The Reef

by Di Morrissey

  Jammed amongst the rocks, low down in the channel barely covered with rivulets of the lost tide, a huge turtle struggled, flippers straining to pull the heavy bulk of ancient shell across the eternity of coral flats on its long march to the sea. She glanced back and saw the old female had come in to shore to lay her eggs in a position where in earlier times no obstruction of cemented rocks had stood between her and her birth place. How far had she come, so late in the season? The clear marks of her ascent to the dune were treadmarked in the virgin sand. Unless she got back into the sea she would die, stranded here to boil in her shell in the sun.

  Jennifer didn’t pause as she changed direction and stumbled across the sharp, coral-encrusted rocks, glad for her light rubber shoes. The turtle was resting, heaving, teary old eyes sad and glazed. Doggedly she resumed the jerking pull, scrabbling four centimetres up the rocks, only to slip back, pulled by gravity and the weight of the massive barnacled dome on her back.

  ‘You poor old mother.’ Touched by the persistence of a mother following a prehistoric instinct, Jennifer crouched, shoving and pushing to help. Panting and straining, she seemed to make little difference. She stood up, looking around. There was no one in sight, no tool that would assist her. Who could she call on to help? The rule of the resort came to her – nature rules. If this was to be this turtle’s fate, so be it.

  ‘No, I can’t leave you here.’ Some mothering, female bond surged in Jennifer. She lay beneath the peak of the turtle’s egg tube, shoved her shoulder under the point of the shell and, taking a deep breath, lifted and pushed. There was a crunch and grinding noise, and, with back flippers paddling in the air, the turtle was lifted up over the rocks onto a smoother, flatter surface. Here the rocks were smaller obstacles and leverage was possible. Slipping, sliding, Jennifer pushed and pulled, the turtle levering its weight so together they made gradual, bumpy, grinding progress over the coral flat.

  Jennifer stood and gazed at the distant break of water, so far away. But to her left she saw the deep watermark of a channel.

  ‘You stupid female! You’re just going in a straight line, the way you’ve always done. Look over there, go sideways and we can get into the channel and swim.’

  Stubbornly, the turtle resisted. Every cell in its body was programmed to the map it had followed for generations. But Jennifer was persistent, the old turtle tired. It slipped and tilted over a rock, facing more to the side than to the sea. They inched along, the turtle distressed. It struggled, but some will, some maternal force in Jennifer, gave her strength and tenacity and she finally tilted the old turtle into the shallow channel. Feeling water under its flippers, the turtle struggled forward with renewed energy. Jennifer was worried it would try to return to its former trajectory, so she hung on, now both of them dragging and scratching through the narrow channel with the water up to Jennifer’s knees.

  Then there was a gap, and a surge of water, and the channel dropped away to sudden depths. Jennifer held on to the great shell as the turtle started to swim, its head out of the sea, its gaze set on some distant horizon.

  It happened so quickly. The turtle was stroking determinedly ahead, carried by the washing current. Jennifer, clinging to its back, was swept into the deep narrow channel, heading to the white surge at the edge of the reef. In seconds they were through the choppy foam and suddenly in clear, gentle water. The turtle dived, swimming strongly, easily, and Jennifer gasped, shut her mouth and loosened her grip as it slid below the surface. The cumbersome beast was now weightless, moving gracefully through the blue water.

  The connection between them slipped away. The turtle tilted, swimming deeper, a flash of creamy undershell and a slight turn of the head. Did she see in that glassy, beady eye a look of knowingness, of gratitude? Jennifer was floating, still holding her breath, now aware of the seagrass waving and swaying, the wavelets above washing over the ledge of coral. She kicked, stroking upwards, and gasped for air.

  In a minute she had paddled to that ledge, grasping at the soft coral, and pulled herself back into the channel where against the run of water she hauled herself shorewards with kicking legs and stroking arms until she could stand. Wobbling and tripping, her feet scraped the sand while she waded and then scrambled across the rocky shallows to the beach.

  She fell onto the sand, her arms and legs scratched and bleeding, but overwhelmed by a sense of triumph. Something told her this was going to make her a better scientist – she had been there with her subject and had shared an innate if brief connection.

  It had been a week of building expectation as Dive Day approached. Isobel had arranged for a documentary film crew to be there and several visiting scientists had arrived at the research station.

  ‘I thought it was just Isobel and Gideon. Why are so many people interested?’ Jennifer whispered to Mac at an informal dinner.

  ‘Conditions are extraordinarily good. She said if the dive with Gideon went well they’d maybe be more adventurous and bring over the Sea-Life from Hawaii. We’re talking revolutionary winged micro submersibles. Isobel feels time is running out for the reef.’

  ‘Yes, she’s driven, all right. Are they trying for some record, or just seeing what they can find?’

  ‘Every deep dive is important. Publicity raises awareness of how precious the reef is. Most deep sea life seems to be in the fourteen to twenty thousand feet band. But of course there’re other things to be investigated in the deepest waters of the ocean. After all, the coral species found here are similar to those found right through the Indo Pacific region, but the stuff in the deep water is unique.’

  Rudi joined them. ‘Like weird creatures and the origins of man?’

  ‘What’s your theory on our evolution? Do you think we came from the sea?’ Jennifer asked Rudi.

  ‘What do you think, Mac?’ Rudi turned to their professor.

  ‘This is a social occasion, I’m not going to theorise. Except to say . . .’

  Jennifer and Rudi chuckled. ‘Go on, Mac’

  ‘Well, some say life originated in extreme environments, high heat, for example. And the hydrothermal vents deep in the sea contain organisms existing in conditions similar to the first life forms on the planet. Philosophical debates as to man’s origins aside, the fact that our food chain is based on energy from the sun, which doesn’t reach the deep sea, means life forms down there rely on a different energy source – that which shoots out of those vents.’

  ‘And not just energy – the biomedical industry is spending a fortune looking for useful enzymes for genetically based medicines and industrial chemicals and processes,’ said Rudi.

  Mac nodded. ‘I know your field is marine medicine research, Rudi, but energy reserves are vital too. How much oil is in the seabed? And what about the deposits of gravel, sand, manganese, tin, gold, diamonds? We want to know what minerals are in deep ocean ridges and deep-sea volcanoes.’

  ‘I’m understanding more and more why Isobel’s work is so important,’ said Jennifer. ‘It’s not all airy-fairy save the ocean stuff. There’s serious investment and business at stake. But mining the ocean is a risk.’

  ‘I still think marine-based medications are going to help cure human diseases,’ said Rudi. ‘Coral reefs hold chemicals that will help fight cancer, AIDS, diabetes. We’re just starting to find out the molecular potential of the sea.’

  ‘Then do you think we should be mining the seabed?’ asked Jennifer.

  Rudi shook his head and shrugged, but before he could answer Tony suddenly appeared beside Jennifer.

  ‘Hey, there’s dancing in the street. Someone has a speaker outside their room and everyone is dancing. Want to join me?’

  ‘Sure. Though I haven’t danced in a while,’ said Jennifer, thinking back to her uni days and crowded pubs with unknown bands.

  ‘Me either. I got used to Eastern music, which isn’t so danceable.’

  They left Mac’s crowded house, threading past dancers, just as the music changed to a ballad. Tony shrugged and they drew to
gether at the edge of the sandy path lit by the lights from inside the cottages and several security spotlights on buildings.

  Tony turned to her and Jennifer slipped comfortably into the circle of his arms. They didn’t speak for a few moments as they concentrated on the music. The intimacy of their physical contact caught them off-guard. People were laughing, talking, dancing, picking at snacks on the table outside the canteen.

  Tony broke the silence between them. ‘Never thought I’d be leading a normal life again. Doing things like this. Though I suspect life on this island is rather unreal.’

  ‘In a good or bad way? Or because of what everyone is doing? Either lusting and lazing in the sun or doing rather offbeat if important work,’ said Jennifer. ‘I guess it’s not like the mundane mainland world.’

  ‘I’ve changed since being here. Which was part of the reason I came. One, to do a story, and, two, to see if I could regain . . . myself. Some equilibrium. Memories of an ugly war are less sharp in sunshine on a beautiful tropical island.’

  ‘I’ve noticed a difference in you,’ said Jennifer carefully. ‘I had you down as a loner, a reclusive, moody type. You’ve definitely come out of your shell.’

  ‘Oh dear. Sorry if I was rude or anything. I hate moody types myself. My worry is I’ll revert, be like one of your turtles and go into my shell when I leave here next week. Lovely as it is, this island is an excuse, a means to escape from reality.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that!’ exclaimed Jennifer. ‘I’ve made some pretty dramatic decisions since being here. I hope I don’t regret them when I go back to the mainland.’

  ‘Like getting in the water, that was a big step.’

  ‘And leaving my husband. That’s been a major step.’ She gave a small smile. ‘Though, in talking it over with Isobel, it was a step following a lot of smaller steps going in the same direction to the same destination.’

  ‘Oh. I don’t know what to say.’ Tony was flustered at her news.

  ‘I wasn’t going to tell you. It just slipped out. But I suppose everyone will know soon enough.’

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t been hit by island fever? That’s a pretty drastic step to take . . . in your condition. And what about your studies? Does Mac know?’

  ‘He knew before I did, I suspect,’ said Jennifer with sudden insight. ‘He’s so supportive. Now you’ve got me worried. About life off the island. I keep assuming things will stay as they are.’

  Tony tightened his fingers around hers. ‘Nothing stays the same. We just have to hope they get better. And, I’m finding, they do.’

  They moved slowly together to the undulating mood music. Tony drew her closer to him as he executed a turn, then missed a step and stopped, looking embarrassed and amused. ‘I just got kicked.’

  ‘Oh, did I? It’s the sand underfoot.’

  ‘No. I mean . . .’ he pointed at her belly. ‘Someone else is dancing.’

  Jennifer blushed and laughed. ‘Did you feel that? I’m getting used to all the bumps and rumbles and turns. The baby seems more active at night.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. That was different.’ He held her close again, mumbling in her hair. ‘Are you okay about being on your own with a baby on the way? How does your husband cope with that idea?’

  Jennifer wanted to blurt out the thoughts that came to her mind. Blair never wanted a child. Well, not for some years. He’ll be a provider but not a parent. Later on, when the child can communicate, then perhaps he’ll take more interest. But no, this child is my responsibility and I’ll wear the consequences. Instead she said, ‘We’re still talking about the future. Blair will do the right thing. But he’s ambitious and a baby and a wife veering off to do her own thing wasn’t how he planned his life.’

  ‘Oh. Why not? I would think that’d be quite an asset – an independent-minded wife.’

  ‘Have you ever been married? Or thought about it?’ asked Jennifer. She felt his arm and back go rigid and realised she’d touched a nerve.

  ‘I’ve thought about it. Didn’t happen.’

  They danced for a moment and Jennifer decided not to probe further. Was Tony one of those men she’d read about in magazines with commitment phobia? Yet he seemed such a worldly man: well-travelled, experienced, sophisticated; he’d seen the underbelly of life, yet was sensitive, and also sentimental, she suspected.

  But he seemed to want to talk. Holding Jennifer, talking into her hair, he couldn’t see her expression, which made it easier for him. ‘I’ve been emotionally wounded, which pales in comparison to the wounded in war, but the final blow was trying to rescue a little girl and adopt her. I was prepared for the difficulties and red tape. I wasn’t prepared for her to be killed. I came to the conclusion it was easier not to open your heart than to get it shattered.’

  ‘Isobel says you have to trust. Believe there is something wonderful waiting for you. That you deserve it,’ said Jennifer softly, adding, ‘I’m working on that concept.’

  ‘You must be a strong woman,’ said Tony. ‘Not many would have the guts to do what you’re doing. I admire you. You see a lot of bad relationships and marriages out there, and you think, Who’d want that? It all looks too hard.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she said wryly. ‘I can’t think past doing my degree, the book with you and Mac and, oh yes, having a baby.’

  Tony gave a mock wince. ‘Ouch. Makes my current lifestyle seem rather lazy. Another reason I like being on an island is I don’t have to face a cranky editor, ageing parents, a sister with family problems and the decision about what to do with the rest of my life.’

  ‘Oh dear. When does it get easy? Simple? I hoped I wouldn’t have to struggle like my mother.’ Or be as unhappy. She spoke lightly but he sensed something in her voice.

  ‘What does your mother think about your big decision?’ he asked gently.

  ‘She doesn’t know yet. I’m going over to see the doctor and have a mother–daughter talk in a few days’ time. She’ll probably be pleased.’

  ‘Why would that be?’ Tony was thinking of his own mother, how she longed for him to get married and how devastated she’d be if his pregnant wife left him. The enormity of Jennifer’s step hit him even more.

  ‘Oh, being a widow, the trauma of losing my father and brother . . . she’s a bit possessive. Frankly, no man is ever going to be good enough for me. Blair never stood a chance. And because of her own baggage she dislikes all men. So there you have it.’

  ‘Hmm. I suppose you can’t blame her,’ said Tony sympathetically. ‘Though it must be hard on you.’

  Jennifer felt a swift rush of annoyance and then immediately guilty. ‘It is. If you met my mother you’d like her. And wonder what I’m going on about.’

  ‘No, no, I know what you’re saying,’ he said comfortingly. ‘My sister has problems with our parents and gets cross at me for not backing her up. Maybe that’s the trouble. I’m too objective, I have to look at something from all sides, and that annoys those close to you who want unconditional approval and support.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what makes you a balanced journalist,’ said Jennifer.

  ‘Maybe it’s what also holds me back in emotional relationships,’ he said carefully. ‘I’m not prepared to dive in, throw caution to the wind and be passionately committed, no matter what.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ said Jennifer. ‘I bet Gideon would have something to say about that.’

  ‘It’s not easy to change, trust, relinquish your hand on the controls.’ He smiled at her.

  ‘Look at me. It’s easy!’ She lifted both arms in the air. ‘I’ve taken the paddle out of the water and I’m letting the current push my canoe along and I have to hope I don’t go over a waterfall.’

  ‘God, you seem so fearless. Isobel is right. She says women are stronger than men when it comes to the heart stuff.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Tony. You’ve been through more than most of us. I can’t think how I’d deal with a child I loved and wanted t
o protect being killed.’

  He drew her to him. ‘Thanks, Jen.’

  The baby seemed to resent the pressure of their bodies pressed so close and did a small somersault. They laughed and Jennifer lifted her head to see what she could read in his sea-green eyes. Tony was gazing at the shirt stretched across her expanding tummy. Jennifer took his hand and placed it on her belly so he could feel the rolling movement of her baby.

  ‘It’s either a bum, a head, or a small soccer ball,’ he grinned. ‘Amazing. How do you sleep?’

  The music revved up and they walked away. ‘With difficulty,’ admitted Jennifer. ‘Speaking of which, I’m going to head to bed. I’ll just check with Mac about the procedures and protocol for the big day – seeing there are so many VIPs around.’

  ‘I’m going to be with Lloyd on the cruiser taking pictures. Could you tape some stuff?’ asked Tony. ‘Just chat to people. Everyone present will have something interesting to say, I suspect. It will be useful for my article and the book overview.’

  ‘Sure. I gather people are going to be at the research station so I’ll talk to them after the dive.’

  ‘What these people are doing and learning is quite possibly going to have global implications,’ said Tony, as they walked back to Mac’s cottage. ‘I mean, what started as looking at ways to save our Barrier Reef is turning into groundbreaking research into medical, energy, environmental and conservation issues on a massive scale.’

  ‘I was talking to a scientist tonight – correction – I was listening to a scientist tonight, that fellow from Florida who was trying to explain the theory of interconnectedness in nature’s network,’ said Jennifer, shaking her head. ‘Boggling stuff.’

  ‘I’m still trying to grasp the finer points of the world wide web let alone the patterns and networking Mother Nature has created amongst planets, animals and the human sphere,’ said Tony. ‘It’s hard enough just relating to other people. I think I’ll stick to the written word.’

  ‘I enjoyed the dance. And talking with you,’ said Jennifer.