Ocean's Gift Read online

  He stopped in front of the door of a boxy old asbestos donga, painted the same eye-watering shade of orange as the other house to the north. He unlocked the door and swung it open, leaving the key in. “This is your place. Power’s off my generator, so if your lights go out, come and bang on my door and I’ll take a look.”

  I frowned. “I’m a licensed electrician. I can fix a generator.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Dean did say you were a sparky, but he made you sound like Superman, too, ‘cause he’s full of shit sometimes. Well, if you want to do some electrical work for me or the other fishers after we’re done fishing for the day, go ahead. You can probably get some good cash jobs that way, because it’s cheaper than flying a sparky over from Gero. You’ve got to be better than the last deckie Dean recommended – he got drunk and stumbled off a cliff, right at the beginning of the season. Dumb as a box of hammers, that one.

  “We’re a pretty good bunch over here, a good community. We take care of each other and try not to piss each other off. Keep the noise down, be nice to your neighbours and you should be okay.

  “Oh, and one more thing – all the women out here are pretty tough, all from fishing families. Don’t mess with them.”

  I snorted. “Or I’ll be dealing with big fishing dads, brothers and husbands?”

  He almost smiled. “Something like that.”

  He continued along the track, which changed from rock and concrete to white pieces of dead coral. “Stick to the paths and tracks, take a torch when you’re walking at night. There, that’s my occupational health and safety responsibility done. You’ll want an early night, because we start before the sun’s up. I’ll show you the ropes tomorrow. I’ll come bang on your door when it’s time to get up.”

  He disappeared from view around the next house, his steps on the coral bits sounding like someone sweeping up broken glass.

  I went into the donga with my bags. Inside, there was a tiny little kitchen with a wonky kitchen table and four mismatched chairs. There was a wall that ran most of the way across the donga, with a gap near one end. I took a step through the gap, to find a bedroom with two double bunks, one on either side. A doorway at the other end of the room led to a boxy little bathroom, with a shower and a basin.

  Where’s the toilet? I wondered.

  I dumped my bags on the floor between the bunks and went back into the kitchen. I looked out through the salt-encrusted window to see an old dunny, down a path outside. Well, the bedroom’s bigger than my swag and there’s a flushing toilet. That beats digging a hole when you don’t want to bother with one of those chemical bucket toilets.

  I looked around the kitchen. There was a tiny, boxy TV on top of the very old fridge, with a vintage VCR that looked about as old as I was. It was held together with brown sticky tape. There was a stack of recorded videos next to it. I took a look at the handwritten labels.

  They all seemed to be holiday videos, from someone called Debbie who went to the US. Debbie does Dallas, Debbie does Iowa, Debbie does college...it looks like Debbie really liked Dallas, because there’s three videos with that name, all numbered. I stuck one of them in the VCR and turned the TV on. I hit play and opened up the fridge.

  Nice, beer. There was half a case of beer in the fridge, varying from good stuff to a few odd ones that I’d never seen before. Swan Gold? The logo looked like something my Dad drank when I was a kid. I wonder how long it’s been here?

  I put the retro beer back in the fridge. In with the beer, I had some random sauce bottles, salad dressing and an unopened carton of long-life milk. Where’s the food?

  I opened up the freezer. Frozen meals, steaks, frozen vegies, a loaf of bread and some sausages, all of them encased in the ice coating the inside of the freezer. I managed to free up a box so encrusted in ice I couldn’t read the label. I knocked some of the ice off and recognised a picture of lasagne. Dinner.

  I looked around for a microwave, but came up blank. I wonder if you can cook these things in the oven? I bashed some more of the ice off into the sink until I could see the instructions on the back. Yeah, you can do frozen meals in the oven, without a microwave. Who would have guessed?

  I could hear weird noises. Hell, it sounds like the neighbours are having sex, so loud I can hear it next door.

  I went outside to see if I could work out who my noisy neighbours were, but I couldn’t hear anything from out there. I went back in.

  Yep, I can still hear them in here. I looked around and the little TV screen caught my eye. It looked like while Debbie was in Dallas, she saw more action than I ever got. I watched it for a few minutes, not taking my eyes off the screen as I groped around for the remote control. Eventually, I found it and pressed the fast-forward button on the VCR. By the time I’d fast forwarded to the credits at the end, I felt like a real idiot.

  Ah, shit. They’re all dodgy copies of old porn films. I bet Dean’s stayed here, watched them all and told me about them in detail at night on site. Nothing to do at night here, either.

  9. Belinda

  “The humans here only notice the changes to fish and weather, yet the most experienced among them express their fear of change. They somehow feel that change is coming and they are unsure of what it will mean, fearing that the change will be significant for their lives and livelihood. Yet their concept of change is nebulous and not defined. They seem to accept me now, however. I shall ask more of them as time progresses. I still need access to outside communication. This will necessitate further trips to the mainland if communication remains limited here.” Vanessa looked worried as she said it.

  All three of us considered her summary, seated around the table in the main cabin of the vessel. There was good reason why the local humans accepted her, but as long as Maria and I remained aboard the vessel and avoided the humans, we would not blend as well with their community. Still, if she sent us to the mainland to glean information from computers, we would stand out far more than we did here.

  Maria voiced my own thoughts. “Our knowledge of human computer technology is limited. No one else could undertake this but you.”

  Vanessa’s smile was rueful. Perhaps she, too, had been thinking in a similar vein to me. “Yet I am the most accepted on the land, here, too. I cannot be in two places at once. If communication were improved here, I could use the technology to search for information from the islands, in the afternoons and evenings once my fishing duties are complete. Whilst you swim, don’t forget to listen to the humans on land. They may confide in each other what they do not speak of to us.”

  The sound of a footfall on the coral shingle had us all looking toward the land. A human had moved onto the coral path.

  “There is a human outside your land house, Vanessa. It appears that he is a new deckhand for the Dolphin to replace the one who was injured,” I remarked.

  Maria’s words were as dark as the shirt she removed as she glared at the new human. “I hope this one has better manners.”

  “He certainly has a physique which is more pleasing to the eye. His upper body musculature is well defined and his rear is particularly shapely.” Vanessa was thoughtful.

  I tried not to laugh. “A cute bum and big muscles don’t say anything about his manners, Vanessa.” Sometimes human words were more expressive, particularly when using the vernacular to describe human anatomy.

  “I didn’t say he had a cute bum, Belinda.” She inclined her head, clearly evaluating him. “I would say he has a damn fine arse.”

  All three of us laughed. Nothing was as funny as one of our people admiring a human, for it was so unlikely. Humans were a source of information or products. They produced what we needed and were used accordingly; contact was as limited as necessary to ensure our people remained hidden from them.

  I started to remove my clothing in preparation for a night-time swim.

  Vanessa gathered her choice of fish. “I will go and speak with him, so that I may examine him more closely.” She took one fish in each hand and start
ed down the jetty toward the human.

  Maria and I slid over the side of the vessel and sank into the water, watching.

  I kept my voice low as I addressed my comment to Maria. “Why do I feel this new human means trouble for us all?”

  10. Joe

  After dinner, I sat on the veranda in a chair made of old craypots and cracked open a beer.

  It was almost dark, so I could only dimly make out the outlines of the row of jetties in the anchorage. For all its isolation, the Abrolhos are bloody noisy, I thought. The birds were peeping and wailing, the wind was whistling around the big Fisheries camp in the middle of the island and rattling a metal roller door that I wished someone would fix. The generators buzzed like air conditioners on a hot night in Hedland. The waves came from the south, rolling through the anchorage and lapping at boats and jetties alike.

  I heard squeaky chattering, like dolphins, and a splash. Then another. I got up and walked to the edge of the cliff, peering out across the anchorage. Did dolphins come out at night?

  I drank my beer, scanning the water for any sign of them. I turned my head at another squeak and splash, but still I saw nothing. I finished up the beer and threw the empty out over the water, where I thought the sounds had come from.

  I caught movement in the corner of my eye and turned, hoping to catch a glimpse of something. Out of the darkness came a tall woman. Her hair hung down her back, almost to her waist, framing what looked like perfect curves. I felt like a teenager again, when I’d been mesmerised by Pamela Anderson’s boobs bouncing along the beach in Baywatch. As she walked along the path, coming closer, I saw that her perfect curves included an incredible pair of breasts that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Baywatch. Her long hair was blonde and, in keeping with the Baywatch theme, what I could see of her skin was lightly tanned and smooth. She wore a fitted blue t-shirt, the colour of the ocean on a cloudy day, and a little pair of denim shorts that exposed most of her shapely legs. In each hand, she held a fish by the gills. One was a small shark, the other some sort of fish with a white chin and fangs.

  I dimly heard something clunk near my feet, but all my attention was fixated on the approaching vision.

  I swallowed a couple of times before I could speak. “Been fishing?” I asked her, my voice coming out hoarse.

  “My deckhands have been, and they know he’s my favourite.” She held up the fanged fish.

  “What is that?” I asked. Don’t tell me it’s a vampire fish, and that’s why you like it. My little sisters would.

  She laughed, a pleasant sound. “He’s a baldchin groper, possibly one of the tastiest fish in the sea, after tuna and wahoo, of course.”

  I’d like to grope her one day. As for wahoo…I shook my head – that had to be the beer talking.

  She was less than two metres away from me now and I saw she was the same height as me. Her face was open and pretty; her smile infectious.

  She stuck both fish under one arm and knelt down in front of me. I froze in panic. She picked something up from near my feet and slowly straightened up, close enough to touch if I’d had the guts to lift my hand. Her eyes were stormy blue – the same colour as her shirt – and they were laughing.

  “Have you been playing with the dolphins?” she admonished, holding up what I recognised as the beer bottle I’d thrown into the water. It was now dripping wet, half full of seawater. I took it from her, wordlessly. “You shouldn’t do that. They throw things back. You’re lucky it didn’t hit you and only landed by your feet.”

  She looked out across the dark water, frowning. I heard squeaking and a big splash, then nothing.

  “I’m Giuseppe. Joe. Joe Fisher,” I managed to say, sticking out a hand in the faint hope she’d shake mine. “Deckhand on...whatever boat Skipper Hartog has.”

  She turned back to me. When she took my hand, hers was cool and firm. The frown vanished, replaced by a friendly smile. “Ah, the new deckhand on the Dolphin. I hope you’ll be better than your predecessor, not that it’ll take much. I’m Vanessa, skipper on the Siren, and your next-door neighbour.” She waved at the house beside mine, painted to match her shirt.

  Oh my God, I don’t live next door to a grumpy, flatulent old man. Instead, I get the hottest woman I’ve ever seen in the flesh for a neighbour. “So I should come to you if I need to borrow a cup of sugar?” I asked hopefully.

  “I think I’m out of sugar.” Her tone was slightly less friendly as she frowned again. “Milk or coffee I may be able to assist you with.” She took a deep breath. “As long as you don’t feel the need to have any wild, drunken parties, we should get along fine. Or I’ll set the dolphins on you.” She smiled at me again, her voice light with laughter. She winked, then turned and went into her blue house.

  I was left staring after her. I think I’m in love. I was already wondering how to throw a wild, drunken party so she’d come over to complain. Maybe even in a nightdress with no bra…

  “Did you manage dinner all right?” Skipper’s voice came out of the darkness, as he came up the path behind me.

  I turned to face him. “Dinner’s fine,” I managed to say. “I just met...” I looked toward her blue house, unable to articulate her name.

  He laughed. “You met Vanessa.”

  “She seemed really nice,” I stammered.

  “Yeah, she can,” he said darkly. “Look, the best advice I can give you is to stay away from her.”

  My heart fell. “Let me guess, she has a father and brothers who are all pro-wrestlers and her husband is a prize fighter?”

  Skipper laughed again, but there was an edge to it. “No, Vanessa got her fishing licence from her mother, who died a few years ago. Now her mother, Serena, was one beautiful woman.” He paused, evidently remembering. “And Vanessa looks just like her. She’s got two deckies, who might not balk at taking a swing at you, but not pro-wrestlers or prize fighters, either of them.”

  “Then she’s married to the Incredible Hulk?” I suggested.

  “Nah mate, Vanessa’s not married, and I don’t think she wants to be.” He hesitated. “Look, just stay away from her and don’t piss her off.”

  Or she’ll set the dolphins on me.

  “Sure.” I shrugged. “Well, good night. See you in the morning.”

  11. Belinda

  Maria headed into deeper water, whilst I ventured closer to the island. It was too dark for the human to see me, so I kept my head above the surface to hear their conversation.

  The human didn’t notice her at first. He was looking in my direction, though I knew I was invisible to him. He threw the brown glass bottle in his hands at me, but it fell short. The bottle started to fill with seawater and sank in front of me. Angry at his careless action, I lifted the bottle from the water and waited for his attention to be elsewhere. I was going to throw the bottle back at him and knock him out.

  Vanessa saw me and gave the slightest shake of her head. I dropped the bottle back into the water, where it bobbed in the waves, half submerged. This gave me an idea.

  He turned to look at her, too tongue-tied to offer even a proper greeting. Stupid human.

  I felt the power of the little waves, not strong enough to wet the cliff top. I pushed one wave into another, shaping it under the bottle to carry it up to the top of the low cliff. My wave crested the cliff, sending the bottle and a wash of water over the stupid human’s feet.

  He did not notice. He was gaping at her.

  She noticed. She lifted the bottle up and turned her unhappy expression in my direction.

  “If the human ceases throwing his waste at me, I will not throw any more back at him,” I told her in our language, barely perceptible to humans above the water.

  And with this, I turned tail, letting my flukes splash in the shallow water, heading into deeper water to find some dolphins to play with.

  12. Joe

  It was still dark when the pounding started on my door. I didn’t know where I was and it took me a minute to work out how to tur
n on the light and open the front door.

  “Get a shirt on. It’s time for work,” Skipper told me, as he turned away to head down his jetty.

  I grabbed the nearest shirt and stepped into my rubber thongs. I put the shirt on as I followed him down the jetty.

  My first morning fishing was an unmitigated disaster.

  I looked for buoys in the water when Skipper told me to, but I couldn’t see in the pitch dark. He always ended up spotting them. Then I had to hook the rope up to the winch, which pulled the craypot (a big, slotted box around a metre to a side and maybe half that high) out of the water. When I opened the pot, all the lobsters fell out. I learned that if I didn’t have the tub in place just right, then they spilled out onto the deck, snapping like a pack of crocodiles.

  I picked one up, looking for claws that just didn’t seem to be there, and felt something close over my toe with a snap. I looked down to find one of the bastards had clamped its tail on my toe. I dropped the one I was holding into the tub and tried to shake its mate off my foot. When Skipper finally pulled the bastard off me, he measured it up, said, “Nah, she’s too small,” and threw her over the side.

  My toe was bleeding and it felt like it was broken. Bitch, I thought. Wish I’d brought my steel-capped boots.

  “Get a band aid on that before you start attracting sharks. First aid kit’s in the cabin, with the life jackets,” Skipper ordered, throwing lobsters rapidly from the deck into the tub, never missing.

  It took me ages to find the first aid kit. It was buried underneath the life jackets and a nest of ropes, in a cabin that looked like the shed of some kind of hoarder boatie.

  My toe still hurt like hell as I limped back on deck. “What next?”