’ said Dad, and he swiftly lifted the oars out and lay them on either side of the boat. He stood up, crouching, so the boat didn’t shudder from side to side, and pulled the cord on the outboard motor. It spluttered a few times but didn’t catch.

  ‘Come on,’ said Dad. ‘Stupid thing. It’s got plenty of petrol in it.’

  He pulled the cord so hard Jake thought he was going to topple over with the effort, but at the last second, the engine coughed and roared to life.

  ‘There,’ said Dad, but there was no point in saying anything else: the motor was so loud it drowned out everything they could have said to each other. Instead Jake turned his face back towards the open sea and felt the breeze on his face turn to a wind as they picked up speed. He felt like a dog must feel with its head out the window of a moving car — maybe he should let his tongue loll out of his mouth.

  Dad found his usual spot, around the other side of the island. His method was to keep going until the island lined up with a house on the hill that had a tower, so the tower looked like a birthday candle on top of the island’s cake. He reckoned that was the best spot for snapper. Sometimes there were others out near here, but their boats were usually bigger, with more powerful engines. Today, they were alone. White flecks danced across the wind-chopped water. Luckily, Jake had never had a problem with sea-sickness.

  ‘Do you want me to bait your hook?’ Dad asked.

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’ Jake took the frozen squid bait, chopped a piece off with Dad’s big fishing knife, then inched it onto the hook, taking care not to catch his fingers.

  ‘Good job!’ Dad said as he deftly baited his own hook and let the line on his fishing rod drop with a fizz.

  Jake’s sinker made a bloop as it hit the water, and with it the white blob of bait dis appeared on its way to the ocean floor. His hands were cold as they gripped the rod, but he felt such exquisite anticipation, it didn’t matter. What would find his bait? Would he feel the sudden pull of a kahawai? Or the pecking of a mullet?

  They sat without speaking, with the lap of water at the bottom of the dinghy the only sound. Jake closed his eyes and listened to the wind singing in his ears. He wished he’d worn a hat. Suddenly his rod jumped in his hand. He snapped his eyes open. ‘A bite!’ he said.

  ‘Me too,’ said his father, grinning. ‘Here we go.’

  Jake imagined the school of fish swarming around their lines, diving at the bait.

  ‘I think mine’s gone,’ said Dad, and started winding in his rod. Jake was about to do the same when he felt another almighty tug, then his rod was dancing in his hands. He gripped it lightly as the end of it bent over almost double. His heart started to beat faster and he let out a small shout. Dad put his own rod down and reached for Jake’s.

  ‘No!’ Jake cried. ‘Let me! I’ve got it.’

  His dad smiled and sat back to watch, poised on his seat to jump in if he was needed.

  Jake wound the reel, with some difficulty. Instead of the fast action when the rod was empty, his wrist moved in jerks. And all the time the fish at the other end fought.

  ‘It must be huge!’ shouted Jake, excitement making him loud.

  ‘Maybe it’s a kingfish,’ said Dad. ‘Keep going, buddy! You’re doing a great job.’

  Finally, when Jake thought his aching wrist might fall off, he caught a flash of silver in the dull water. The fish was darting here and there, trying to take the line with it, but Jake had it. He lifted it out of the water and it danced like a whirling dervish on the hook.

  ‘Oh, it’s not as big as I thought,’ he said. He watched the fish thumping around on the bottom of the boat and let his dad catch it and stand on it while he worked the hook out of its jaws.

  ‘Those kahawai,’ said his dad, ‘they have a ton of fight in them. They always feel bigger than they are. But look at it, Jake! It’s a decent size all right — enough for dinner tonight.’

  Jake smiled. ‘We’d better catch some more, just in case.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ Dad took the knife and sliced the fish’s gullet. Dark blood spurted out and he held the kahawai over the edge of the boat,
letting the blood drip into the water. It formed drops on the surface, then blurred and blended with the sea. Jake had forgotten about this part. When he was younger he’d had to look away, but you had to bleed the fish as soon as you caught it or the meat wouldn’t taste good.

  They re-baited their hooks and dropped their lines. Almost immediately Dad brought up another, and then another, while Jake mostly brought up an empty hook to be baited again. He caught another kahawai, but it was too small so they threw it back. He watched it dance back down through the murk to the bottom. He wondered if it would tell its friends to stop eating the free food — that there were consequences!

  ‘This wind’s come up,’ said his dad. Jake felt it tossing his hair around, and the boat started rocking. He looked out to where the wind was coming from and saw only a wall of mist, advancing towards them across the sea.

  ‘Dad.’ He pointed. His father turned and Jake saw a look of alarm cross his face. Within seconds, the mist was upon them, swirling in the breeze. Waves began to grow beside them. ‘Pull in your line,’ said Dad. ‘Right now.’

  Jake silently did as he was told, and placed the rod in the bottom of the boat.

  ‘Grab the anchor.’ Dad was on his feet, crouched low, moving towards the outboard motor. Jake struggled with the heavy anchor, but he could tell as he pulled that it had already come loose, that they had already stated drifting. But for how long? And in which direction? He could no longer see the shore, or even the island. He wasn’t even sure which way it was. The wind didn’t help — each gust seemed to come from a different point. Don’t panic, he thought. Dad’ll get us out of here.

  But his father was having trouble with the outboard motor. It spluttered and coughed again and would only roar to life for a second before dying.

  ‘We’re going to have to row for it! Swap places.’ He had to shout over the sound of the wind and the sloshing of the waves. Jake moved to the stern while Dad took up his place in the centre of the boat. He carefully lowered the rowlocks in place and began to row. How did he know which way to go?