by Stacy Gregg
Gus is swimming now for all he’s worth. His eyes are on me and I keep calling to him the whole time, even though I’m losing my voice and sometimes fear almost chokes me as I watch him struggling to keep his head above the waves. When he strikes a big swell that sweeps right over his head there’s a moment when he disappears completely beneath the water.
“Gus!” I hold my breath for what seems like forever, and then there he is! His ears are soaked and his eyes blink in the salt water, but he’s still with us!
“Good boy, Gus! It’s not much further!” I call to him.
I look back over my shoulder at the square hulk of grey gunmetal looming up in the sea ahead of us. The waves are slapping violently against the hull of the ship, and as we come alongside the captain is issuing orders to the crew on board, and ropes are being lowered to us to secure the inflatable. “Harder to starboard!” the captain is calling.
We’ve made it to the ship, but now I can see the exhaustion consuming Gus. He can’t last very long out here, treading to stay afloat in the freezing cold water. His endurance has finally reached its limit.
We need to get him out. Fast.
The captain has a walkie-talkie and he’s talking to the crew members above us on the deck. I watch as they swing round the pulley they use to lift the inflatables in and out of the water and lower the canvas belly band that will be used to winch Gus on board.
The captain takes hold of the canvas and turns to Dave. “We need to get this round his waist.”
Dave looks at Gus in the water beside the inflatable. My pony has sunk deeper and he’s struggling now to keep his head above water.
“Evie, can you keep him steady while we drop the band into the water, and then we can hook it up from the other side?”
“OK,” I say.
But when I get Gus close to the boat, the waves keep pushing him into the inflatable and then dragging him away. Sometimes when a big wave hits, it pushes Gus dangerously between the inflatable and the hard metal of the hull of the HMS Canterbury. We’re waiting for the crew above to give the all-clear that the pulley is ready so we can hook it round the belly band.
“Get them to hurry up,” Dave says to the captain. He looks at me and I see he’s afraid too. He knows that Gus can’t do this much longer.
The crew signal that they’re ready and Dave grabs the shank of the belly band, and the chain of the winch lowers and the band drops into the sea. I watch as the crew struggle to work with grappling hooks from the other side to catch on to the band beneath the water and pull it up the other side of Gus, but it’s impossible.
“How can we get it underneath him?” the captain is shouting at the crew.
“I don’t know,” the First Mate shouts back. “We’ve never had to bring a horse on board before!”
Gus is pressed up hard against the inflatable and I see the fear in him, the whites of his eyes flashing as he flails about, fighting against the waves that threaten to slam him into the bow. In my heart I know the truth. He will die out here in the deep water. He’ll never make it back to shore – it’s too far away for him now. He will die unless we get him on board that ship.
I stand up and go to the side of the inflatable.
“Dave!”
He’s been struggling with the belly band but he stops.
“Evie.” He looks devastated. “I’m sorry …”
I thrust Moxy into his arms.
“Look after her for me?”
“Evie? What … what do you think you’re doing?”
I strip off my boots, jods and hoodie so that I’m in just my T-shirt and knickers. Then I grab the end of the belly band and take the loop of it and secure it round my ankle.
“I’m diving underneath him.” I step up on to the side of the inflatable. I wobble perilously as the sea almost rocks me straight off the side!
“Evie!” Janna says. “Get back in the boat now and let them handle it!”
I feel Dave’s hand on my arm, but he’s not pulling me back into the inflatable, he’s holding me steady at the edge. He looks worried, “Evie?”
“It’s OK,” I say, choking back my own fear. “I can do this. I swim pretty well.”
And then, before anyone else can try to change my mind, I leap.
The shock of the freezing water knocks the wind out of my lungs as I strike the waves. I’ve jumped in feet first and as I bob up again I’m struck in the face by a wave, and I feel Gus’s body slam up against mine. I am wedged in between him and the inflatable. I try to make enough space between us to dive without being struck by his hooves, but the sea is pushing against me and all I can do is cling with one arm to the boat and wait until a wave creates a gap between us. Gus is struggling in the water beside me, exhaustion overwhelming him so that he barely acknowledges that I’m beside him.
“Gus,” I say. “Hang on …”
A big wave sweeps over me and I hear the captain shouting “Evie!” and I know I have to go now or they’ll drag me back into the inflatable. I take a deep lungful of air, push off from the boat and kick away from them and I dive …
***
When Miss Lowry made us do our project about the Greek gods, I did mine on Pegasus. Even though Pegasus worked for Zeus carrying the thunderbolts, his father was actually Poseidon the sea god. Because Poseidon doesn’t just control the ocean – he is also the god of horses and the god of earthquakes.
I know there aren’t really any Ancient Greek gods watching over me. Just the same as I know that just because I’m OCD I don’t truly possess the power to bring the earth to its knees and destroy the world. I swear, though, that as I dive down beneath Gus with the belly band strapped to me, the sea that has been churning all around me until this moment suddenly turns dead calm. It’s so still under there that it’s eerie and I look upwards, blinking. Everything is so clear and blue that I can see through the ocean, as if the whole undersea world has been illuminated for me. I can see Gus’s hooves sweeping through the water right above me and I duck my head so that I won’t get struck. I keep going, deeper and deeper, until I can safely change my course, then I swim beneath him, until I’m on the other side and I’m climbing back up towards the surface again. I’m kick-kick-kicking as my lungs start to fail, and I feel the tug of that belly band at my ankle as the canvas strap is dragged behind me in the water. I’m close to the surface now, the blue water above my head is becoming clear, turning to sky as I break through and emerge gasping, desperate for air. I reach down and pull the band from my ankle and pass the hook across to Dave, who anchors it back on itself and tightens off the strap.
“We’ve got him!” He calls up to the crew on the deck above. And then to me he says. “Go wide when you swim back to us! He’s going to start thrashing when the band tightens!”
I tread water beside Gus for a moment to make sure the strap is secure as they tighten it, and the winch takes the strain. Then I kick off against the side of the ship and begin to swim round Gus to get back to the inflatable.
As I stroke against the waves I can see Jock leaning over the side looking anxious. Janna is being useful for once and has hold of his collar because she can see that my dog wants to jump in and help me. Moxy is meowing like mad and squirming in Dave’s arms, trying to get to me. The captain grabs me and drags me back on board and I collapse on the wet rubbery floor of the inflatable, gasping for air.
I’m lying there on my back, looking up at the sky, when I hear them start the engine on the winch. The crew up above on deck shout commands as the chain starts to retract and the winch gears grind, and then, in the clear blue above me, from out of the sea comes Gus, rising up into the sky.
He’s airborne, and yet it’s like he’s still swimming, his legs churning. Dangling in mid-air, it looks as if he is cantering towards the clouds.
They raise him until he’s right above my head. Then they swing the winch and Gus is still cantering as he’s flung high in mid-air, swooping above the top deck of the ship and across the bow. He loo
ks at that moment as if he’s actually flying.
As the sunshine strikes him, his dapples glisten and his silver mane and tail flow behind him. He is truly magical. He is the Greek myth come to life. The winged horse, thunderbolt carrier, son of Poseidon. My very own Pegasus.
CHAPTER 16
Coming Home
I walk the blue line that leads to Willard Fox and feel a rush of nostalgia at the familiar stomach-churning aroma of hospital wards. The cleaning fluid and antiseptic that combine into that unique, unforgettable sense memory.
It’s been a month since I walked these wards and nothing has changed.
Actually, that’s not true.
Something has changed.
Me. I’ve changed.
I walk the blue line today and I’m not counting my footsteps. In the tiled foyer I don’t fret about whether I will step on the cracks. When I get into the lift I press the button once and I smile to myself: I’m in charge, OCD. I’m taking the reins.
They say an event like an earthquake can trigger an anxiety disorder. Post-Traumatic Stress they call it. When the seven-point-eight struck, coming on top of my OCD like it did, was it really so crazy to believe I was the one who had made it all happen? That if I didn’t stick to my rituals, I had the destructive power to make the earth shake off its axis? The bringer of earthquakes. That was me then. It isn’t me any more.
“Evie!” Willard Fox sticks his head out of the office and calls down the hallway to reception. “My famous patient! Come in here before the paparazzi turn up, for God’s sake!”
I blush with embarrassment as he says this, and the nurse at reception looks up. “How is that darling grey pony of yours doing?”
“He’s good, thanks!” I return her smile with a shy acknowledgement as I dash past. I still get embarrassed when people recognise me, but it’s nice when they ask questions about Gus. I’m not really the famous one – he is.
I never realised it at the time, when they were pulling Gus up from the sea and on board the HMS Canterbury, but one of the ship’s crew was filming the whole thing on his phone, including the bit when I dived underwater to put the belly band on him. When the video got uploaded to social media, it went viral and almost overnight there’d been, like, a million people all over the world watching Gus on YouTube. By the time we docked in Lyttelton, there were TV news crews waiting to interview us, and they wanted to film Gus being unloaded from the ship. I think they were disappointed that he didn’t have to fly a second time – the port at Lyttelton has a really long wharf and the ship just pulled up alongside so I could walk Gus off straight down the ramp.
My poor Gus! He hadn’t eaten for two days by then, because there was no food for him on board. They weren’t expecting to rescue a horse so it wasn’t like they had any grass or hay put aside on the ship, and I didn’t want to feed him human food in case he got colic. Even though I explained this, I still caught one of the crew trying to feed him a sausage roll on the second day at sea, and I had to explain to him how horses were vegetarians, but while I was explaining this Gus actually took a big bite out of the sausage roll, which kind of undermined my argument! I think he mostly got the pastry.
The crew radioed ahead to Christchurch to let Mum know I was safe. She was still in hospital then, but she was feeling better and they let me speak to her. I thought she’d be angry with me, but she sounded proud on the phone as I told her the stories about our journey. I left out the most dangerous bits as I didn’t want her to worry. “You sound like my old Evie,” she said. “Just try to stay out of trouble for the next forty-eight hours until I see you, OK?”
I didn’t get up to much on the ship. Mostly I just kept Gus company on the deck. The crew had built him his own stall, using the squabs off the life rafts, strapping them together like a big padded cell to corral him in. They built the enclosure right up near the front of the top deck so Gus was able to look out to sea. I would sit on the squabs with him and watch the sea foam splashing off the prow, and it felt like we were Greek heroes, returning home from our odyssey at last.
Jock, always loyal, stayed with us all the time we were on deck. Moxy would sometimes join us, sitting up there in her old position in the indentation of Gus’s rump. She’d make herself comfy and stare out at the horizon with that noble Egyptian face of hers, all haughty and important, as if she were the captain of this mighty vessel, surveying her course for home.
Mostly, though, she roamed the ship on her own. She pretty much had the run of the kitchen and got fed the best titbits by the chef, and all the crew adored her, especially the captain, who made sure she got set her own place in the mess hall at mealtimes. In between meals, she would cruise all the cabins as if she owned the place and hang out with everyone. I would hardly see her for hours at a time, but at night I’d hear her yowling at my door to be let in. She would trot through the door when I opened it and leap up on my bunk and sit there purring, waiting for me to join her, then when I got into bed she’d curl up on my chest like it was old times and give me love bites on the chin.
Having Dave on the voyage to Lyttelton proved to be crucial when Jock’s shoulder got infected. Apparently it’s common for animals to die from the infection after a sea-lion bite, which I didn’t know, but Dave gave Jock antibiotics as soon as it looked bad and he was fine. He’s a pretty good vet, Dave, at least I think so. A pretty good doctor too according to Mum. He was totally right about her broken pelvis. The doctors at Christchurch Hospital had to operate when she got there and they put titanium bolts into her. She’s still got them in there now, so she says if we ever go through customs she’ll set off the metal detectors.
The subject of the metal detectors came up because Mum thought that maybe, after everything we’d been through, we should go on a holiday somewhere, like the Gold Coast, just her and me. After all, it wasn’t like we had a home to go back to. Our house was destroyed and we still didn’t have a plan.
I didn’t want to go anywhere, though. I didn’t think I could handle being separated from Gus and Jock and Moxy for a single minute. So Mum agreed and we’ve stayed here in Christchurch while the insurance assessors figure out how they’re going to rebuild our house. We’ve got a room at the Riccarton Racecourse Hotel, and from my window I can see straight out over the track and watch the horses early in the morning when the mist is still low on the ground, riding their gallop workouts.
The stables are right next door and Gus lives there with the racehorses. The hotel lets us keep Moxy and Jock with him too, and sometimes when no one is looking I smuggle them both up to my bedroom and we lie in bed together and watch movies and eat snacks. Moxy loves potato crisps.
I go down to the stables most mornings, way before breakfast, just as the jockeys are finishing track work, to hang out with them and smell that sweet, heady aroma of the horses, all hot and sweaty from their workouts, being cooled down before they hit the wash bays. I think the jockeys know I’m homesick for my farm, so they’re all really nice to me. They treat me like I’m one of them and tease me and say I should become a jockey. I guess I’m small enough and light enough. But eventing is still my dream.
I remember the first time I met Willard Fox, I admitted to him it was my goal to become a pro eventer. So that’s one thing about me that hasn’t changed!
I take up my old position on the sofa opposite Willard and he smiles at me. “So, Evie,” he says, “long time no see. Been up to anything lately?”
I laugh. And then I start at the beginning and I tell him all of it. As I’m telling him all the stories, of wild bulls and Moxy being lost in the river, and sea lions and sand chasms, I hear myself talking and I think, if I didn’t know it was true I would swear all of it was too crazy to have really happened. But if none of it happened then how did I make it all the way from Parnassus to Kaikoura and bring Gus and Moxy and Jock back home?
It’s like when the Greek heroes came home after their epic voyages and told stories of the foes they had faced – the minotaurs and the cyc
lopses, the sea monsters and the sphinxes – and those stories became myths. So how did anyone know then what was fiction and what was real?
“One night, when it was raining really hard and I was deep in the woods and it was getting dark, I found this house,” I tell Willard. And I’m telling him the story of Helen of the Hundalees, feeling like I’m back there in that hallway piled high with fusty old stacks of newspapers, and I see Helen on her hands and knees, muttering incantations as she restacks the piles that have been strewn about by the aftershocks. I really want to take Willard Fox to meet her one day, because he’s helped me, so maybe he can help Helen too, and maybe it’s not too late and she’ll be able to leave the house and be a part of the world again?
“I left my backpack there,” I tell Willard. When he looks surprised and asks me why I left it behind I shrug and I say, “I didn’t need it any more.”
Anyway, it’s a really good session and I talk and talk and when the hour is up, Willard walks me to the door. Usually at this point he says to me, “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
But this time he doesn’t say that. Instead he puts out his hand for me to shake. “Goodbye, Evie Violet Van Zwanenberg,” he says, “it sure was a pleasure getting to know you.”
I don’t understand at first, but then I realise – I’m not coming back next week. I’m not coming back any more.
Willard Fox, I could never have made this journey without you. I will always be grateful that you gave me the power to become myself again.
That’s what I want to say. I want to say Thank you, Willard, thank you like a million times over, for what you’ve done for me. But I just can’t get the words out because I’m crying too hard. It seems so crazy that when I started coming here I hated it so much and now I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.