19
It’s 5.30am; Zoe and I are at the old jetty, helping Dev get the boat in the water. I haven’t offered Dev any explanation about Zoe. How can I with her here? But Dev’s got this ‘if-that’s-the-way-you-want-it’ look about his mouth. Mei’s not far away, helping Danielle and her dad get their boat down to the water’s edge. She looks sorry, keeps glancing over, and I hate the way my stomach churns, the way I want to go over and say it’s okay. But it’s not, is it? You need a mate to believe in you, no matter what you do. Dev’s calling for the bait and gear. The all-clear will be given at six and you have to clock in before 5pm or you’ll be disqualified. I’ve signed out for us already.
‘What’s the rules again, mate?’
‘Heaviest fish in any category or largest catch. Only forty whiting per boat though.’ It’ll be sixty whiting if we count Zoe but I don’t want to do that. This is my day, mine and Dev’s. Zoe’s just a phantom, a shadow in the corner of my mind. ‘Six big reds. Or the heaviest,’ I add. It must be the way I say ‘big reds’; it makes Dev look up. ‘Snapper? That’s what you’re after? We didn’t get any the other day.’
‘Grandad often did. They’re out there. Mr Houser gets them all the time.’
I carry on putting the fish box in, wider than an esky but just as high. I dunk the hessian bag over the side of the boat and lay it on top of the open box. There are many sections to a competition. Heaviest in one category will win but I want a snapper – and no ordinary snapper – only an old man will do.
It’s six o’clock. Dev’s still checking the life jackets when Mr Houser’s voice comes over the megaphone with final instructions and wishing everyone a lucky day. All the fishing boats are waiting and bobbing like a pre-dawn Viking raid (Gran read that one to me too), with the cars and trailers as still as sentinels on the sand. Don’t recognise too many of the boats – must be people from Adelaide and further up the peninsula. Lots of tinnies but a few trailer sailers are even bigger than Mr Houser’s Shark Cat. I tighten my hold on the side of the Sea Wolf. Dev’s ready to pull the pin out.
‘The weather’s good for fishing? Right?’ Zoe. I don’t answer her; Dev barely nods. Though, to be fair, she hardly says another word all day. I’m impressed by that. It must be hard. When she’s at home she talks even heaps more than I do, like a lecture or something, all full of those question marks of hers with no space in between to answer them. Gran reckons that’s another interesting thing about fishing – it’s the quietest I get. It must work on Zoe too.
Mr Houser’s stopped going on – here it is – the siren blares and it’s instantly drowned by a hundred outboard motors being pulled into life. Mr Houser is always the last onto the water but that hasn’t stopped him and Shawn from winning before.
I lean back, feeling the power push me further as the boat surges forward. Dev gives more throttle and the hull lifts high. I grin at Zoe then. She looks really weird, like she’s suddenly remembered what it’s like being in a fishing boat. Gran gets that same look sometimes, like the time I took her to the reserve and made her sit on the swing.
I shout out to Dev, ‘To the gutter.’ And point to the lighter blue water. Others are heading that way too. The first few will have first divvies at the fishing because everyone understands too many boats will spook the fish. I’m started on baiting up hooks with pillies as soon as we slow. There aren’t too many other boats around. Some head off south, closer to the wreck.
I tap GrandadTheKeeper_’s old foam esky. ‘We can use this for live bait. Snapper really like fresh squid and crabs,’ I inform Dev, ‘not to mention my secret weapon.’
Dev grins but he doesn’t ask me what I mean. He sure has great self-control. ‘If there’s a snapper out here, I guess you’ll get him, mate.’
Zoe sits up on the front above the wheel. Sure hope she doesn’t fall asleep and slide off or something. Dev starts into serious fishing mode; his face relaxes, he stares out to sea awhile. I can tell he’s only thinking of the job at hand as he takes off his T-shirt, showing another eagle soaring on his back, its vision on something beyond, and – you know what? – suddenly I don’t mind that Zoe’s there. She’s got a hat and a book, but even with her sunnies on I catch an odd expression on her face as Dev peels off. Hope flares; maybe she’ll relent and stop seeing him as a guy with a shadow and plait and tatts, and get to like him, same as me.
The magic of being out there takes over for me too. There’s something about the smell of salt and fish bait in the early morning air. I bait up my two rods. Throw a hand-line in too. Doesn’t take me long to get a bite. ‘Squid?’ I try to sound like it’s the best thing to catch at first – ‘Bait for the big ones’ – as I stuff it in Grandad’s esky.
Five squid and five whiting later I’m not so cocky. We should have caught a lot more by now. Fishing competitions should be at night. Too hard during the day.
‘Not already?’ Zoe’s opening up the lunch esky. ‘What time is it?’
‘One.’ Zoe’s handing over Gran’s sandwiches. I take a Coke. Dev’s got a ginger beer.
I think the food helps me get this idea. I start baiting up for an eight-kilo outfit. If you want to catch a big one you have to be ready, eh? And not give up.
This is when I get my secret weapon out. The snapper haven’t come by themselves; now is the time to take the offensive.
‘What’s that?’ Dev, breathing over my shoulder as I get the berley out.
‘Frozen berley.’
Zoe wrinkles up her nose. ‘That’s the stuff he was mixing up last night. Ponged the shed out. And then he put it in the freezer.’
‘What’s in it?’ Dev leans over for a closer look.
‘Fish guts from the catch yesterday, pillies, fish oil. I used Gran’s old mincer.’
‘You’re dedicated, mate. I’ll say that for you.’ A compliment from Dev. I let it settle somewhere deep inside.
I drop a few of the blocks over the side in a keeper net. ‘It’ll make a constant trail, you see. Grandad always said that the snapper won’t bite if the trail of berley gives out – they’ll turn round and finish up what they were following. That’s why he froze it. It lasts longer.’
I get my rod resting in a holder while I finish the Coke. Dev’s glancing down at me, sort of frowning, getting ready to break something to me I mightn’t like.
‘Reckon you might have set your sights a mite high, mate. Too early in the season for snapper.’
Too early? What’s he talking about? Just swallowing my mouthful so I can disagree but Dev keeps on. ‘I was up at Whyalla January long weekend. When they have the snapper championships . . .’
‘You win?’
Dev chuckles. ‘Nah, mate. Some bloke got a 13.5-kilogram, but he didn’t beat the record.’
Record? There’s a record? I squint up at Dev. ‘What’s the record?’
‘Fifteen kilo and it’s only happened further up the gulf.’
‘That’s mega huge. Mr Houser’s never got one that heavy.’
‘Don’t you get any ideas either. They’d never be that big in October, nor this far south.’
‘Grandad used to get lots of nannies.’
‘Did he ever take you on the competition?’
‘Not this one – hey!’ Suddenly my ratchet’s singing. ‘Yeow!’ My Coke goes flying as I pick up the rod; pull back to set the hook. My line is disappearing so fast it’s like something out of Jaws. I almost panic.
‘There’s plenty of line, mate.’ Dev. Soothing but watchful.
I keep the pressure on, playing the fish, letting line out, reeling in. We see the first sign of colour ten minutes later. ‘It’s a big red. It has to be.’ I start to reel in, to bring it closer. Zoe’s starting to squeal. Then suddenly the line goes slack – like, hello? Nobody home. I try not to swear.
‘Too bad, mate. At least we know they’re out here.’
‘Look!’ Zoe this time, peering over the front of the boat. ‘There’s something out in front.’
I see them. ‘It’s snapper!’ I’m reeling in, ready to bait up and cast again, but Dev’s telling me to hang on. Something’s wrong.
‘Looks like they’re not staying, mate.’
I watch the spasmodic activity of the fish; coming in closer to the boat but not close enough. Swimming away again.
‘Maybe the one that broke spooked them?’ Dev’s contribution.
But I’m reaching into my bait esky. ‘Nah. It’s the berley. There isn’t enough to keep ‘em now they’re here.’ I cut up one of the squid I caught and drop pieces over the side.
‘How did you know that?’ Dev’s looking at me funny. I haven’t seen that expression on someone’s face close up before so it’s hard to tell but I think he’s impressed.
‘Know what?’ I’m dropping bait-sized pieces of offal in the water now. I brought extra just in case.
‘That snapper love to eat.’
‘Grandad said you can never overfeed a snapper.’
Dev’s excited now and he’s got a few good ideas of his own. ‘Cast further out, mate. Up at Whyalla the bigger ones would hang back.’
Now it’s on and I’m really pumped. I’ve baited up again with double hooks. So has Dev and we’ve got a spare in a holder. Dev’s rod bends like an acrobat almost the moment he drops the line in. Here it comes. Not one but two! A double header of nannies.
Then I get a big red. Dev lands another. In the space of half an hour we’ve got twenty nannies.
‘We’ll get too many nannies soon – we’ll have to start releasing them.’ Dev’s counting.
‘Just one more drop-in. We still can’t win – the nannies might be snapper but they aren’t heavy enough.’ I pull the largest big red closer. ‘This won’t win either. It only looks about nine kilo.’ Dev doesn’t argue with me and I drop my line in again, but this time there’s nothing. Like the snapper had all come to a party but now it’s time to go home, thank you very much.
‘Oh hell, we’ve lost them.’ I’m trying to think what could have happened.
Dev offers a few suggestions: tide change? shark? wind?
That’s it, I bet. The wind. We’ve turned slightly, the breeze is up. Dev’s looking to me to see what I want to do. I appreciate that. Like he thinks I’m capable.
I make a decision. ‘Let’s pull up the pick. We’ll go over near the island. There’s a bit of a reef there.’
‘You sure, mate? There’s not much time left.’
‘There has to be – if we go in now we won’t win anyway. We can’t give up now.’
Zoe’s not reading her book at this point: ‘Does it matter?’
Does it matter? What’s with her? Of course winning matters. That’s what competitions are for. I don’t even answer her.
We’re trolling now, dragging the berley. It’s Dev who sees the terns first. They’re over the reef, swooping, soaring. Dev grins at me. ‘Looks like they’re having a banquet over there, mate.’
‘Yeah.’ And where terns are feeding there’s likely to be bigger fish patrolling.
We turn the motor off and bob, letting the wind bring us in near the reef. The sea’s basically behaving itself, not too much slop. I drop a line in and almost immediately my rod doubles into a curve. ‘Quick, Dev—’ I grab hold of the rod and set the drag just as the fish takes off, stripping the line from the reel. I’m panting already, just thinking of the fight ahead.
‘Dev, it’s too big. I should have heavier line.’
‘Let it have its head, mate. Not too tight.’ Dev’s not so casual now, his voice taut like the line.
‘It’ll break—’ Suddenly the line goes limp. This is past swearing. I try not to let my eyes water. I’m getting too stressed now, trying too hard. ‘He’s gone . . .’ I start winding up the slack. ‘Hey!’ The rod’s bowing again.
‘Let it out!’ Dev’s standing now. ‘More! Back the drag off a bit.’
‘He’s turned. Whoa – is he strong!’ I’m breathing fast one second, holding my breath the next.
‘Hold him, mate—’
‘He’s stopping again—’ I’m frantically winding in the slack. ‘He’s still there. Look at him go!’
Zoe’s put the book away. ‘Behind us.’ The water looks like it’s boiling; the line cutting across the water. Jumping dolphins! It’s heading for the anchor rope!
‘Change his direction. Guide him! Pull him! Not too hard.’ What a contradiction, pull, not too hard. I hope the line doesn’t break. With Dev’s advice I alternate between pulling up and letting go and after a full fifteen minutes I can finally see pink under the water.
‘It’s a big red! It’s a keeper!’
Dev isn’t celebrating yet. He picks up the gaff. ‘We’ve got to land him yet, mate.’
I wind in the line; the fish’s tiring at last and as it comes alongside the boat it lies still, exhausted. So am I. ‘Get the net!’ Dev uses the gaff as I lean over with the net and we both haul the fish onboard. It’s an old man red. I trace my finger along the hump on his head. It has to be thirteen kilo at least and I only had eight-kilo line. Not bad, eh?
Now Dev grins. ‘This is nearly as big as you. Reckon he’s a winner, mate?’
And Zoe produces a camera. ‘Smile, guys.’
20
Zoe’s done okay. She hasn’t interfered once on the boat; even got excited when I landed the big red at the end. I didn’t realise she could be like that. And now that the catches are weighed-in and I’m the winner of the snapper section, Zoe actually manages to look a part of it. Proud. That’s it. She looks proud of me. It’s a bit of a rush really. She even gets into the photo of Dev and me and the snapper for the Sunday Mail. And she keeps clicking her little camera as I go up to Mr Houser for the prize.
Weird, not once did I think of the prize – I just wanted to win. An echo sounder for the boat. Shawn Houser looks green – not sure if he’s seasick or just plain jealous. Should see him eyeing off Dev too – even looks like he wants to be on my side for once. I’ll let him sweat a bit first. The only thing that could make me any happier now is knowing if it’ll all work out with Dev.
Zoe’s still cool toward Dev at the end of the awards-giving. ‘Come home soon,’ is all she says to me with a glance at Dev; she’s not antagonistic like the other night. At least having her on the boat did something positive but she’s still looking a little like she’s leaving me with the lions at the zoo – it’s just that they’re behind the rails now. It rankles. Only Gran looks at me like that.
It’s later that my world is totally annihilated. Armageddon, worldwide nuclear war – and it’s not even Zoe or Gran who flicks the switch; it’s Dev.
His bag’s already packed and by the bike when I go down to the boatshed after the celebrations. How could he have packed that quick? Then it hits me. He must have started last night. Words, pictures, colours all swirling in my head. I can’t sort it out. I stand there, watching Dev. He’s walking out of the boatshed, putting his black jacket on. It’s got creases all over it. Old. Never noticed before. It’s really old.
‘I’m sorry it has to be like this, mate.’ He’s close now. He looks older too. ‘I didn’t realise it would get so complicated . . .’
Somehow I have to clear my head. Complicated, he said. Yeah, somehow it got like that but it doesn’t have to be. What about me? I try and make sense of what’s inside. Dev says you should talk, take responsibility for what you feel. What if you don’t know what you feel? I say the first thing that comes into my head.
‘I want you to stay.’
‘Mate, so do I want to.’
See? He wants to. Dare I start feeling a bit better? He wants to be with me, right? So why is he strapping on the bag?
‘But we had a great time today. Fishing. It was great,
wasn’t it?’
Dev nods.
‘And tomorrow’s Gala Day.’ We were going to offer rides on the bike. Have so much fun. I’m losing the thread. Why won’t anyone listen to what I want? I want you, Dev . . . But how can I say that? How long before I’ll sound like a whining kid? I can feel the burning in my throat starting, the sting behind my eyes. Dev’s not going to listen, I can tell. He’s a nice guy but when he makes his mind up – well, you’ve just got to pray it’s what you wanted as well. What’s the use? And I can’t stop the whining, can’t stop, can’t stop – ‘You said you cared.’
Dev turns. ‘It’s all true, mate. Everything I said. But it’s best I go now.’ He doesn’t look too happy. Why is he doing it then? ‘Why?’
Dev doesn’t answer. It always happens like this. No one tells me things or explains, always half-sentences, stuff I don’t know, never finishing what’s on their mind. Dev’s putting his helmet on. I’m thinking of things to keep him here, to get him to explain. I have to know. Is it me? If he wants me he can stay. Can’t he? Then I hit on it.
‘It’s Zoe, isn’t it?’ Dev pauses a second. Bullseye!
‘Zoe’s okay. Just give her a go.’
That cuts the wind out of my sails. Sure she was okay on the boat – but Zoe okay?
‘Why should I? She’s nothing to me.’
‘Nor am I.’ But you are, can’t you see?
I’ve said it out loud. ‘You are.’ Am I shouting? I can’t tell – noises now, maybe they’re in my head – yet I can still hear Dev.
‘Three weeks ago I wasn’t.’
Waves in my head, no, it’s horses, horses riding the waves, seagulls crying, the fish, the horses trampling the fish, washing on the rocks at Rogue’s Point . . . three weeks? Is that all?
‘I can’t stay.’ Dev wants me to let it go. I know. It’s brave to not make a fuss. I’ve always felt brave – with Mei, Shawn, Prescott, dares at school. But this is different. This is the first time I see the danger, feel the fear. But I’m not giving up.
The Keeper Page 7