by Hager, Mandy
‘Ask Mum — ask Dad. I know I’ve been a head-case lately, but this is way bigger than me.’ He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice.
‘Exactly my point. Sally put me in charge of you. How the hell do you think she and Mark’ll feel if I have to ring them up and say you’ve been arrested — or worse.’
Worse? ‘I’ve already emailed them. I’m confident they’ll back me.’ Am I? Yes, surely they would.
‘Then god help you, mate. I wash my hands of you. I’m sorry but I can’t afford to piss off Bruce. I need my job.’
Will was gutted. Not only that Dean was angry, but because it made him feel like a leech. ‘I understand that. I really do. And I’m sorry, okay? I’ll try my best to stay out of everyone’s hair. And, if it helps, I’ll go somewhere else and not tell you where, in case Bruce asks.’
Dean shot him such a look of scorn Will cringed inside. ‘Sometimes sorry doesn’t cut it, mate.’ He pulled up at the house and climbed out. Left Will to trail in his wake.
Will caught him up. Couldn’t leave things like this. ‘I don’t understand. Why would Bruce care? As long as I keep Min away, where’s the harm to him?’
Dean stopped and stared off into the distance, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Seconds stretched. Finally he sighed and turned back to Will. ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with. This isn’t about whether the orca eats those damn fish or not any more. Everything Bruce does is a fight for power and control. You cross him, you suffer. Look at poor bloody Hunter. And Helen.’
‘Who?’
‘Hunter’s mum.’
Will’s heart clattered. Dean made it sound like Bruce had topped her.
Out of nowhere, like he’d been summoned from thin air, Hunter materialised, thundering up the drive towards them. What the hell? He arrived so puffed he couldn’t speak. Bent double, hands to thighs.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’ve gotta come. I fell asleep while I was fishing — just for a few minutes, I swear — but he gave me the slip. I spent the morning searching for him everywhere. Couldn’t find him.’
‘Don’t panic, man. He’ll show. He’s probably lurking by the slip.’ Goddamn. Right now he didn’t need this; had to forge some kind of truce with Dean.
Hunter’s distraught voice broke through his thoughts. ‘He went straight to the Franklin farm. I think Bob Davers shot him.’
‘What?’ Will stumbled.
‘I thought I’d better check the farms and, sure enough, Bob’s bragging how he got Min with his .303.’
‘Did you see him?’ This couldn’t be happening. He’d just put everything in place.
‘Nope. Bob figured he’d sunk.’
Dean snorted. ‘That’s crap. If he’d killed it right off it would’ve floated. It’s either scarpered, injured, or it’s been bagged by Bob.’
Slaughtered whale images splattered the walls of Will’s skull. ‘Was he sure?’ Asking hurt. These people were animals.
‘Yep, reckons he saw blood in the water. I came straight here to let you know. My arms are screwed.’
Will dropped to his haunches and fought back tears. Did the breathing. Swallowed bile. He hated this place. Hated everyone. Everything.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Hunter was on the verge of tears as well, incongruous in such a big lump of a guy. ‘It’s my first day off in weeks. I couldn’t stay awake.’
‘Where’d you first find him?’ Dean’s voice was flat.
Hunter shrugged. ‘I dunno. I—’
‘Not you, mate. Will?’ Dean nudged Will with his foot. ‘Where did you find him that first day?’
‘Brookes Bay.’
‘Go there.’
‘What?’
Dean hauled in a noisy breath. ‘Fuck’s sake, kid. Get off your sorry arse and go look there.’
Will stared at him, the static in his head receding as he realised Dean was trying to help. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ It made good sense.
He mentally shook himself and stood back up. Reached over and gave Dean a quick hug, slapping him on the back to take the girliness out of it.
‘Thanks. I’m onto it.’
What is it about death we fear, dear friends? The losing of a life we love. But do we fail to fathom there are lessons learnt as our lives leak out? For those of us whose end times edge into old age, we’ve danced with death too many times to falter at our final breath. We’ve faced it, fought it, flouted it. We’ve doled it out.
And though close calls pile on more pain — hobble the heart — they yield a wealth of wisdom too. We fear death yet we cannot flee it; this is why it holds such sway. Only the Great Mother, the sea and land her blood and bones, has strength enough to weather all. She will outlive us; shuck us off her back if she so chooses. Wipe out those who do her harm. It is our job to keep her well, to weigh her needs above our own. For those of us who worship her, we wish to steer a shrewder course than those who came before.
Yes, still it smarts to face the folly of my dance with death that day. I sensed the storm brewed by the Hungry Ones; should not have stalked those sickly salmon, no, not at all. Truth told, I did not have the sense to shy away from such an onslaught. I was small and hungry, had no sense to spot the snares. How unworldly. How wide-eyed. How wholly wrong to think one Human acts like all the rest.
I heard the thunder clap that took me down. Felt the stinging slug that fired into my fin. I dived straight to the seabed, shook with shock. Bright blood oozed out; fire smouldered in my flesh. In fear of further strikes I fled for open sea.
But once out in the tugging tides between the lengths of land I felt unsafe, a meaty meal. Pain pelted me, fretfulness unfolded, and the warm welcome Song Boy had worked on me was washed away. My loss lay bare.
Now I wind back with wiser eyes, there is a time in every Being’s life that marks the moment our thoughts first take their tidal turn. Our youthful years are free of fret or fear; it is the old ones in our tribes, our clans, who take on all the woes. They work to shore up the ties that knit us all together. Keep us safe.
Until, that is, this first awakening — thoughts unfolding, freedoms found — when we must move from unformed to a solid state. For me, that moment met me while I quivered in the seamless sea, alone.
My heart hammered, but Song Boy’s warmth rose up to soothe the tight fear trapping me. I felt his pull, as strong as any Pulse — an urge I could not, would not, fight. This was my Turning: the time to tame my urges, ailings, cross from Bait to Being. All actions call for forthrightness. All forthrightness must bring about a call to act.
I swam towards the bays where we had shared our songs, slowly, overwrought and out of breath, daring death to deal to me. The sun was slipping to the west as I slid in through the span of rocks in search of Song Boy. The beach was empty, but for birds. It’s true I wailed — and could not stop — but, somehow, in my shattered state, I swam on further; found the bay where we first met.
I sheltered in the lee of that safe shingle bank, sickened by shock, mind numb, nerve endings naked, senses raw. Bloodied and bruised, I sent out one last plea to him. Waited, trying not to worry, wondering if this would be the final flick of Fortune’s fickle turns.
As Will and Hunter ran towards the marina, Dean caught them up.
‘Hold your bloody horses!’ He clamped a hand on each boy’s shoulder, unable to speak again until his breathing slowed.
‘What?’ Will didn’t have time for lectures. Min needed him. Oh god, he hoped Min needed him. If not … The thought impaled him, a pitchfork through the guts.
‘Take the Franklin tinny. You’ll get there faster. It’s not needed till tomorrow.’ The first time Dean called the runabout a ‘tinny’, Will had cracked up. Back home the word meant something very different; he imagined Dean bouncing through the sea on a giant spliff!
‘You’re sure?’ Hunter sounded dubious.
‘Course I’m bloody sure. I’m still the farm manager, unless you know something I don’t.’
Hunter grin
ned. ‘Nope, last I heard you were the same grumpy slave-driver you’ve always been!’
‘Watch it, sonny! Now go check it’s fuelled, then get a bloody move on.’ He squeezed Will’s shoulder. ‘Take it easy, mate. Bob’s renowned for being a crap shot.’
‘Thanks.’ Will tried to smile. His mouth remained as rigid as a Botoxed brow.
Down at the wharf Hunter snatched the keys from the work shed, while Will untied the mooring ropes. The aluminium runabout was roughly four metres long, its robust pontoons enough to take on any sea.
Hunter checked the tank that fed the grunty motor. ‘All good to go.’
He turned the key and the outboard roared to life as Will cast them off the wharf. He leapt aboard. Hauled on a lifejacket. Sucked in a much-needed lungful of air and looked around as they motored out. The mud flats at low tide teemed with birdlife. Hunter pointed to a lanky wader at the channel’s edge.
‘That’s a black stilt — it’s rare as hell.’ He powered off and scrabbled in his pocket for his mobile phone. Took a photo. Two. Three. Wasting time. When Hunter finally got back underway he shouted over the outboard’s growl. ‘We’ve got a lot of threatened species. Banded rails — a bit like quails but taller and more colourful — and marsh crakes too. They’re hard little bastards to spot. I’ve seen black-fronted terns, as well, and banded dotterels. So far I’ve found twenty-eight different species. The local ranger says there’re thirty-three.’
Though interesting, Hunter’s chatter drove Will nuts. Min could be dead — and it was ridiculous how much that hurt. Like losing family. His mind flew straight to Pania. Focus, dickhead. Concentrate.
They swerved around the weekenders: families in their overloaded runabouts, yachts, kayaks, jet skis, launches … The thought of Min having to deal with all this traffic, injured, was gutting. If he was still alive he’d be like a toddler trying to cross an eight-lane highway on his hands and knees.
The good news was that Hunter had now gone quiet. Will needed all his concentration. Three times he thought he saw a dorsal fin. But as they drew closer it turned into a bird, a rock, a piece of wood.
He ached as if he’d been beaten, and battled the urge to curl into a ball and howl. Instead he braced himself against the dashboard to steady his gaze as the hull slapped into the running tide.
They passed the first salmon farm, loathing bubbling up. It was so unfair. Why punish Min for such a natural urge? If that bastard had killed him he’d — he’d — damn it. He didn’t know. The bottom line was he couldn’t risk Dean’s job.
There were so many people out enjoying the weekend sun his heart sank further. Min would’ve drawn a crowd by now if he was here. Alone, and yet alive! My soul is still my body’s prisoner! Bloody Mikado — the lyrics haunted him, Gilbert and Sullivan heckling him from the sidelines. He switched to singing exercises to block the lyrics out. There was melodrama enough without an operatic farce as soundtrack.
When they reached Brookes Bay, two kids paddled in the creek on the southern side, their kayaks pulled up on the shore. Hunter eased off the throttle and they glided in, casting around for signs of Min. Nothing.
‘Can you turn that off?’ It came out surly. Will hadn’t meant it to.
Once Hunter killed the motor, Will edged into the middle of the boat. He focused on his breathing. Tried not to think how stupid he’d look. ‘Meiner Liebsten sch¨ one Wangen, Will ich froh aufs neue sehn; Bloß ihr Reiz stillt mein Verlangen …’ The aria wasn’t one of his favourites, but the lyrics had rung in his head all morning. It was about longing and the forgoing of promised treasures to find true love. He struggled to reach the high notes. Min’s absence swelled in his chest, a painful lump.
He continued to scan the bay, the pulse in his head marking time as he sang. The kids had stopped to listen, their upturned faces washed with sun. He was approaching the final chorus when Hunter suddenly waved his arms.
‘There!’ Hunter pointed towards the submerged shingle bank.
There was something below the surface. As Will tried to define the shadow, it moved. Min! He couldn’t bear it: chucked off his lifejacket and dived into the sea.
Just as he reached the spot, Min bobbed to the surface. Rolled, belly up.
Was he breathing? ‘Come on, little man. Talk to me. Are you okay?’ He rubbed along Min’s abdomen. Solid. Warm. His heart skipped as Min pressed back against his touch. Thank god.
Min clicked in no discernable pattern and righted himself. Jesus! No! He’d been shot, all right. A pulpy mess at the base of his dorsal fin was gouged right through, waterlogged flesh fraying at the edges.
Fury pushed aside relief. Will checked for other injuries, humming to contain his anger as he ran his hands along Min’s length in firm reassuring strokes.
‘Is he all right?’ Hunter punted the boat towards him with an oar.
‘Think so. It’s through the fin but everything else seems fine.’ He blew a raspberry onto Min’s snout to secretly dislodge his brimming tears. Min clicked like a rusty wind-up kitten.
‘What now?’
‘Let’s get him back to Gleneden. It’s safer there.’
‘You sure he’ll follow us?’
Will eyed the boat. The outboard motor worried him. He’d seen the damage caused by propellers when he’d searched online. ‘Are there any decent lengths of rope?’
Hunter nodded. ‘Yep, but if you’re thinking of towing him I can’t see that working, even if he let us.’
‘Not him. I mean, what if you towed me? Just slowly. That way I can keep him with me, well back from the prop.’
‘It’s nearly fifteen k’s.’
‘I’m not risking him further.’ His heart pummelled so ridiculously fast he felt like his own life depended on this, not just Min’s.
He looped the mooring rope around his chest, using his lifejacket as a buffer. Once they’d checked the knot was secure, he gave the boat a shove and Hunter fired the outboard up. The rope jerked just as he whistled to Min, shocking the air out through his puckered lips like a cartoon train whistle. As he began to bodysurf, Min kept pace a safe distance back from the prop. He was quiet and compliant, as though his batteries had run down, his hurt so obvious that Will felt it too.
Two bays short of Gleneden, a slick little cabin cruiser pulled into their path and forced them to a stop. It took a moment to register who was aboard. Will groaned. Gabby Taylor. The town crier.
Will ignored her, treading water as he murmured random lyrics to hold Min’s attention so he wouldn’t swim away. Gabby climbed onto the cabin roof, her shorts so skimpy they bordered on obscene. At the wheel, Simone — in a red micro-bikini and matching baseball cap — had Hunter transfixed. Poor sod. He didn’t stand a chance; above her buxom curves her smirk had ‘trouble’ written all over it.
‘What the hell are you up to?’ Gabby’s built-in megaphone was in good working order.
‘Nothing. Bugger off.’ Hunter didn’t even look at her. He was still ogling Simone.
Gabby turned and muttered something to her. Simone squared her shoulders and leaned forward, to give Hunter a good eyeful of her breasts. ‘Where’re you going, Hunts?’
‘Gleneden.’ Hunter blushed the colour of overripe plums as the girls laughed like harpies.
‘Shut up!’ Will yanked the rope to rouse Hunter. ‘Why the hell d’you tell them?’
Hunter’s blush intensified, ears aglow. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, I—’
‘Coming over!’ Gabby leapt from their boat to Hunter’s, nearly pitching him overboard. When she regained her balance she edged down the back to peer at Will. ‘Oh my god! It’s there!’
‘Keep back!’ Will blocked Min from her gaze. ‘He’s hurt, okay? Just leave him alone.’
‘No need to get nasty. I thought you’d fallen overboard so we came to help.’
Will didn’t believe a word. ‘If you want to help then bugger off. He needs peace and quiet.’
‘Who made you the expert?’
‘Look, we�
�ve got it covered, okay?’ Hunter reached over and tugged Gabby’s arm. ‘Please?’
She slapped him away. ‘It’s not your property. I want to see it do something.’
Hunter rolled his eyes at Will behind her back, and mouthed get it over with. Will had to trust he knew her quirks and moods; that once she’d seen Min she’d piss off. He whistled. Felt grateful and happy when Min nudged him and squealed back in the same key.
‘That all? I’ve seen dolphins do better.’
‘He’s just been shot!’ Stupid cow. ‘And, actually, orcas are a kind of dolphin.’ She should know better. He was the townie. ‘They’ve got the second biggest brain in the world.’ A damn sight bigger than yours.
‘So? Brain size means nothing. Elephants have big brains and that hasn’t stopped them nearly dying out. How smart is that?’
Will cupped his face in both hands, afraid he’d laugh. Or cry. Could you even call a thought like that ‘logic’, as in ‘failed logic’, when it was so patently stupid and ill-informed?
Somewhere close by a phone started ringing. Gabby unearthed a mobile from her pocket. ‘Hello?’ As she listened she turned and eyed Simone. Nodded. Smiled. ‘Yep, sure did. We’ll see you soon.’ She ended the call. Addressed Simone. ‘He’s up there now.’
With that she clambered back onto their boat and sprawled on the cabin roof. ‘See you, losers.’ Simone swung the boat around hard and drove the throttle forward. The launch whipped up a lather as it sped away, Will swamped by frothy wake.
‘Sorry,’ Hunter said. ‘If she thinks she’s missing out on something she gets real mean.’
‘Forget it. Let’s get going.’ What was it with Hunter? One minute acting gullible and just plain thick, yet when he talked about the things that interested him his whole demeanour changed. And everyone walked right over him, despite the fact he looked like Rambo — well, except Dean. It must be hell to live inside a body that caused so many false assumptions. A bit like orcas. Will, meanwhile, looked like the lanky freak he was. Helpful for his ex-singing career, got him noticed, but not so good on a cold dark night. Maybe if he’d had some of Hunter’s brawn they would’ve left him alone. A bit of extra bulk hadn’t done Pavarotti any harm.