Night Floundering

By Ann Davie

"Come on.  I told her we'd be gone by now."  An elbow to the ribs and I was finally awake.  Who would bother trying to fish at this time of night?  Two a.m.  It's awful trying to wake up after having slept for only a few hours.  The need to sleep was even stronger than when I had gone to bed just three hours earlier.

"You know my mother.  She'll make me pay for it if we don't go."  He ripped the quilt off and then spitefully turned on the ceiling light.  This was the kind of light usually reserved for emergency wards, taxi cafes and all-night laundries.  I groaned and made a half-hearted attempt at pulling the quilt back up over me.

"Just a little bit more?  What time are they expecting us?"  A master of precision timing, I was sure I could eke out at least ten more minutes, and perhaps even persuade him that we really didn't have to go fishing at all.

"We're going to follow them up there.  It's a half-hour drive and I don't know where we're going.  We're meeting some other people up who have a shack up there.  So we've got to go now."

I knew it wasn't because he liked fish.  Tom hated fish.  He had to go because of his mother.  His fear of saying "no" meant he resorted to giving in.  It was far easier than confrontation.

Nothing he could do would live up to her expectations.  In truth, she had harbored no expectations for him - she simply cast an illusion in front to lure him.  Her love was unattainable, not even conditional.  But he tried.  I guess I loved him even more for it.

I'd slept in my pants and T-shirt.  He pulled on a sweater and threw a sweatshirt at me.  "It's going to be cold, even if it is the middle of summer.  Bring some extra shoes and socks, too."

#

Yawning, crouched in the front seat of the small car, I tried to wake myself by holding my face in the open window.  Cool sea air, damp and salty, rushed in as we drove, whipping my hair in wild tangles.  Even if it was a horrible hour, there were still some things I liked about it.  I liked the quiet way the dashboard lights glowed green.  I liked the musty smell of the car mixed with spilt petrol, hastily poured to just make sure we had enough.  I liked the way you could get lost even though you'd been down the same road hundreds of times during daylight hours.  And I liked nights on this small island especially.

We were so far away from any streetlights; the open sky was dusted with stars.  It seemed the longer you looked, the less black there was.  So empty and alone, you could almost imagine that this patch of land surrounded by miles and miles of equally empty water was drifting at sea after losing its mooring.

Pulling up to the main road, we met their car, engine idling hard, and headlights on.  His mother's arms were folded tight against her chest.  A hood pulled close to her head showed that Sarah wasn't as comfortable as she no doubt would have professed to being, if asked.

Tom's stepfather, Clive, shuffled over to our car, his hands in the pockets of his droopy jeans.  They flicked their heads and grunted at each other.  Understated greeting over, it was down to business.

"Follow us up Palana Road.  There's a turn off before you get to East Coast River.  Go down there about ten minutes and the beach shack is on the right."  He mumbled in a foggy voice, a muffled grunt or two punctuating each phrase.

"How's mum?  She in a good mood?"  He wouldn't talk about her this way to others, only to his stepfather and me.  He would defend his mother to anyone else.

"You know how she is.  Thought it would be a good idea to show Jules the island.  Now she thinks it was Jules' idea and doesn't like being up this time of night much."

I couldn't help but look over at her.  Staring directly at us, she gave up her defiance and instead looked simply agitated.  Clive returned to their car and they pulled out, the tires kicking up the loose gravel.

#

"I wish they wouldn't go so fast, I can't keep up with them."  Tom was crouched over the steering wheel, intently peering out the window.   I could see the strain of the night building.

"They've lived here, how long?  Twenty years or so?  I think they could probably drive blindfolded."  I tried to comfort him.

"I know.  I know.  I just think it's a bit inconsiderate."  He huffed as his shoulders tightened further.

There weren't any streetlights, and we couldn't use high beams since we were following them.  Thick scrub closed in on the sides of the road, blocking the view up ahead as the path snaked its way north. 

On other nights, the moon's light would be all you would need to see around.  It would reflect brightly off the white grit in the gravel road, illuminating the path for you.  But on this new moon night, the black trees and ground blended with the sky, making the road a blind maze of dips and turns.

"Jeez.  What was that?"  A black shadow slid in front of us, captured for a split second in the headlights. 

"Probably a 'roo.  They could really do some damage if we hit one." Tom's eyes scanned the dust kicked up by Clive's car

"It scared the shit out of me.  I don't think I could roller-skate around here at night, let alone drive."  Well and truly awake now, my eyes darted to every flutter caught by the headlights, each becoming a wallaby or wombat about to spring kamikaze-style in front of the wheels.  We watched Sarah and Clive's car effortlessly, maybe even callously, forge ahead, bounding over old carcasses while we veered to avoid them.

Tom's hands were wrapped around the steering wheel tightly as he leaned forward intently scanning the road while trying to keep up.

"I'm glad they're driving in front of us.  Mum's car has a roo bar on the front.  They don't care if they hit anything." 

Almost immediately after saying that, their car stopped a couple hundred meters ahead of us and we pulled up behind them.  Tom climbed out of the car and walked over to where Clive was holding a wallaby between his knees, its belly turned up.  Tom helped hold the strong back legs down, while a knife was drawn and quickly whipped across the animal's neck.  A quick clean on a thigh and the knife was jammed back into its leather sheath.

Tom slid back into the seat, quiet and slightly troubled.

"Had to kill it.  The thing was hit, wouldn't've survived."

They were already well down the road by the time he turned over the engine.  We raced to catch up, by now even more wary of hitting something.  Glowing eyes captured in the headlights turned our heads left and right.

"Hey, didn't they just turn down that road?"  I pointed across Tom's chest.  He hit the brakes and we skidded to a stop. 

"Don't do that!" 

"I'm sorry.  I just wanted to show you where they went.  I know you don't want to do this any more than I do.  Let's just get it over with. OK?"

"Yeah.  No choice now."  He bent over for a quick apologetic kiss before backing up far enough to see a set of red taillights disappear around a bend in the track.  Our car rode the shifting sand; the rough thick grass scratched the underbelly of the car.  We came to a string of cars haphazardly lined up, halfway resting in a ditch.  Tom pulled up between two trees before the old engine rattled to a weary stop.

A few people were sitting around the outside of the shack, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs of coffee, one or two with a small flask of something more fiery.  The warm lamplight filled the small hut but seemed unable to penetrate the surrounding scrub.  Spots of light danced up and down along a dry path that led to the water, a couple of people had already started off.  The inky darkness muffled sounds, selectively allowing laughs and shrieks to float up the bank.

I pulled off my shoes and socks and started to head down.  Tom's voice, noticeably tightened and strained, called me back.  "What are you doing?  You gotta wear something on your feet.  There are crabs and rays down there."

It seemed that I was being introduced almost daily to a new set of dangers to be found in the bush.  And the dangers of the bush weren't limited to staying in the bush.  Don't put your hand down any holes -- snakes.  And the tiger snakes here were more venomous than anywhere else.  Don't go swimming on this side of the island, even in the shallows -- sharks.  Even though the waters were mostly too cold around the island, sometimes the warmer currents moved in.  Don't go swimming here -- bluebottles.  You don't even want to know how it feels to get stung.  Don't pick up any wood from the woodpile without gloves, and check the toilet before you go, too -- redback spiders.  Small and bony with a large abdomen, just the thought of them and any prickly tickle on my skin became vengeful spider legs. 

I returned and sat on the car seat, my feet hanging outside.  I brushed off the sand from my toes and slipped my socks and shoes back on.  I had two pairs of shoes with me.  Neither one of them were suited to a few hours submerged in some coastal river.

I looked over at Tom.  Initially with the intention of giving him a look that would say, "This is not fun.  This is your family."  But I saw that a low-level terror had etched deep furrows across his forehead.  I reached over and kissed the soft flesh on the side of his neck.  He flinched, a startled look frozen on his face.

"What's the matter?"

"My mother's the matter.  She always puts me on edge.  I can't relax knowing I'm gonna get blamed for something sooner or later."

I was inexperienced at being able to smooth his worries away.  Seven months being together, alone together, we'd never had many worries.  It had been more than five years since he'd spent any time with her, yet the past three days had seen his body and mind infused with stress and anger.  I felt it work its way into my thoughts as well.  I wanted to fight his battles, win his wars, erase the past and make him happy.  Most of all, I wanted to give Sarah a piece of my mind and change her.

I thought I'd make things easier for him.  "I'll go with her.  You go with Clive."  I smiled, gave him a quick kiss and turned away before he could do anything about it.  I looked back at him.  His head down, he stared at his shoes before bending to pick up his gear.

#

She stood -- spear in hand, pants rolled up with the cuffs skimming shallow water, and a cold, granite look on her face -- waiting for me.  A breastplate and helmet would not have been out of place on her.  I swallowed hard and plastered a smile on my face.  Sliding down the bank, I hit the water with a splash.  Her flashlight was held underwater on a long pole, its light focused on the blooms of silt around me.

"Don't kick up too much, we won't be able to see anything that's on the floor."

"Sorry."  I didn't know what else to say.

I accepted the net and spare flashlight she held out for me.  She turned and started a sluggish sashay into deeper water.  Her black hair was pulled back tightly and her black windbreaker hung formlessly around her and almost reached her knees.  She seemed to fade from existence as she slowly turned her back to me.  She looked behind and said, "Come on.  Tom and Clive will catch up soon enough.  The others are going down closer to the lagoon.  I like going up river a bit."

Before I could tell her that it was most likely going to be just the two of us, she pushed through the water, the slow lapping the only sound around us.

A flashlight beam bobbed and swept in front of her.  I followed in her wake, and turned my flashlight on low.  I figured it was like being in a car.  You don't shine your brights on the one you're following, especially if it's your mother-in-law.

"I think Tom and Clive will be going on by themselves."  I didn't know whether I should talk softly or normally.  Would I frighten the fish away if I talked?  I thought the flashlights might be more of an intrusion than talking.

"Shhh.  You've got to move slowly and quietly, else you'll scare the fish off.  And don't worry about the boys, we'll run into them sooner or later."

"So what are we looking for?"

"Anything you see moving will do."  I had my answer, but still hadn't a clue.

The water inched up my legs as we moved up the river.  The banks were thick with tall grass.  As we went further, the grass gave way to knobbly, twisted scrub. 

The water was clear.  Not just clear, but almost not there.  Suspended particles and small creatures drifted in the cool nothingness.  We moved slowly, watching intently.  Sarah seemed to be entirely focused on what was around her.  I was more focused on her.

She would never wait to see if anything appeared in the light of her flashlight, she swept it back and forth quite quickly.  Small fish darted past, disappearing speedily outside the flashlight's beam.  As soon as she followed one fish, another would appear in the beam and grab her attention.  Small silvery tails slipped about.  She would have been enormously successful had we been there to count small fish. 

"Not much out tonight." I didn't know if this statement was proposed as conversation material.

"Have you found a lot of flounder around here before?"  I attempted to engage her in light banter.

"Of course.  Wouldn't be here if we hadn't found some before."

"How big are they?"

"You'll see."  Sarah was clearly not in the mood for any kind of chatting.

She turned to the right, entering a narrow watery path through the bank of scrub.  In the distance, I could see the lights of others filter through the thick tangle of branches.  We had moved in the opposite direction to the rest of the group.  Now it looked as if we were slowly arcing back toward them.

Sarah dipped her net and silently scooped up something.  I moved close to her as she held out the prize.  A shiny six inch garfish, thin as a straw.

"What do you do with those?"

"You can eat them.  Some people fry 'em up.  Most of the time we use 'em for bait."

Finally there was something to do.  I'd passed up a couple of the long, thin fish, waiting for some large, elusive prize to show itself.  I scooped up two in one go and dropped them in our catch basket.  A prawn floated past, its legs frantically waving.  So ungainly and distressed looking, it hardly seemed fair game.  My flashlight held it for a couple of seconds before Sarah's net swooped down to bag it.

"What are you waiting for?"  Sarah's exasperation at having to tow an inexperienced fisherman around was showing.

"I was just watching the way it moved.  Its legs were going like crazy."

Sarah seemed puzzled by the remark, but turned before saying, "Keep your eyes on the floor, flounder like it there.  If you see anything moving down there, it's probably a flounder.  Just stop and spear it fast."

The narrow passage wormed its way back down river.  The sounds of people laughing splashed through the bush.  Sarah's scowl told me what she thought of the disruption.  She pulled her sleeves up; her pale arms floated against her black clothing.

She suddenly looked small, the baggy jacket at odds with the almost child-like appearance of her hands and arms.  Her face was leathery and pinched; deep lines had long ago taken away the open expression of youth and replaced it with a look of pained impatience.  Somewhere between dainty petite-ness and scrawny sinew, she managed to find an implied force that transcended her physical presence.

"Sarah?  Can I ask you something?"  I tried to keep to a whisper, but the yells further down made it difficult to be heard.

"What's that?"  She was focused on something around her feet.  She slowly raised her arm, the spear pointed straight down.

"What was Tom like as a kid?"  I was curious to know the answer, but also to get some idea of what started the difficulty between the two of them.

Her arm shot down; the spear plunged silently but with a deadly speed into the water.  She pulled the spear up slowly, the tip empty.

"Damn!  Could have sworn there was something there."

I moved closer to her and looked at the quiet bed around her.

"You wanted to know about Tom?  He screamed non-stop when he was a baby.  Had to put him in the garden sometimes so I could get a bit of peace to myself."

I felt like saying, "You mean your relationship became strained that long ago?"

Instead I asked, "What about when he was in school?"

"Don't really know.  I'd left by then."  For the first time during the evening, she looked straight at me, her gaze catching and holding my eyes.

She wanted to witness my reaction.  I just looked at her, waiting to see what else she'd say.  She was almost too ready with an addendum,  "I had him when I was nineteen. I would have made a lousy mother for him then.  I wasn't ready for my life to be mapped out that young.  When I was your age, I'd already been married for seven years and divorced for three."

I felt like saying that it was still her fault, she shouldn't have run hot and cold in his life.  Tom was just a kid then, and even though he'd been on his own since he was seventeen and was now newly married, he was still her kid, he always would be.  But the raw tone in her statement made it impossible for me to say anything; reprisal was not an option.

The breeze had picked up, scattering ripples over the water's surface. Standing still in water equally still, you could almost fool yourself into thinking the water was warm.  Wind changed the equation and sent the temperature plummeting.

She turned her back to me and said, "Come on.  Let's go back.  We're not finding anything around here."  Maybe the cold was finally getting to Sarah as well.

#

The current started moving against us, making it slow going down river.  The water coming in was colder and I soon found that my legs were sore and tight.  Neither one of us bothered looking for anything to catch; our quiet skimming had turned into noisy sloshing.

We followed the narrow passage through the bush where it opened on to a wide lagoon, the light from half a dozen lanterns dotted the shoreline across from us.  The sound from the surf washed over granite slabs that appeared mired in sand drifts nearer to the river's mouth.

"Found anything?"  The voice cut through the darkness.

I jumped and just about tumbled into the water.  Sarah turned her head toward the voice.

"Tom, don't be stupid.  You gave us a fright.  Poor Jules nearly fell over."  In fact, Sarah hadn't even been startled.

The forms of Tom and Clive slowly pulled away from the darkness.  Their flashlights were submerged in the murkier water moving in with the tide.

"Well, we caught a dozen or so garfish and a prawn.  How about you?"  I tried to sound enthused.

"Uh...just a couple of prawns.  Never even saw a single flounder."  Clive tipped open his catch bucket to show three or four prawns, their translucent legs scrambling about them.

"Come on, we're heading over to the shore there."  Sarah pointed to a mini peninsula of rocks that jutted into the lagoon.

I moved next to Tom, slipping my arm around his waist.  His shirt was soaked.

"What happened to you?" I said, pulling away from his cold wet body.

"I fell in after slipping on a rock."

I stifled a chuckle, not wanting to laugh at him in front of his mother.

"That's why you didn't find any flounder.  You're too clumsy, Tom."  Sarah turned to give Tom a triumphant smile, her dark eyes bright in the reflected light.

"Why didn't you find any then?" he dared.

She decided not to respond and instead picked up the pace to reach the first rock well before us.

"Did you have a good time?"  Clive's muffled voice gently pushed aside the awkward silence.

"I'd never been fishing at night before.  I think I like sleeping far too much to do it again."  I tried to stiffle a shiver, but my shoulders sho ok despite any effort to look uneffected.

"Stop!"  Tom whispered urgently.

We stood still and turned to watch him bending over the beam of his flashlight.  His right arm was raised above his head, spear pointed straight down.  In the low light was a muddy brown fish, flat and hugging the bottom, like a flap of riverbed fluttering slightly with the current.

The spear plunged into the water without a splash, followed by a hollow 'plonk' before it came to a dead stop.

"Did you get it?"  I started trudging over to him.

"Think so."  He slowly pulled the spear up, the tip arcing through the water.  A tail whipped the water's surface, thrashing back and forth.

"Good one."  Clive opened catch bucket as Tom dropped in the catch of the night.  Pulling the spear away from the flounder, it splashed in with the prawns.

"It's only a small one, though."  Tom couldn't mask his delight in his voice.

The three of us looked at each other and turned to see Sarah climbing her way over the rocks to the sand further up.

"Mum's not gonna be happy."  Tom picked his catch up by the tail, a trickle of blood dripping down from its spear wound.  I thought he was going to toss it back.

"Don't worry 'bout her.  Just keep it.  The thing's dead now anyway."  Clive reassured.

"You were egging her on just a minute ago.  Why don't you want to prove yourself now?"  I had trouble understanding the difference between his words and actions, or lack of action.

"You don't know my mum very well yet.  It's sometimes easier to just not make a fuss." 

Tom slipped the flounder back in the bucket and looked at Clive for confirmation.  Clive shut the lid firmly and swung the bucket strap over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well Sarah can be umm...difficult at times." Clive wasn't going to say anything further.  He turned toward the rocks and started trudging through Sarah's long gone wake.

"I'm sorry.  I don't want to make you do something you don't want to.  It's only a fish."  I smoothed a stray dripping ringlet above his brow. 

Tom looked at me and smiled.  "Sometimes it's good to have someone to remind me that it is only a fish."