by Tyler Keevil
Venus started doing up her leash, ignoring the ceremony.
‘Who are we praying to?’ I asked.
‘The sea-gods. It’s a Hawaiian tradition.’
Venus yawned. ‘It’s more inch-deep beatnik bullshit, is what it is.’
‘I pray for Venus’s protection, too, even though she’s a cynic.’
Then we were ready.
We waded into the shallows, which were as warm and frothy as a bath full of Epsom salts. The animals sat and watched from shore. When the water got deep enough we lay on our boards and stroked towards the break, paddling over the smaller waves and turtle-rolling through the larger ones. Ahead of me I could see their boards glowing like Kryptonite in the darkness, vanishing every so often as they sank into a trough.
At the break, we swivelled around and pulled up alongside each other, facing towards shore. For a minute we floated in reverent silence, rising and falling as waves swept beneath us. There was no real way to differentiate between the sky, the sea, and the land. It was just a sprawling morass of black, awesome and fathomless. A kind of primal oblivion.
I said, ‘It’s like we’ve stepped off the edge of the world.’
‘We have,’ Bea said. ‘Or the edge of the continent, at least.’
Her face was luminous, eerie. She started paddling – deep strokes to either side of her board – and slid smoothly away from us, melting into the dark. I could hear a wave coming.
She called back, ‘Vaya con Dios!’
‘See you in the next life!’ I shouted.
‘What are you talking about?’ Venus asked.
Before I could tell her, a large swell rolled under us and seemed to envelop Bea and she vanished, spirited away into the night. About ten seconds later the glow of her face and arms reappeared, but much smaller – an apparition hovering near shore.
‘Magic,’ I said.
Venus was already looking behind her, gauging the waves.
‘This one’s mine,’ she said.
She paddled off ahead of me, and another phantom wave came to carry her away, her whoops fading with distance. I was left alone. I felt like the last paratrooper on an aircraft, flying a night mission – facing that leap of faith into the void. I looked back and saw a dark mound moving towards me, vacuuming in a backwash of water. I paddled furiously and felt my board tilt as the wave surged beneath me, and then I was sliding down towards the abyss. I popped up into a crouch, wobbling and almost falling, but I held my stance as I cut across the face, the water gliding beneath me like black glass, like obsidian, glinting. I rode blind, guided by my board, until the wave folded over me in a shroud and buried me underwater.
I came up gasping, disorientated, exhilarated.
‘How was it?’
It was Bea’s voice. I could see her ghost-face, glowing off to the left.
‘Like surfing the afterlife.’
They were already heading back out. I flutter-kicked to catch up. For the next half-hour we dedicated ourselves to the rhythms of the ocean: riding in and paddling out, and waiting for the next set of waves. Everything else was washed away in the dark. Between sets, we bobbed at the break, lying on our bellies, with our legs dangling off the ends of our boards.
As we were doing that, Venus said, ‘We should have a surfing contest.’
‘Isn’t that an oxymoron?’ Bea asked.
‘Come on. It’ll be wicked.’
‘V,’ Bea said, ‘don’t ruin it.’
‘Okay – Bea’s laming out.’ Venus turned to me. ‘What about you?’
I shrugged. I was kind of sick of contests and competitions, after the stuff I’d been through with the hitcher and his brother in the desert. I thought I’d left all that behind me.
‘What kind of contest?’
‘We’ll see who can ride their next wave closest to shore. I’ll go first.’
I didn’t really agree to it, but she was already looking back, waiting for the next good swell. The sky had lightened to grey and the stars were going out, one by one, fading away into the dullness of day and taking the magic of the night with them.
‘Here she is. This one’s mine, you wave-whores.’
She paddled off. When the wave came she caught it and rode it ferociously, thrashing back and forth across the face. As the crest began to break she adopted a low crouch, milking her momentum. Eventually, close to shore, she stepped off and waved to us in the half-light.
‘Guess it’s my turn,’ I said to Bea.
‘You don’t have to.’
There was another roller coming. I couldn’t resist.
‘Might as well humour her.’
I caught the wave and rode it in, but it was just a mushy little ankle-buster. I didn’t make it as far as Venus – I lost my balance and bailed out, about ten yards short of her.
She flipped me the finger. ‘Sucks to be you.’
I waded over to her. We both turned to look at Bea, who was bobbing out amid the swells, which had gone teal green in the growing dawn.
‘I don’t think she’s into it,’ I said.
‘Wait,’ Venus said, ‘here she goes.’
A giant wave, like the back of a whale, rose up beneath Bea and carried her forward. She slid smoothly down the face, but she didn’t get into the usual surfing crouch. Instead she adopted a kneeling position, riding it that way, with both arms out at her side, palms up, as if asking the water to elevate or uplift her. Her hair snaked out behind her in a Medusa tangle.
‘That doesn’t count,’ Venus said.
The wave carried Bea past us, and further, without ever really breaking. It just settled and slowly dissolved, effectively landing her right on the beach, where Sprite and Belle were waiting. She stood up majestically, hefted her board, and walked off without looking back.
‘I guess she wins,’ I said.
‘Come on,’ Venus said, turning away, ‘let’s catch a few more without her.’
I followed her out and we kept riding, but the moon had gone down, the sun had come up, and other people had started to arrive. It began to feel like just another day at the beach.
chapter 67
When I emerged from the water, my eyes were slitted against the sting of salt and my limbs felt loose and gelatinous, like the arms of a jellyfish. Beatrice was stretched out on her towel, with one arm draped across her face to shield it from the sun, and the cat and dog curled up at her feet in their funny yin-yang position. She’d taken off her wetsuit to suntan in a bikini top. On her torso was a string of tattoos – Cantonese symbols, delicately etched in black ink, like calligraphy. They ran from her solar plexus down to her belly-button. I knew the top three meant freedom, vitality, and creativity. She’d had two more added since the last time I’d seen her. I didn’t know what they meant and I didn’t study them for long.
I eased down on the towel beside her. She must have heard me. She lifted her arm, opened one eye, and smiled.
‘How you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Like I’ve been reborn.’
‘Where’s V?’
I pointed. ‘She didn’t want to come in yet.’
Bea shifted on to her elbow, shielding her eyes to look out. Venus was bobbing near the break. The offshore wind was picking up, and the waves were getting choppier, but she was still making out all right.
‘She’s pretty good,’ I said.
‘She fights the water too much.’
As we watched Venus catch the next wave, I asked Bea about her new tattoos.
‘That one,’ she said, pointing to her midriff, ‘is sex. And this one is energy.’
The energy was just above her belly button. The skin surrounding the symbol still glowed faintly red. It was recent, I guess.
‘Where’d you get it done?’ I asked.
‘This place up the coast in Mendocino – Voodoo Ink. I want one more big one.’ She placed a hand below her belly and above her bikini line, where her womb was. ‘Right here. The symbol for goddess.’
She starte
d telling me about a statue she’d seen, in this tiny rural museum, while travelling through Central America. She said the statue had been made by a lost civilisation that pre-dated the Aztecs. It depicted a woman with big hips and big breasts and a big belly. Lines had been carved into the stone of the stomach, signifying stretch marks. Bea traced a line across her own stomach to demonstrate.
‘It was their way of showing that she’d given birth,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that incredible? That’s what these people used to worship – birth and life and nature. The earth mother.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘Same old. The Europeans massacred them and imposed Christianity. All that’s left now are a few statues like that, and we’re stuck with shitty patriarchal religions. Why did we have to get rid of our goddesses? Chicks like Nike and Athena and Isis totally kicked ass.’
‘You should bring them back,’ I said. ‘Start your own religion.’
‘Totally. Like the scientology guy.’
‘I could be your first disciple.’
Bea stuck her forefinger in the sand and traced a circle. ‘I would demand utter, monk-like devotion.’
‘I’m part monk already. I’ve got the celibacy thing nailed.’
She laughed and added some lines to her circle, radiating out from the centre like wheel spokes. I stared at the design for a few seconds, trying to place it.
‘What is that?’ I asked.
‘A mandala – a symbol of wholeness.’
‘Shit. I knew it.’
I told Bea about the vision quest the hitcher had forced me to go on, and the pattern he’d made in the sand, and what he’d said to me that night: lose yourself and find the key.
‘You can’t lose your self,’ Bea said. ‘That’s the whole of your psyche, and the goal of individuation. He must have meant lose your ego and you’ll be free.’
‘Could be. That guy had a tendency to mix things up.’
‘Did it work? Do you feel free?’
‘I’m single for the first time in years. That’s freedom, right?’
‘It’s a kind of freedom.’ She wiped out her mandala with her palm. ‘A kind I miss.’
‘You seem fairly settled, these days.’
‘I am settled. It’s good.’ She gazed out at the water, to where Venus was struggling among the waves. ‘But I wonder about us in the long run. You know me.’
I nodded. I’d seen her flutter through so many lovers’ lives, elusive as a butterfly.
‘When I was little,’ she said, ‘my dad used to tell me all the old stories of the Nez Perce – our tribe’s myths and legends. My favourite was this one about the picky princess.’
I lay back on the towel, feeling it hot against my back. ‘What was she picky about?’
‘Basically, all the braves in the village wanted to marry her. They each took their turn going over to her teepee and trying their luck. She’d string them along for a while but always got bored eventually. She wouldn’t pick one. She was looking for something else.’
I rolled on my side and closed my eyes, listening to her voice. Down at the surf the waves pounded on as steadily as tom-tom drums, acting as a kind of backdrop to her story.
‘Finally her father – the chief – got tired of this. He announced that he’d make her pick her husband blindfolded. On the big day guys came from all over, hoping to be the one. She was allowed to touch their faces and torsos to size them up.’ I felt Bea’s fingers on my face, tracing my cheeks, my nose, my lips. ‘Finally, she found one she liked, and made her choice. But nobody had ever seen this guy before. He said he came from a tribe far away.’
I opened my eyes. ‘A real mystery man, eh?’
‘Yep. But she couldn’t change her mind. She had to go back with him to live with his people. And get this – they were all wolves. This guy was a wolf spirit. If she wanted to marry him, she’d have to become a wolf spirit, too. So she did, and she lived a wild life forever.’
‘That’s so you.’
‘I know.’ She sighed, leaning back on her arms and turning her face up to the sun. ‘Sometimes I think that’s what I’m waiting for. My wolf spirit. Does that make sense?’
‘Sure. You were obviously traumatised by your father’s stories.’
She threw a handful of sand in my face. I was already laughing, so the sand went right in my mouth. It got in my eyes, too. Then, when I was choking and blinded like that, Bea attacked. She started using all these Kung Fu moves on me: elbow strikes and knife hands and hammer fists. She even kneed me in the ribs at one point. I wrestled and squirmed, trying to fend off the assault. I kept apologising over and over. At the same time, I couldn’t stop laughing.
‘Bastard,’ she said, and gave me a final punch.
Our battle had left the towels all tangled and sandy. We straightened them out and flopped back down, side by side. We were both breathing hard, and my skin had that sticky, sweaty, after-sea feeling. As we lay there, recuperating, I heard the scuffle of feet on sand. Venus was trudging up the beach, dragging her surfboard. I’d been lying on her towel, so I shifted over to make room for her. She was dripping brine and shivering like a shipwreck victim. She wedged her surfboard upright in the sand, tombstone-like, and leaned against it.
‘Hey, baby,’ Bea said. ‘You were out a long time.’
‘Good waves.’
Venus sat with her back to the board while she caught her breath. Then she started digging a hole in the sand. I don’t know why. I guess she had a hard time sitting still. Belle went over to check it out, as if wondering why a person was doing what a dog was normally supposed to do. She poked her nose in the hole, and Venus pushed her away.
‘What do you guys want to do tonight?’ Bea asked.
Venus grunted. ‘I’ve got my gig.’
There was a long pause. It was fairly awkward.
‘Of course,’ Bea said. ‘Cool.’
‘It would be wicked to see you play,’ I said.
Venus made a non-committal sound in her throat, and kept digging.
We decided to head back at noon. By then we were all sun-seared and water-weary, and it was a long trudge with our boards up the wooden steps to the parking lot. As we approached the Neon, I noticed odd markings all over it. Somebody had keyed up the doors and hood, making jagged scrapes in the paintwork. We stood looking down at the damage. Bea had Sprite cradled in her arms. The cat twisted around to look at me, and meowed.
‘What shitheads,’ Venus said.
‘Must be out-of-towners,’ Bea said. ‘Locals would never do that.’
‘Luckily she’s already pretty beat-up.’
While they lashed the surfboards to the roof, I leaned over the hood and examined the scratches more closely. I couldn’t be sure, but a few of the markings seemed to be connected, like a constellation, in the shape of a snake.
After we got in, I asked Bea, ‘Is my mezcal bottle still there?’
She had to root through the litter in the passenger footwell, but found it eventually. ‘This?’ she said, holding it up.
‘Guess they didn’t see it.’
She peered into the bottle, turning it back and forth. ‘Is that a snake?’
‘A cobra, I think.’
‘We definitely have to try this.’
‘I did,’ I said, starting the car. ‘It doesn’t work. It’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac.’
Venus said, ‘You sure didn’t need an aphrodisiac last night.’
They both laughed. I didn’t. I was still thinking about those marks on my car. Then, when we were pulling out of the parking lot, I heard a familiar chainsaw buzz in the distance. It came from somewhere down the highway. I waited, listening, with my signal ticking – but no motorbikes appeared. The sound faded, like a hornet meandering away.
‘You okay?’ Bea asked.
‘Sure. Fine.’ I peered down the highway, to make sure it was all clear, and pulled out into the northbound lane. ‘I was just thinking it might be time for me to be moving on.�
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Venus leaned forward, sticking her head between the seats. ‘You’re going?’
‘I should probably head back some time tomorrow.’ The damage to the Neon might have been a coincidence, but I wasn’t about to risk it.
Bea said, ‘You only just got here.’
‘That’s true.’ I nodded stoically, doing my best impersonation of the hitcher. ‘But you know what they say about guests. They’re like fish.’
They both looked at me, and waited for the punchline.
‘After three days, they start to stink.’
chapter 68
‘You could at least phone the venue.’
‘You phone them.’
‘It’s your fundraiser. I’ve got no clout.’
The voices coaxed me out of sleep. My skin felt all crusted with salt. I was on the sofa, my makeshift bed. After the beach we’d come back to their place and I’d crashed out. Now Venus and Beatrice were in their bedroom, having an argument of some sort.
‘One guy won’t matter,’ Bea said.
‘It defeats the whole point of ladies’ night.’
‘Who would care?’
‘My band would care. The audience would care.’
I smiled. They were arguing over me. Then I noticed Sprite. She lay on the floor by the sofa, watching me through narrowed eyes. She knew exactly what I was up to.
‘You’re so goddamn pious,’ I said.
I started doing that thing you do, when you want to let people know you’re waking up. I rolled over and thrashed around on the sofa. I stretched. I mumbled. I yawned and smacked my lips – like a big, lazy lion. The argument stopped. They’d heard me.
Bea came out first, followed by Venus. Venus had changed into jeans, torn at the knees, and combat boots. Her hair was spiked, her lips black, her lashes layered in mascara.
‘Hey, guys,’ I said, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just after six,’ Bea said.