The Stranding

by Karen Viggers

  In the shallows, he strapped the leg-rope around his ankle. He was pleased that the board couldn’t escape him if he was flicked off in the surf. He carried it out into the waves, pushing through the breakers. When he was far enough out, about chest deep, he slid onto the board in a lull between waves, on his stomach, and started paddling, dipping his arms in up to his elbows and pulling strongly. It felt good, free, and the board was surprisingly eager to move. A large wave crested in front of him and he paddled madly to thrust over it before it broke. The Malibu responded and slid up over the wave. Lex smiled. He could get used to this.

  About fifty metres out, he stopped and looked around. Lying on his stomach he couldn’t see much, so he swivelled to sit and search the waves. There had been a pod of whales out here earlier, maybe four of five of them, travelling slowly. He had seen them from the cliffs before he came down to the beach. They had been a few hundred metres out, cruising slowly towards the Point. There was no sign of them now.

  Sitting on the board he felt the tide tugging him shorewards. He shifted back onto his stomach and paddled further out, another fifty metres or so, then sat up and scanned the waves again. Five minutes passed, maybe ten, then he saw a spout rise further out. He was in luck. The whales were still short of the Point, moving slowly. Dropping to his belly again he paddled on, heading towards the whales. It was a reflex reaction. He really had no idea what he planned to do. He had only thought as far as buying the board and paddling out here.

  Another fifty metres and he stopped again, pulled the goggles on and slipped into the water. He wasn’t sure how close he was, whether he’d see anything, and his heart was pounding with excitement. The water was a deep green-blue, light at the surface, with sunrays shafting through. It was like being in another world.

  He looked around. At first, he heard little except the hollow sound of his breathing in the snorkel and the swish of the water, and each time the board bumped against his head it made a dull clunking sound. Then came a sound, a hollow moan that descended deeply before rising again and then trilling downwards. Several notes followed, one sliding into the other, up and down a rolling scale. Whale song. Stunned, Lex clung to the surfboard, shivers running through him in waves. He had company close by. The moment was enormous, humbling, overwhelming.

  Lifting his head out of the water he tried to see how close they were. Two or three minutes passed before a spout rose skywards, about a hundred metres off, vapour rising over the surface of the water in a bushy V. Pulsing with excitement, Lex hauled himself onto the board and paddled in the direction of the spout, slowly now, dipping his hands in quietly. After a while he stopped. It was hard to gauge distance over water and he had no real idea where the whales were. Then below, right beneath the board, he saw a massive dark shadow slip through the deep. A moan ascended through the water and, forty metres off, a slick black back rode to the surface and exhaled a puff of spume with an explosive snort.

  Lex whimpered, and his heart escalated somewhere between exhilaration and fear. But he couldn’t stop now. He paddled close again, then quickly slipped off the board and dipped his face under. Beneath him in the green watery light he could see the slowly moving shapes of three humpback whales gently riding through the haze. They were massive and fluidly buoyant. It was as if they were gliding rather than swimming. Beside one was a smaller shadow, a calf clinging closely to the flank of its mother. They cruised below him, rolling languidly, turning slowly, cruising back. He could see the pointed shapes of their heads, the slow waft of their long pectoral fins, the knobbles that studded their heads and fins, the startling white of their bellies, the long grooves that marked their throats.

  He wondered if they knew he was there, if they were watching him. But of course they knew. This was their world and he was an intruder. With pounding heart, he realised he may have done a silly thing following them out here and moving in so close. They could easily knock him off his board. They could kill him with one swish of an enormous tail. Yet he couldn’t pull out. He was riveted by the incredible sight of them, the grace of their immense bodies suspended in blue, dappled by the shifting shafts of sunlight.

  Suddenly his heart froze and he focused on one whale. It had separated from the pod and came slowly swimming towards him about twenty metres below. The great animal rolled on its side, flashing its white throat and belly, and Lex was startled to see an eye staring at him, surprisingly small. Then the whale rolled again, sliding deeper, and curved away back to the pod. A string of low moans ensued, reverberating through the water. Lex was transfixed, but knew he should leave. The whales had given him time, and perhaps he was too close to the calf.

  Trying not to thrash his fins, he dragged himself back on the board and paddled slowly away.

  On the beach, he collapsed on the sand, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion. Tears came, and he lay on the Malibu, crying as if he would never stop. He was engulfed by conflicting feelings—joy, grief, fear, hysteria—and he allowed it all to wash over and through him, until eventually, exhausted, he rolled onto his back on the unforgiving hardness of the board and stared up into the sky. That had been one of the peak moments of his life. How could that happen, he asked himself, when so recently he had seen the bottom of low?

  When he stood up, he noticed Sash sitting on the rocks watching him, and above the cliffs he saw the shape of Sally, looking down. Sash saw him glance at her and came running across the sand. She was small, pale, alarmed.

  ‘I saw you,’ she said.

  Lex felt drained and unable to engage. ‘What did you see?’ he managed.

  ‘I saw you swimming with the whales.’

  She looked at him with wonder, like he had performed a miracle.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Then you came back, and I saw you lying there on the surfboard for a long time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you crying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sash regarded him with eyes that seemed much older than her years. She took his hand. ‘You’re special,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone swim with the whales.’

  Lex looked out to where he could still see the vapour spouts of the pod, just rounding the Point.

  ‘They let you, didn’t they?’ Sash said. ‘I mean, they didn’t have to, did they?’

  ‘No.’

  Her smile was like a flash of sunlight.

  ‘They like you. Like I do.’

  Lex smoothed his hand over her head. Her hair was warm and soft. She smiled again and they walked together up the path from the beach.

  Nine

  Saturday, market day again. Callista sat at her stall feeling shaky and off-balance. She was nervous about the oystercatcher painting, and whether Lex would show up. Fortunately, the morning had been busy, but it was tricky for her to scan the crowd for him, in between closing sales and sorting change. By late morning she started to think he wouldn’t come.

  Searching for his face yet again among the passers-by, she clashed eyes with the guitar freak and was shocked by the boldness rising in his gaze. He was gyrating his hips while he played, smirking and leering at her. There was no subtlety about him at all. Keeping her face blank, she looked away, annoyed. With her arms folded protectively across her chest, she kept watching out for Lex.

  Then, finally, she caught sight of him in the crowd. Damn. He must have seen her first. She saw him disappear behind a stall and then there he was, passing the church stand. Callista watched him heading towards her, pausing at various stalls. They almost eye-contacted but he slid his eyes away. Good. Her heart galloped. She knew he had been looking for her. She had a few quick moments to rearrange some umbrella paintings and slip the oystercatcher painting onto the display before he swung back her way. When she saw the shape of his shoulders easing along the stalls towards her stand, her hands and heart tingled.

  ‘Busy today, aren’t we?’ he said.

  His voice was rich, quiet and mellow, and meant for only her to hear.

>   ‘Have you been watching me?’

  His slow smile made her breathless.

  ‘It pays to check the lay of the land before you move in.’

  ‘I don’t like being watched.’

  ‘You’ve been doing well today.’ He stepped back a little and scanned her works. ‘This is different,’ he said, closing immediately on the oystercatcher. He lifted it and glanced at her. ‘Is it for me?’

  She hadn’t expected him to be so direct. It caught her out.

  ‘It is for me, isn’t it?’ he insisted.

  She was disarmed by the smile that tweaked his lips.

  ‘I haven’t decided to sell it to you yet,’ she said, feeling cheeky.

  ‘Yes, you have,’ he said. ‘I want it.’

  She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  His face clouded. ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he said, turning away. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’

  He was already gone, unreadable, soaked into the restless crowd. Callista sat down with her heart thudding. She was worried and uncertain. What if he didn’t come back? She’d have blown her chance.

  A lengthy half-hour dragged by. She made a few sales, checked her watch a few times, fobbed off an attempted approach from the sleaze with the guitar grafted to his chest, sorted her change, sipped from her water bottle. The flutter was gone. She was swapping notes and coins with an old lady in a blue cardigan when a hot dog appeared by her hand. It was hanging limply out both ends of its bread roll, bathed in too much tomato sauce.

  ‘Thank you, but I’m vegetarian,’ she said.

  ‘There’s not much meat in this.’

  Lex’s laugh was straight up from his feet. It rocked them both and turned heads nearby. Callista tried to withhold eye contact, but she could feel him too close, watching her as he bit into the hot dog. He was wearing Levi’s today. They looked good on him, snug around his waist. A loose shirt masked the belly he was carrying underneath.

  ‘How much for the oystercatcher?’ he asked, leaning against the easel at the side of her stall.

  ‘It’s not for sale.’

  His face closed and he withdrew a little from the stand. Callista’s heart galloped as his arms folded over his chest.

  ‘It’s a gift,’ she said. ‘Take it. And I have the other one here for you too. I fixed the frame.’ She pulled the painting from under the trestle.

  His eyes were more intense than she remembered, very direct, not shy. He had opened towards her again. Callista saw it in the easing of his shoulders and the relaxed shift of his hand to grasp the wraparound sunglasses nestled in his fine hair. She would have to be careful with him—he was more fragile than she thought. The smile that shot across his face reached through to her toes, until he closed it off by lowering his sunglasses.

  ‘Can I buy you a coffee after this?’ she asked.

  ‘You mean after I finish eating your hot dog? Or after the rabble departs?’

  ‘Either. Or.’

  ‘Do you want me to hang around and entertain you?’

  Was it cheek or arrogance? Callista wasn’t sure. This was a risk, but she was committed to taking it.

  ‘I’ll pack up now,’ she said and started to collect the paintings off the stand. ‘I’m finished with being polite to the public today.’

  ‘You weren’t very polite about the hot dog.’ He was already assisting with shifting paintings into boxes. ‘It was a very good hot dog.’

  ‘It looked like something dead,’ she returned, as she hoicked a box into the back of the Kombi.

  Lex was already there with another box. He dismantled the trestle table while she was folding the tablecloths. It was as if they had done this together before. When they were finished, she dragged the side doors of the Kombi shut. Lex had already let himself into the passenger seat uninvited. It was an intrusion, but she let it go. She climbed into the driver’s seat beside him, her heart somersaulting.

  ‘You’d better tell me who you are before we drive off into the sunset,’ he said. ‘Then I can be sure I’m not being kidnapped.’

  ‘I’m Callista,’ she said. ‘Callista Bennett.’

  Something changed when they drove down the main street, and Callista wasn’t quite sure what it was. But the easiness in him dissolved into quiet tension.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to go to the café,’ he said.

  His eyes were flat and Callista knew he was closing her out and running scared. She’d have to make sure she didn’t pressure him.

  ‘I still have some coffee in my thermos,’ she said. ‘We could go and sit down by the river.’

  ‘All right then.’

  He wound down the window and sat with his elbow hooked outside, about as far away from her as he could get. Callista swung the Kombi down a side street and stopped in a small car park overlooking the river. Today the water was running wide and blue, reflecting the clear spring sky. They sat on a bench chair with the thermos between them, and Callista poured coffee into plastic mugs.

  ‘It’s black, I’m afraid. I don’t have any milk.’

  ‘Black’s fine.’

  She watched him lift the mug to his lips and sip his coffee.

  ‘Are you staying around here?’ she asked.

  He held the mug in both hands and stared at the moving water. ‘For a while.’

  ‘It’s a nice area. I hope you like it. Lots to see. Not too many tourists. It’s peaceful.’

  ‘Yes. I like things quiet.’

  Callista laughed and was surprised at the sound of it—light like a bell. ‘You look like a man who’s had a bit of fun in his time.’

  He smiled briefly, but his face clouded over. ‘Not recently. But I’ll get over it.’

  He looked so forlorn. She watched him sip his coffee. He didn’t speak.

  After a while he shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have dragged you away from the markets. You’ll be losing money doing this.’

  ‘I’m fine. It was my choice to close up shop.’

  They sat awkwardly for a moment while the water flowed impassively by.

  ‘It’s a strange place to settle into.’ Callista tried again. ‘Small-town mentality. But you’ll get to know people.’

  ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.’

  ‘Are you renting a house down here?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve bought an investment property. Just thought I’d stay in it for a while. Get a feel for the place.’

  ‘Well, I’m a local through and through,’ Callista said. ‘If you like I can show you around sometime. There are some great spots along the coast that are hard to find without a bit of local knowledge.’

  He looked at her for the first time since they’d sat down. ‘What do you do around here?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ve seen it. I paint. The beach art keeps me alive. I make enough money over summer to pay rent for the year.’

  ‘What about the rest of the year?’

  ‘I paint other stuff. If the mood takes me. Or I do nothing—just waiting for inspiration to strike.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  She shrugged. It was hard to explain. Nobody except Jordi ever understood it. ‘I walk the beaches. Feel the air. Watch the light. If there’s something special, I paint it.’

  Lex was listening with interest. ‘I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.’

  Callista laughed. ‘Art doesn’t always come from your bones. It comes from your heart. And your mind. You feel it.’

  ‘You’ve lost me then. I don’t have a heart either.’

  He stopped as if he had run out of puff. Callista watched him drain his coffee.

  ‘I have to get going,’ he said, standing up. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  She waved up at him without standing. ‘I’ll see you ’round then.’

  He walked back towards the markets with his hands dug in his pockets. It hadn’t exactly been a dream conversation, but it was a start. He was interested in her. And Jordi was right. She’d have t
o have the patience of a death adder.

  Callista couldn’t stop thinking about Lex. It was as if he had invaded her mind. She drove home from the markets wildly happy, singing loudly and tunelessly, enjoying the blast of air riding in through the open window. At night, she woke thinking of him, trying to recall the blue of his eyes, and shivering each time she remembered the way his smile made her toes tingle. She’d have to be careful or he could become an obsession. And obsession was not a healthy thing for her, unless she was focusing on a challenging piece of work, something that required constant determination and inspiration.

  The fact was, she had developed a crush on him. Very girlish and pathetic, but madly exciting. And she figured that a little bit of obsession couldn’t be too harmful. Not if she kept a check on it, and reminded herself frequently that reality rarely delivered what dreams promised. What was there in life if she couldn’t indulge in a little bit of fantasy and excitement? She wafted around her house in the gully humming, singing and painting, and started planning how she might possibly meet up with him again.

  The problem was trying to find a way to cross tracks with him without seeming too obvious. For instance, she couldn’t just drive out to the Point and drop in on him, because she wasn’t even supposed to know where he lived. Sue had said he didn’t come into town very often, so there wasn’t much chance of running into him down the street, and she couldn’t waste a lifetime hanging out in town anyway. In the end, the only pathetic strategy she could come up with was to organise for Jordi to ring her from the servo if he saw the Volvo heading into town.

  He didn’t ring for days. Then the call came. She was midway through painting a boatshed when the phone rang. She knew, even before she lifted the receiver, that it would be Jordi.

  Callista tossed her paints into the sink and ran for the Kombi. She was halfway into town before she realised she’d forgotten her sandals. Oh well, he’d have to see her as she was—paint-spattered and barefoot.

  Slowing down in the main street, Callista knew this was a good day. On Saturdays when the markets weren’t on, there was always a sausage sizzle in town. It was a fundraiser for the church, subsidised by Henry Beck. He and Helen would be outside the butchery turning sausages on a portable barbeque, and Mrs Jensen would be collecting the money. Of course, Lex may try to dodge all that. But if he wanted to stop by Sue’s for a coffee, he’d have no choice but to get caught up in it.