Ocean's Gift

by Carlton, Demelza

  I like his cousin already.

  “So I told him about you. You told me you know your way around a boat, and he thinks you’ll be perfect!”

  I hesitated. He probably sold me as the descendant of Captain Cook, Columbus and Captain Jack Sparrow. “Now look, crewing a boat out to Rottnest and some kayaking on the Swan River isn’t like handling a fishing boat offshore...”

  “Nah mate, you’ll be great. You’ll get to go fishing every day, your food and accommodation are provided, what else could you ask for?” Dean sounded like he was trying to sell it to me.

  The certainty that you didn’t just pull this out of your arse?

  “Look, he needs someone as soon as possible. How soon can you get up here?”

  Dean’s in Geraldton, then.

  “I could finish up at the end of the week and fly up on Sunday,” I told him reluctantly.

  “Cool, I’ll get my cousin to sort out your flights and he’ll meet you out on the islands. You can see how it goes the first week and if it works out you get paid to go fishing for the rest of your holidays. Seeya.” He hung up.

  Shit. What’ve I got myself into? Knowing Dean, this was going to be a disaster. Oh well, next trip I can always get back at him by putting huge spiders in his swag. He’s terrified of them, but he always forgets to zip his swag up properly. And he screams like a girl when he finds them, too.

  What’s the worst that can happen? A week on a free fishing charter and possibly getting paid to fish for weeks after it. And if it didn’t work out, the next three months of seeing Dean do a high-pitched jig every night when he found spiders in his swag. Hell, there wasn’t a downside that I could see.

  I started writing down a list of things to pack.

  5. Sirena

  The voyage was long and arduous. After consideration, I’d chosen the very islands I’d cursed as a child as the best starting point to gather information. I had visited them in the interim, but it was my first, stormy swim that came to mind as we approached the continental shelf.

  It was a stunning contrast to my first lone swim to land. Much time had passed and I was now an elder, acting under my own command. The two sisters who followed me were my daughters, both adults who had done their duty to our people. The contrast between us was distinctive, too. I twisted to look back. Over my own blue tail, which blended with the shallow waters at the islands, I could see dark Maria, with her dark blue tail. Apalala was my golden girl, more than ever. The pale yellow tail she had been born with had deepened to gold now. The only brighter tail I had seen was her daughter’s, an orange flame that matched her fire-coloured hair. Zerafina had been too young for such a trip, without the assistance of currents to carry us, and our duty too dangerous.

  Should the humans discover what we were, we would protect our sisters at all costs. Even if it cost our lives. It was my responsibility to ensure it did not come to that.

  I kept up a steady stream of instructions as we travelled.

  “We will be expected to live human, which means dry. Whilst we are at the islands, I will remain in my human form for the duration. You may swim, but only after dark and where the humans cannot see you. You may eat as you please, but when humans are present, we will eat what and as they do. We must keep a supply of human food, just in case. We all have our preferences; it will be important that we keep those on hand.

  “Our strength and agility are greater than theirs, for we require these more than they do. They have grown soft whilst we have not. We must take care that this is not too apparent. This is unlikely to be difficult, but still we must take care.

  “Our vision and hearing are more perceptive than that of humans; we must also take care that they do not discover this.

  “We must use human names and human language whilst in their hearing and sight. I will be Vanessa, Maria will retain her name and Apalala must use Belinda once more. Our human names and human speech must be unremarkable and ordinary.

  “Under no circumstances do we sing above water. The humans react peculiarly to this, particularly the males. Singing is, of course, permissible beneath the water’s surface. We may need this to call fish or other creatures.

  “Human drinks will also be necessary. This will include a reasonable quantity of alcohol, which must be consumed carefully, so we do not make mistakes.

  “We must wear human clothing at all times, or at least when visible to them. I recommend we choose only one or two colours each and restrict our purchases to these colours, so we do not mix them up.

  “We must associate with humans and appear human, which means being as polite as possible, without being too friendly or antagonistic.

  “Humans value privacy, with walls they can hide behind. This will work to our advantage, if we can remember this, for it means we can be out of sight and this will not draw their attention as it would among our kind.

  “We do not shape water or waves where they may be perceived by humans, unless it is absolutely necessary.

  “We will first go to the islands off the coast, where there is a fishing settlement. We shall remain there and fish from a boat as they do, for the duration of the fishing season. We will obtain as much information as we can from the humans at the fishing settlement, before we relocate to the nearest city. If further information is required…”

  Apalala was the most vocal of my daughters, so she was the first to interrupt my flow. “Sirena, is there no end to your advice? We have lived dry among humans before.”

  I remembered well her last time on land, for I had been there, too. I reminded myself to use her human name, Belinda, even in my thoughts. “But not for this long. And you must remember that I cannot use my name until I return to the water once more. Even in your thoughts I must be Vanessa.”

  Belinda’s curiosity persisted. “Why did you choose Vanessa? It is not similar to your name – it does not even have a similar meaning.”

  “Vanessa is the name of a character in a moving picture for human children. An old witch, who lives in the ocean, transforms herself into a beautiful human woman to seduce a human man. The name she takes as a human is Vanessa,” I tried to explain. When I had first heard of it, I had been using my real name on land, but I had known that I would need a new one to ensure my ageless appearance went unremarked upon.

  Maria broke her silence to give voice to her shock. “Do you plan to seduce a human man, in addition to our duty here?”

  Both Belinda and I considered her sister’s words amusing. I found the idea intriguing, but unlikely. “Not at present. However, as I may not swim in the evenings, I will need to find something to occupy my time. Perhaps I will purchase some books.”

  Maria interrupted my thoughts with more practical considerations. “First we must reach the land. How long will it be?”

  Both girls were adults, yet their impatience to reach our destination mirrored that of human children. I smiled, but replied in a more serious vein. “We should reach the islands soon after dark. We can rest there for a time and continue to the mainland at dawn. Then we can fit out our vessel and return with it to the islands.”

  Belinda’s smile remained. “Then come, Vanessa, shift your venerable tail so we may spend our first night in human beds and not on the seabed!”

  The seabed was rising and the water was lightening. It wasn’t long before we could hear the boom of surf above on the reefs. I guided them through the passages and we surfaced. Fractured moonlight on the water was the only sign of the reefs on the surface, part of the islands’ curse. Amid all the contrasts, this remained unchanged.

  The water was dark, as was the island we approached, for the fishing season had not yet started. I lifted my head and said the words in the humans’ language, “Welcome to the Houtman Abrolhos Islands, girls. They may be cursed, but for a time they will also be home.”

  6. Joe

  “The Abrolhos is cursed, with murder, mutiny and lust,” the pilot said suddenly, as the mist on the water resolved into some very flat islands.
The tourists were glued to their windows, craning for a look. “On a stormy night almost 400 years ago, the Dutch ship Batavia was sailing from the Cape of Good Hope to Batavia in Indonesia. The lookout saw what he thought was moonlight on the water, but it was foam of the breakers on Morning Reef. The ship struck the reef just there...” The pilot banked the plane as we passed the reef, so he could pass over it again for the tourists on the other side of the plane. “You can just see where the ship sank. The waves kept pushing that ship until it carved a hole in the reef, where divers found it around 50 years ago...they brought the ship up and put it in the Museum in Fremantle, leaving that blue boat-shaped hole in the reef...”

  The Abrolhos Air Charter pilot continued, giving details about murders, mutiny, executions, and some hero called Wiebbe Hayes, whose heroism seemed dependent on a lot of luck. I wasn’t clear on where mutiny came in, but the lust involved either some women or the treasure that had been on the ship. Maybe both.

  I looked at the little wave-shaped island where all the horrors had happened, with a few buildings huddled together on it. A few weeks marooned on that sandbar and I’d go mad, too. I hope Dean hasn’t sent me to an even smaller pile of sand surrounded by ocean. If he has, I’ll report him for the Playboy centrefolds he sticks on the ceiling of the ute, every time we leave civilisation.

  The plane flew over a much larger island, with an orange gravel airstrip that stood out against the white limestone and grey-green shrubs. There were even fewer buildings on this island than tiny, wave-shaped Beacon Island. At the northern end, a beautiful white beach stretched its arms around blue-green water. A couple of yachts were moored in the bay. Wow, what I’d give to be able to afford to do that. I wonder if my island has a beach that good? I’ll buy Dean a beer if it does.

  The plane veered north now, across multicoloured waters in blue and green between the brown reefs, toward the island at the northern end of the Abrolhos. “North Island approach...” the pilot intoned, turning sharply to point the plane south.

  North Island was a big sand island, with a lake at the north. Houses were clustered in the south east corner of the island. Coming in to land, I realised the gravel airstrip looked really close and really, really short.

  I didn’t have time to panic before the wheels touched the gravel, more gently than any jet landing at an airport. The plane taxied up next to a rusted shed. A plank was hanging on the front of it, which some comedian had painted with the words, “North Island International Airport.” A man was standing beside the shed, next to a quad bike with a shiny aluminium trailer. It had to be aluminium. Anything else would rust in the salt.

  One man unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the plane. The pilot helped the guy unload his gear onto the gravel, before he got back in the plane and prepared to take off again.

  We took off south over the buildings. I saw the two men load their gear into the quad bike trailer before they headed through the dunes to the settlement. The pilot started telling the tourists about the fishing industry, as we left North Island and flew toward West Wallabi.

  He flew low over West Wallabi, telling us about how Weibbe Hayes had fought off the mutineers from a building that you could still see on the ground. I saw the outline of some square limestone walls as we flew over. I shrugged. Old shipwrecks had little appeal to me. They’re all long dead now, whoever they were and whatever they did.

  The island gave way to ocean again and I could see more inhabited islands, like squashed sea urchins or some kind of exotic bacteria, with jetties sticking out at all angles from the two islands. The pilot mentioned something about pigeons and lobsters and I tuned out again.

  I looked down at the islands. These were covered in houses, almost as dense as suburbs in the mainland. Would my island home be like that – with neighbours that would complain every time I flushed the toilet or played music? I bet I’m next door to the oldest, grumpiest fisherman. A bloke who hates the slightest noise, but has his radio and TV on so loud I can hear the actors breathing from next door. And his toilet will be closest to my place, so I hear his every fart.

  The islands were gone and we were flying over ocean again, headed toward the next group of islands. I had a map, but I couldn’t remember the name of the island I was landing on, or even the group. Maybe it will come as a nice surprise. Maybe there will be palm trees. I crossed my fingers for a nice white beach.

  “Why is it called the Easter Group?” one of the tourists asked into his headset.

  “I dunno,” the pilot said.

  Probably the explorers who named it had run out of names and they were here at Easter, so they figured that would do. I looked out the window, to see if any of the islands were shaped like sheep, rabbits or Easter eggs. Nope.

  “That one is Rat Island and I know why it’s called that. Apparently it was infested with them.” The pilot sounded really pleased at this. “We’ll be landing briefly there to drop off one of the rock lobster fishers and then we’ll head out over the Pelsaert Group.”

  I looked around and realised the fisher he was talking about was me. Rat Island? Dean, you bastard, you’ve sent me to an island infested with rats? I’m going to catch some and add those to your swag on the first night…

  “I’ll show you where the Zeewijk was wrecked in 1727. They built themselves a new boat out of the wreckage and sailed it to Indonesia...” the pilot continued, oblivious to my seething.

  Hell, if I was wrecked on one of these islands, I’d take up carpentry real fast, too.

  One island was approaching really fast and really low. The gravel of another airstrip was dead ahead and it seemed to end in the water. The water looked real close...OH SHIT. We’re going to go off the end of the runway and into the water!

  7. Belinda

  “We are almost out of human food, so it is time for another supply run. You will both take the carrier boat to Geraldton, replenish our food and fuel supplies, and return to the islands with the carrier boat.” Vanessa’s peremptory tone was no different on land or in the water.

  I felt a momentary desire for rebellion as I responded. “You mean you are almost out of ice cream?”

  I laughed at her frown, for I knew I was correct. I turned away and began washing the dishes in the sink.

  I heard Vanessa’s voice reply. “I have no ice cream, no fruit, no sugar, no bread and nothing to drink but beer and water. Oh, and some milk. It has been four weeks. I cannot swim and so I cannot fish; I must have human food to maintain my reputation as a human. Do you not also have limited supplies?”

  I regretted my hasty words. She played a far more difficult part than we did, for she was more visible to the humans. Remaining on board the vessel with limited contact with humans, we could live more normally than she did, but it had its drawbacks, too. “We fish often. If you wish, we will bring extra fish home for you, as you cannot catch your own. Nevertheless, we are out of chilli and low on coffee and chocolate. I would like to obtain more of that human liquor that burns...” I broke off, tempted by the thought of whiskey.

  Vanessa’s frown lifted as I warmed to the thought of time on the mainland. Her tone softened, too. “If you are referring to the burning drink you prefer, the humans call it whiskey. You will undertake a full, complete supply run?”

  Maria responded before I could. Her tone was businesslike. “Yes, we will go shopping. We will bring back all the things we are short on and some more alcohol for Belinda. When does the carrier boat leave?”

  “It departs in two days, in the early morning, returning two days after that. I trust that will be enough time to complete your shopping?” Vanessa’s manner was calmer than the water’s surface outside.

  I concentrated carefully on scrubbing a cup.

  Maria eyed me as she spoke. “As long as Belinda does not feel she needs new clothing, the time will be sufficient.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Maria, but retracted it before making a peace offering to Vanessa. I did not want to jeopardise my chances of obtaining
more whiskey by bad behaviour. “We will fish for you tonight and tomorrow. I will see if I can find you a sweet little shark or a groper. I know you are partial to those.”

  8. Joe

  When the plane landed safely on the airstrip, to my stunned amazement, there were three people waiting in a shed at the edge of the gravel. I helped the pilot pull my bags out and drop them on the gravel, then shouldered my backpack and other bag and looked around. The other two guys headed off down the track next to the shed, toward the buildings on the east coast of the island. I watched them, unsure.

  The remaining man in the shed came over to me. “You must be Joe Fisher, Dean’s friend. I’m Skipper Hartog. You can call me Skipper. Everyone else does.” He reached out to shake my hand.

  His shake was firm and calloused, which made me worry my hands would feel too soft to him, like I was too soft for this work. I’ve worked for months out at remote sites, sleeping in a tent and cooking outside. I’ve had to shake my sleeping bag out every night to make sure nothing else was alive in it and if I forgot to zip my swag up properly I was guaranteed not to wake up alone. Sometimes I couldn’t have a wash because there were crocodiles in the bloody river. This bloke goes fishing every day. How hard can it be?

  He led the way down the track, keeping up a commentary over his shoulder as he went.

  “You get your own deckie’s camp, down by my jetty. It used to be my Dad’s main camp, till we built the big one I’m in now.” He pointed at a bright orange building, between us and the ocean. “There’s food in the fridge; if you want anything else or you run out of something, let me know and we’ll get it shipped over in the next week or two, on the carrier boat. Your water is rainwater – keep your showers and washing short, or you’ll run out and then you’ll have to pay to bring it over from the mainland, or have cold, salt showers.

  “You’ll have your own dinghy to use. It’s my spare, but it’s always been the deckie’s dinghy, so you can go fishing or visiting at the other islands if you want. There’s a club on Little Rat.” He pointed vaguely south. “We buy some beer through the Co-Op and have a few evenings there in the season, especially when there’s bad weather and no fishing the next day.”