my voice acquires the faintest tremor

  ‘ … I haven’t told you this

  but my mother

  is very sick.

  She might not get better

  if she doesn’t have some

  special medicine

  that costs a lot of money.’

  I let this out like a piece of string,

  let it lie there, don’t tug it back,

  just yet.

  Instead I open the lid

  of my biscuit tin,

  take out a coin

  and inspect it up against

  the magnifying sun.

  ‘If we can just get a bit more shell,

  I’ll have enough money

  to save my poor mother.’

  My humility is impressing even me.

  My throat’s thick.

  Georgie’s gaze follows me

  as I pace up and down.

  ‘You boys have worked very hard.’

  I nod as if

  I’ve just decided something.

  ‘It’s time you had a bonus.’

  I walk round the circle,

  handing each of them a coin

  in tum.

  I just about have to poke

  Takemoto’s

  in his fish-bum fist,

  but he doesn’t throw it back.

  I watch Georgie’s fingers

  itching to uncurl,

  but in the end his stubbornness wins.

  I smile and move on.

  He’ll be back for it later.

  Some habits are just too hard to break.

  I see the others’ shoulders relaxing

  as I hover

  over each of them

  crossing their palms

  with silver.

  ‘Just a little longer, boys,

  that’s all I ask.’

  Good old Clive

  hands his coin back

  with a loud snot-sniff.

  ‘Take this for

  mother medicine, Boss.’

  ‘Thank you, Clive,’ I say softly

  and fold my lips

  to indicate

  how moved

  I am by the gesture.

  I wait,

  expectantly

  but none of the other

  selfish mongrels

  follows his example.

  Too bloody bad

  if my mother really was sick.

  Soliloquy

  ‘I’m not an unreasonable man, am I?’

  We’re cleaning shell in the sun.

  Georgie doesn’t answer,

  just straightens the bit of cloth

  tied round his forehead

  and puffs on his smoke.

  Patience, I tell myself,

  patience.

  Civilisation

  wasn’t built

  from savagery

  in a day.

  ‘You know, son,

  I’m not whingeing

  but I’ve had a pretty hard life.

  I was born illegitimate,

  and things pretty much went downhill

  from there.’

  His mouth twists but still he doesn’t speak.

  ‘My slut of a wife was having it off

  with my brother,

  did you know that?

  Forty years old she was.

  You’d think by then she’d know better,

  but that’s women all over.’

  This man-to-man

  confessional

  is getting me nowhere.

  He snicks another shell open.

  Ah May’s clanking pots around.

  I can hear the compressor’s cluk, clak

  in the distance.

  Something flickers

  to starboard

  and I turn my head.

  ‘I used to be like that flying fish

  out there,’ I say,

  ‘but instead of choosing

  when and where I wanted to jump

  there was an endless

  cracker up my bum.

  That no-hoper

  family of mine

  kept lighting the fuse.

  I kept jumping

  but one day,

  I became the creature

  they created.

  One day, Georgie

  I grew wings.’

  I feel my eyes watering.

  ‘That’s what I want

  for you boys,

  to grow your own wings.’

  ‘That happen, we

  flyaway from you,’

  he whispers.

  It’s a shock hearing his voice

  after all that silence.

  It’s a shock, falling into

  volcano eyes

  as they’re erupting.

  My hand comes out

  of its own volition

  connects with the side of his head

  a solid,

  teeth-rattling thunk.

  Blood trickles from his ear

  but he’s not cowed.

  He’s a hair’s breadth from using

  that knife in his hand

  on me.

  The air between us is

  intoxicating.

  I laugh,

  feeling more alive

  than I have in days.

  Something in my face,

  my twitching fingers,

  gives him pause.

  He puts the knife down

  with measured care.

  ‘You crazy as a hat,’

  is all he says.

  Chafing

  ‘Boss?’

  By the tone of his voice

  Sandy’s been trying to get my attention

  for a while.

  I look at him

  onlyz seeing a vague outline

  of a skinny figure that could

  be a palm frond moving in the breeze.

  ‘What!’

  The frond grows arms and legs.

  ‘Time to get in your suit.

  Takemoto coming up.’

  ‘Righto, mate.’

  Bone and muscle

  protest as I stand.

  I look around Matilda

  as if its the first time I’ve seen her.

  ‘You have a girlfriend, Sandy?’

  I pull down the diving suit

  from the wooden crucifix

  on deck,

  where its been hung to dry.

  ‘Yes, Boss,’ he says, and I can

  tell by the tone of his voice

  he’s still leery of me.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Lily Wayma.’

  Despite his caution,

  the name’s

  like milk sliding

  off his tongue.

  ‘She pretty?’

  His smile says indeed she is.

  ‘You like to have a pearl

  to give this Lily Wayma?

  Make her want to marry you

  p’raps?’

  ‘Yes, Boss. I like that.’

  The master of understatement!

  I hear a noise and look over

  to where Morishita’s

  pulling the canvas monster

  Takemoto from the sea.

  ‘I’ll see if I can find you one, son,’

  I say

  as he starts rubbing

  the white cream all over my hands

  to stop me chafing.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Manta Ray

  I look up to an eclipse

  of wet blue sunlight

  that falls

  though a dazzling portal

  from

  the

  surface

  down

  to where I stand.

  It’s twenty feet across,

  twenty feet of dark

  wings flapping

  and two horns.

  Something inside

  that gliding body’s

  sending me a message

  I can’t decipher

  with its flashlamp.

  I watch with rapt attention

  as the slats

  on the underbelly

  open and close,

  open and close.

  Water, Water Everywhere

  Ah May catches me

  emptying a bucket

  of seawater

  onto the piece of sugarbag

  I’ve tied over

  the top of the drinking tank.

  His mouth drops open.

  ‘Just a little

  extender,’

  I explain.

  His voice is a strangled

  whistle.

  ‘You can’t, Boss! Everyone

  get sick.’

  ‘No they won’t,’

  I boom heartily.

  ‘A bit of salt is good for cramps.’

  I straighten up

  supporting my back

  and wink at his pale-faced

  horror.

  ‘Just keep your trap shut

  and cut down on the soy

  eh?’

  Becalmed

  I saw the bloated carcass

  of a Hereford

  in a flooded river

  near the Queensland border

  once,

  dipping and floating

  like a gassy

  balloon.

  Today the ocean’s

  sealed up tight

  against the sky

  and we’re trapped

  inside

  its putrid belly,

  bobbing up and down

  in place.

  A Captain Has to Draw the Line

  Georgie was right

  about those mainland boys.

  I whacked Clive and Dickie

  a few times with

  the mangrove stick.

  So what?

  The little bastards

  were burning

  some bush-boogaloo

  behind the cabin.

  They thought it would put

  me to sleep,

  they thought

  they could steal the dinghy.

  Now I always

  keep one eye open—

  the fixed and glittering

  eye.

  The same one

  I pull out of its socket

  and chase them

  round the deck with

  when I really want to scare them.

  Wasps and Tarnish

  ‘Boss, we worry.’

  Ah May’s fidgeting and fussing

  on his bare little feet.

  I look up and blink.

  The sun’s like a branding iron

  on the back of my neck.

  I’m sitting at the stem,

  polishing.

  It’s important to keep things polished.

  But its a never-ending job

  and the skin’s rubbed

  off

  each knuckle.

  Each one feels like a wasp-sting.

  I can’t remember

  how long I’ve been here.

  The sun’s well over

  the yardarm.

  But not long enough

  obviously.

  ‘Tarnish, Ah May … it’s the scourge

  of the British.

  You blokes have the right idea,

  making everything out of reeds.’

  ‘Boss, you talk to yourself

  all the time.’

  That’s the trouble out here

  in the sea air,’ I say firmly.

  ‘Wasps and tarnish.’

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘What?’ I have a feeling

  I’ve missed something.

  His black eyes are puddles

  stirred up with a stick.

  He starts fiddling with the cord

  on his ratty trousers.

  In the end he shakes his head

  and walks away.

  I go back to my polishing,

  catching sight of Georgie

  in my side vision.

  He’s just standing there,

  eavesdropping.

  I wave frivolously

  to show

  I’m willing to let

  bygones be bygones,

  and also to shoo the wasps.

  He doesn’t wave back.

  The Dance of the Seven Veils

  Takemoto’s stripped down

  to his corselet and helmet.

  It’s true

  the water’s shallow here.

  I can see the bottom.

  Hanging over the side

  I watch him dissolve

  into the crinkled sea

  the airline

  and lifeline

  trailing after him.

  Deeper Water

  We’ve sailed to deeper water near Darnley Island.

  ‘Put my full suit on,’ I tell Takemoto.

  He nods indifferently

  as Morishita

  rubs cream on his fingers.

  He looks like a walking zombie.

  They all do.

  If I kept a ship’s log,

  today I would write

  morale is low.

  I’m sick of all the same

  black and yellow faces.

  Sick of the food

  the shellfish stench

  the greasy curried onions

  the ocean breeze flapping

  in my face

  like a piss-soaked sheet.

  I’m sick of a dead man

  (hear me Ted!)

  holding the key

  to this watery prison.

  Maybe it’s time

  to go home.

  EIGHT WEEKS OUT

  … SOU’EAST OF

  DARNLEY ISLAND …

  Here We Go Again

  It’s the compressor I hear first,

  that shift in rhythm

  something wrong

  clackclackclack

  then Morishita yelling

  ‘Aiee, tetsudai,

  tetsudai!’

  He braces his feet

  against the hull

  and hauls frantically on the lifeline.

  Half the crew are on the rope with him

  by the time

  I get there

  from the other end

  of the lugger.

  The Accident

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened

  if he’d listened to me,’

  I tell them.

  I look down

  at the distended body

  with regret.

  Morishita is crouched

  under the main’sl

  wailing and gurgling

  as if someone’s

  pouring boiling oil

  down his throat.

  No doubt he feels responsible

  and guilt’s more effective

  a punishment

  than any thrashing

  I could devise.

  I may have to throttle him soon,

  regardless,

  just to shut him up.

  The others are watchful.

  Bing Tang’s dragged out

  his rosary beads, and he’s rolling them

  round and round

  his sea-stung fingers,

  chanting some Catholic

  mumbo-jumbo.

  I feel Georgie’s gaze

  on my back

  and tum.

  His smoke’s trembling

  in his mouth.

  ‘Tonight at dusk,’ I say solemnly

  ‘there’ll be a small service,

  then we’ll bury him at sea.’

  There’s a gasp from Ah May,

  the last one

  I thought would care.

  ‘You have to take him back

  to shore Boss, otherwise

  big bad luck.’

  A picture of that fancy

  J ap cemetery on TI

  flashes into my mind

  and my lips tighten.

  ‘Look, these blokes

  come to our country.

  They have to live by our rules.

  If it’s good enough for any of us

  to go over the side when it’s our turn

  then it’s good enough for Takemoto.’

  Morishita wails even louder.

  I’m growing bored with all this fuss.

  It’s bloody hot in the sun.

  I’m thirsty and dizzy.

  Maybe cutting the fresh water

  with salt

  wasn’t such a good idea.

  I’m also getting snakey

  over all this extra energy

  I have to waste

  arguing.

  ‘I’m not taking him back,

  and before anyone asks

  no, I’m not going to hang

  a lantern

  for the dead either.’

  I look down at Takemoto.

  For once he’s got nothing to say.

  His skin’s the purple mottle

  of an overripe fig.

  ‘Cover him up,’ I order curtly,

  ‘before the flies get at him.

  At dusk, we’ll have a small service

  then over the side he goes.’

  I fix my gaze on each of them in tum,

  daring them

  to defy me.

  Burial at Sea

  ‘I am he that liveth, and was dead;

  and behold … I have the keys of life

  and of death.’

  I’m improvising a bit.

  My voice glides and soars

  on the slight breeze.

  I don’t think much of the Bible.

  It’s just another set of stories,

  but I enjoy the drama

  of reading it out loud.

  I look at them, each in turn

  tilt my chin up

  portentously.

  ‘We are here this evening

  to farewell our companion

  Takemoto Izabura.’

  Water slaps the side of the lugger

  and we all adjust our stance.

  ‘His family are not here with

  us, but I would like to think

  in these weeks we’ve become

  close enough

 

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