Pearls

by Colin Falconer

  Siosuki hissed under his breath, wiping the scalding coffee off his hand onto his shorts.

  'The food's shit! Your coffee's shit!'

  Siosuki bowed and backed off. 'Yes, boss.'

  The crew all watched this exchange, then shrugged their shoulders, and got back to work. Divers were notoriously bad-tempered when they were working. Most of them had permanent 'rheumatics', mild but chronic cases of the bends. It gave them terrible cramps in the shoulders and constant headaches that kept them awake all night. Usually the pain did not subside until they went below again.

  There was nothing to be done except stay out of his way and get on with the work.

  The tenders set to work checking the diver's lifeline and the red rubber hoses of his air pipe. Simeon got into his diver's dress and then sat down on the stool next to the main mast and waited for the lugger to set into its drift. When he finished his cigarette he crushed it out and threw the remains into the scuppers. He wanted another, badly, but in a moment he would be going over the side.

  It was not the rheumatics that kept him awake last night. The white boss's ghost had visited him again. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could see him, all grey and mottled and the white skull bones glistening among the sticky mass of matted and bloodied hair. He had hovered at the end of Simeon's bunk, all night, not saying a word.

  Soon the ghost would have company. The previous afternoon Niland's schooner, the Ada, had brought them provisions and their 'slop chests' - tobacco, drink, and other provisions. The crew also gave them all the news from Broome - Cameron had been found guilty. He was to be put on board the next steamer and sent south to be hanged in Fremantle Gaol.

  You going to let this happen, Simeon? You want to forget how he dived nearly four fathoms to save your life?

  Wes, naked except for a pair of white cotton shorts, padded across the deck. 'You shiverin'. Mebbe you got da rheumatics dis mornin'.'

  'I'm all right. Where's Huey Fong?'

  'He still be in his bunk. Reckon you go down first.'

  The breeze had settled into an easterly. The crew hauled on the halyard and the anchor chains rattled as the Ilsa got under way. Simeon ordered them to hoist mainsail and jib and then the Koepangers started up the air pump.

  The Ilsa began its beat to windward towards the outer edge of a patch of shell they had worked the day before. The sun started to rise above the red cliffs along the eighty Mile Beach. Simeon stepped over the bulwark and onto the rope ladder, rested his corselet on the rail.

  Wes lashed the heavy leads onto Simeon's suit and then screwed on the heavy sea-greened helmet. He checked the lines and hoses and then went to the bucket of water that was lying in the middle of the deck. He took out the face glass, dried it, and screwed it into position. He tapped on the glass and nodded.

  Simeon had been through the routine countless times. He wasn't even thinking about shell; he was thinking about the white boss's ghost.

  Siosuki watched him float for a moment on the surface and then sink out of sight in a foam of bubbles. He grinned. Maybe you ruin my face, he thought, but now I ruin your life.

  ***

  Cameron watched the moon rise over the mangroves through the bars of his cell. It was rust-red, as if it had been smeared with a handful of Kimberley dirt. 'Blood on the moon', they called it. As it rose in the sky it seemed to shrink and cleanse itself until it hovered high over the bay like a fat pearl.

  So many times he might have died before this; during the Navy diving experiments in the Scottish lochs, on the Dreadnought when the Germans sunk her at Jutland. He never thought it would happen this way. It wasn't even death that troubled him as much as that he would go to his grave reviled as a murderer. That was worse to him than dying.

  He had always thought he would one day set things to rights with Kate. But that would never happen now. She would not even talk to him. He had betrayed her trust once, and trust, they said, was like a woman's virtue; you could only lose it once.

  And poor Rosie. She had perjured herself for his sake. They had all sat in judgment of her in that courtroom, even the men who had used her. She had let herself be humiliated to try and save him. What would she do now? She'd have to get out of Broome. And go where?

  It wasn't meant to be this way. He had promised himself since he was a boy that he would make something of his life, be someone. It would have taken just one good pearl.

  Just one.

  He reached out a hand between the bars for the silver moon. He withdrew it, empty, but its ghost light still beckoned him, like a promise unkept.

  Chapter 37

  Simeon signalled bottom, adjusted his air intake valve to the water pressure, the bubbles rattling through his helmet close by his ear. The only other sound was the reassuring clack-clack of the air pump twenty fathoms above him on the deck of the Ilsa.

  He was on a weedy plain and the sea grasses bent and swayed with the soft, green tide. He walked slowly forwards, kicking up little puffs of sand with the brass toes of his boots. A coral cliff loomed out of the sea mist ahead of him, dotted with the bright reds and yellows of rubbery sea vegetables.

  A turtle flashed past him, not ten metres away, its long neck straining, swerving left and right. The lithe grey shape of a tiger shark followed it, snapping at the turtle's fins like a dog chasing a rabbit.

  Simeon ignored the shark. He had spotted the tell-tale glimpse of nacre from an oyster shell on the cliff and started to lumber towards it.

  He stopped, alarmed. Something was looming out of the shadows underneath the cliff. At first he thought it was a large fish, a grouper perhaps. But then he saw silver hair waving dreamily with the movement of the sea.

  'Flynn,' he said, his voice echoing in the cathedral chamber of the copper helmet.

  He was dressed in the white linen suit he had worn that night on the beach. He was bleeding. It was impossible to bleed like that, underwater, but somehow it was there, oozing down his face from a deep wound in his skull.

  He wanted to signal Wes on the lifeline: Haul up! quick! But a voice in his head whispered: Don't panic, it's just your imagination. Close your eyes and it will disappear! The deeps could play tricks on a diver. Hadn't he seen a score of other divers come up wide-eyed and babbling about sea ghosts and green-eyed monsters?

  But when he opened his eyes again Flynn was still there, floating in front of him. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He unfolded it, carefully, to show him what was inside. It was a noose.

  'Here is your payment for the pearl, my boy!' he said.

  Simeon clenched his eyes shut again. Just a phantom, he told himself. It isn't real.

  Sure enough, when he opened his eyes this time, Flynn was gone. He had been replaced by something far worse. The tiger shark was circling, , the pattern of bars on its flanks clearly visible. Its short, blunt snout was thrust out like a dog sniffing at raw meat. The sickle mouth revealed rows of ugly, cockscomb teeth.

  Simeon held his arm towards the shark and pulled back the cuff at his wrist, letting loose a stream of bubbles. Sharks were cowards at heart, and the tactic had never failed to scare them off before.

  The tiger darted and twisted away through the water. But then, to his horror, it came back again, edging closer. He loosed another stream of bubbles at it.

  The shark turned away again but in a moment it was back, still curious. It small, piggy eyes were greedy for something. Simeon knew it would not attack straight away; they were cautious creatures and it still did not know what to make of him. But if it did attack just one tear in his suit from those teeth and he would be dead. The water would rush in and he would drown.

  Simeon bent down and scrambled in the sand, his hand closing around a large stone. Then he gripped the lifeline with all his strength and gave the signal: 'Haul up until your backs break!'

  He looked around for the tiger and was deafened by his own scream inside the helmet. It was coming right at him. He was afforded a brief glimpse of
the gleaming needles of its teeth and the blood-red gills behind them before its teeth snapped shut on the copper helmet. It was like being trapped inside a cathedral bell when someone struck it with a sledgehammer. He thought his ear drums had ruptured.

  The shark wheeled away, confused and angry.

  Wes and the crew had started to haul on the line. He looked up. Twenty fathoms. The copper hull of the Ilsa seemed so far away, it might as well have been the moon. He opened the air valve on his helmet wide, filled his suit with air to help rush him to the surface.

  He jerked up through the water, the shark following. It opened its sickle mouth. He felt warm piss streaming down his leg inside his suit. Holy Mary, Mother of God, he wasn't going to make it!

  The shark nosed forward. Simeon kicked at it in desperation, his heavy lead boot butting its sensitive nose. It wheeled away again, furious and confused; for a moment Simeon thought it had gone. He jerked his head around inside the helmet, searching the murky water.

  He saw a lithe green shadow coming at him again, just out of his vision, behind him and to his left.

  He looked up. Another couple of metres. so close! Pull harder, damn you, pull harder!

  The shark flashed towards him. Simeon let go the heavy stone he was holding in his right hand. The shark instinctively swerved away at the last moment and gobbled it up.

  Then his head was out of the water and even through the helmet he could hear the crew shouting and beating their coffee tins against the side of the hull to try and scare the monster away. One of the Koepangers was stabbing at something with the gaffe. He felt himself lifted up the side of the Ilsa, the sea reluctantly giving him up, his boots streaming seawater.

  He was safe.

  Suddenly the tiger rose of the sea, its jaw agape. Its teeth clashed shut like a steel trap and Simeon knew he had lost his legs. He screamed and blacked out.

  But the fish, punctured by the gaffe and intimidated by the movement in the water, came up short. It bit the toe of Simeon's lead boot clean off, and disappeared into the depths.

  ***

  Kendo brought two plates of bacon and eggs from the kitchen and put one on the table in front of George. Kate shook her head.

  'Missy not hungry?'

  'No, thank you, Kendo. Please take it away.' He nodded and retreated to the kitchen.

  'Are you all right, my dear?'

  'Yes, thank you, George. I'm just not hungry, that's all.'

  'You've hardly touched your food lately. Perhaps you should see Doctor Halloran.'

  'It's the heat, that's all.'

  'You're looking quite thin.'

  Kate threw her napkin on the table. 'For goodness sake, stop fussing over me!'

  George frowned. He didn't like it when she threw tantrums in front of his son. 'Have you finished your breakfast?' he said to him.

  Jamie finished his porridge and pushed the bowl away. 'Can I have some bacon and eggs?'

  'Not this morning. Go outside and play.'

  'But I'm still hungry.' Jamie turned to his mother for support. 'I want some bacon and eggs. I'm starving.'

  'Go and play,' George repeated.

  'When I'm dead of hunger you'll be sorry,' Jamie muttered. He slunk out of the house, slamming the screen door.

  George sighed. 'That boy is unmanageable.'

  'He's a normal little boy.'

  'He has far too much to say for himself.' George wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and put down his knife and fork. 'Will you please tell me what's the matter?'

  'I don't want to discuss it.'

  'It's this business about McKenzie, isn't it?'

  'Of course. What do you expect? I loved that man.'

  George clenched his fists in his lap. Dear God, had she no shame?

  'George, you may feel gratified by recent events but I assure you, I do not. My father's not cold yet, and now the man I used to love, the man whose child is this minute-'

  'For God's sake!'

  '-this minute at the kitchen window, begging Kendo for the rest of his breakfast ...'

  George twisted around in his chair. 'I told the boy-'

  '... that man is leaving next week on a steamer that will take him to the gallows in Fremantle. No, I don't love him anymore. But my life ... and you ask me what's wrong? As if I can just sweep all that aside.'

  George stared at the table in stony silence.

  'I know that to you, people are just pawns to push around, pieces in this private chess game you play in your head ...'

  'How dare you ...'

  '... but ever since the verdict you have been walking around like the price of shell has doubled overnight. Don't expect me to share your triumph.'

  'I did what I could for him.'

  'I'm sure he's grateful for that.'

  He threw his napkin on the table and leaped to his feet. 'What do you want from me? I've given you everything! I made you a queen after he left you in the gutter! Is this how you repay me?'

  She turned to walk out and he grabbed her wrist. 'Let me go, George.'

  'You vilify me and castigate me for every little fault and you refuse me my conjugal rights ... I could as well ask you what you want of me?'

  A reaction at last. He was always so aloof, so dispassionate about things. Now, as she looked into the soft grey-flecked eyes she found that she could not hate him, not really. If she hated anyone, it was herself.

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Sorry?'

  'I should not have married you. It was selfish, and it was a mistake.'

  He let her go. His anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. He straightened, checked his gold fob watch. 'I must go. I'll be late for the office. Kendo!' He went into his study to get his briefcase. 'Kendo!' he shouted again and swept towards the door. He kissed her on the forehead. 'I'll see you at lunch,' he said.

  ***

  George went down the veranda steps and strode towards the Buick. Kendo was already stooped in front of the motor, turning the crank handle. George glanced up and saw Jamie pushing a yolk-stained plate back through the kitchen window to Liddy.

  They were all set on defying him! Well he might stop by at the gaol on the way to the office and say goodbye to McKenzie. It might lift his spirits.

  ***

  For two hours Simeon lay on his bunk and sobbed like a baby. The shark continued to dog the Ilsa, the dark body arrowing through the crystal blue water off the stern. There would be no more diving that day.

  Wes got a cup of steaming black coffee from the galley and went down the scuttle. Simeon was curled up on his bunk, his knees tucked into his chest.

  Simeon's eyes flickered open. 'Mister Flynn?'

  Wes frowned. 'It's me, Wes.'

  'Wes?'

  'Dat shark plenty humbug, hey? Here, you drink dis, feel better bimeby.'

  Simeon shook his head. 'That was no shark. That was Flynn. Never going to let me rest, I reckon.'

  'What yo' talkin' 'bout? Jay-sus!'

  'I saw him, Wes. That shark's got Flynn in him.'

  'Mebbe you bin dive too long, boy. You seein' spirit now. all diver see spirit one time.'

  'He came straight for me. Like no shark I ever saw before.'

  Wes put the coffee down and leaned in close. 'You check yo' suit befo' you dive, huh?'

  Simeon shook his head.

  'Dere was stains on yo' suit. Look like blood to me.'

  'Flynn?'

  'Will you shaddup 'bout dat Flynn? I'm tellin' you dey was real bloodstains. Mebbe somebody puts dat turtle blood on yo' suit.'

  Turtle blood! Just a drop of turtle blood in the water would turn a shark crazy. The previous afternoon, after the Ada had left, the crew had seen a turtle in the water, three of the Koepangers had jumped over the side and captured it with ropes and knives. They had cooked it and eaten it for supper.

  'Hanaguchi!' Simeon whispered.

  'Mebbe.'

  'I'll kill him!'

  Wes grabbed him by the shoulders . 'It ain't certain it was him
, boy. You want for killim, that's yo' business. But not while you is on dis boat. Dere four mo' Japs on dis hyar crew, we doan want no war.'

  'I'll kill him,' Simeon repeated.

  'Mebbe you better, boy. Looks like he ain't ever goin' to let you be for messin' up his face. Till then, mebbe you better stay crazy. I tell dat Huey Fong more better we go back to Broome. Hokkay?'

  Simeon nodded. The big man was right. 'Okay,' he said.

  ***

  Huey crouched over the doorway of the galley, whispering to Siosuki. 'Wes saw the bloodstains on the suit! I know he did!'

  'What prove?'

  'You have to find some other way! Maybe Simeon won't ever dive no more.'

  'You help me.'

  Huey looked around to make sure none of the crew were eavesdropping, but they were all too busy watching the shark which had appeared again, off the port side. 'It's your fight, Japanese. Nothing to do with me.'

  Siosuki picked up the bone-handled knife, the one he had used to cut up the turtle the night before. He waved it under Huey's nose. 'You help! Or maybe you next!'

  'Or maybe I should tow you behind the boat like your friends did to that Koepanger!'

  'You never dare!' Siosuki said confidently.

  He was right. With four other Japs on board, he didn't dare.

  'You help me, Manilaman!'

  Wes came out of the scuttle and Huey Fong turned away. He saw the big West Indian touch the ju-ju on his neck for luck and make the sign against the evil eye.

  Chapter 38

  Simeon lay on his bunk, shivering, while the sweat poured down his face. It was deathly silent save for the creaking of cordage and the lap of the waves against the hull. He heard the padding of feet on the deck above as the night watch changed hands.

  He was drunk with exhaustion but still couldn't sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw Flynn standing there, holding out the handkerchief with the noose inside. Above him Huey Fong tossed and turned, groaning and grinding his teeth. The diver's rheumatics, he supposed.