Single fin, p.12
Single Fin, page 12
‘Someone shat on their car?’
‘Yeah bro, but the worst I ever witnessed was a van-load of surfers, high in holiday arrogance and thinking safety in numbers, couldn’t do their maths correctly. They decide that they’re a local crowd on tour and proceed to take the rules from their own home break and apply them to ours. An instant crowd, just add water, you know? Two ended up with broken ribs, two with suspected broken noses, half a dozen bloodied eye sockets and at least one of them was going to be sipping mum’s Sunday roast through a straw.’
‘They got pretty wasted then?’
‘Their van was beaten worse.’
‘That’s nuts. Don’t the cops ever get pissed off with you guys? How did you and Mike never end up in jail?’
‘Well, there’ve been a number of small cases too that have happened over time; isolated punch-ups, obvious verbal abuse, snapped boards, snapped bones, slashed tyres, Mike played his role in some of them, only if it was justified — yet the police never get involved. They turn a blind eye, which suits us fine. After all, we’re only a bunch of harmless surfers to them; there’s plenty of unlawful Class-A shit in this town to keep them busy. Heck, we’re doing them a favour policing the waves. This is our turf.
‘And we are the law.’
We arrived back to the house; I threw my bag in the whare, and then started to unpack the ute. Jack ran straight into the house in surges of small and lengthened strides; apparently he had issues with crapping behind a bush. Biff wandered around from behind the shed waving his tail like a basking shark. I gave him a short pat, and he began to sniff each tyre to learn about our trip.
When Jack returned, he held out to me a piece of paper that he’d found on the front door:
‘She your girlfriend?’ Jack asked. ‘What’d she do? Root around on ya?’
I folded the paper up and stuck it in my back pocket.
‘Nah,’ I said, ignoring the second question.
The rattle of tyres over the cattle-stop was timely.
‘Looks like the whanau have come to see what we caught,’ Bobby said, nodding to the Range Rover approaching us.
It came to a gentle stop. Two doors opened and Tracy and Jess stepped down onto the stones. I stood behind the ute and leant on the back with my elbows. I smiled, complementing it with a friendly wave — I gained one from each in return.
‘So how did the last of the great fishing trips go?’ asked Tracy.
Jack told them about the snapper he’d caught, holding his hands twice as wide apart as what the size really was — not that anyone was going to challenge him. He took control of the details, rambling them in no chronological order. Bobby and I caught each other’s eye; the grin on his face told me he was enjoying it.
‘… yeah, and Fin’s gonna teach me to surf properly too, ain’t ya?’
‘He is?’ Jess asked suddenly, then turned to me, her eyes narrowing. ‘But I thought you’d given it up?’
‘Give up surfing?’ Bobby scoffed and shook his head. ‘Who gives up surfing? Have a break, maybe. Nah, once you’ve surfed, Jess, you never give it up. Anyone who says that never was a surfer in the first place.’
She folded her arms. When she frowned, the side of her mouth curved up; I thought it made her look cheeky.
‘I bet Bobby hogged all the waves like usual,’ Tracy said.
I laughed. ‘I didn’t even know he surfed.’
‘Oh yeah, sure he did. When we were growing up here my parents couldn’t get him out of the water. All day if he could, sometimes he did, didn’t you? He had more days off school than anyone I knew. It was lucky Mum and Dad never found out — Dad would’ve kicked his arse bloody hard.’ Bobby nodded in agreement. ‘He got a reputation around the place as a gung-ho surfer, getting all the good waves before anyone else could.’
‘There weren’t half as many surfers back then,’ Bobby said, lifting the rods out of the back, ‘so the competition element didn’t exist like today. Shit, I remember when the Mouth would be pumping and there’d only be a couple of us out. It was a lot easier to pick the set waves off; you just had to be fitter than the other guy. Nowadays there’s twenty or thirty of you all paddling around each other for the one wave. I doubt I’d survive in that environment, especially on those little toothpicks you guys call surfboards.’
‘Me and Fin are going into town to get me a board, Mum,’ Jack interrupted. ‘I’ll use the money in my savings account.’
‘You? In the sea? You’ve never enjoyed the sea.’ Jess said. ‘You hate the water.’
‘I don’t anymore. I got to my feet on my first session; it was awesome. Uncle reckons I’ll be rippin’ in no time.’
Jess didn’t muck around. ‘Well, we’ll start tomorrow morning then,’ she said to me.
‘Start what?’ I said, looking at the others for an answer.
‘My performance paper. You’re it. Apparently you do surf and I’m running out of time.’ There didn’t seem to be any negotiation in her blank expression and folded arms.
I stood upright, reaching her eye level.
‘Tomorrow? What? Nah, you don’t want me, I’m working anyway, so sorry, no can do. You’ll have to find another lab rat.’
‘What time are you guys starting tomorrow, Uncle Bobby?’ she asked.
‘We’re weaning some of the early lambs … I don’t know, probably nineish.’
I blinked violently, suddenly feeling like an item in an auction.
‘I’ll be here at six then.’
‘In the morning! You’re joking.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Bobby said. ‘Just don’t wear him out too much, I doubt his sweat glands have functioned in a while. There’s a water tank that needs placing in the afternoon too.’
‘You guys can’t …’
‘It’s settled then.’
We sat on our boards with our backs to the foreshore. The ocean moved like a silk sheet wafting with a lazy breeze. Water submerged my boardies and rose to my stomach, its temperature tepid. The clear skies above reflected the water, the sun touching us from behind. A pod of dolphins cut the approaching wave with their fins, before turning underneath us and darting to the next; the clarity of the water gave us a clear vision of their silver bellies.
‘It’s coming,’ Mike said next to me. ‘Don’t panic.’
A sudden darkness swept across the surface as cloud moved ahead of the sun. A cold wind strengthened out to sea. I folded my arms tightly. The sea began to stir, then waver and chop. In the distance a black line appeared on the horizon. The air moved faster. The ocean sucked back.
‘Paddle out to meet it!’ Mike shouted over wind and spray.
My arms moved fast but I never tired. I glanced over my shoulder to Mike, but he was gone. A mass of water that reached high into the rain rolled silently to me. The wind grazed its exterior, sending watery flesh away. Onwards I paddled towards the Pacific Goliath. Grace’s face became moulded out of water, driving the wave; her eyes were slanted and teeth gritted. I turned to take her. My hands scraped the shallow reef where a lack of water had almost exposed it. The wave lifted me up into the air, as the gale force lashed at my face.
The nose of the board pointed towards the Earth’s core. I rose to my feet. Downwards I fell. The volcanic rock looked hard, sharp, unrelenting. The rails on my board bit into the water and watched as the wave’s lip became Grace’s hands; they threw out thick and heavy over my head. I buried my fingers into the side of the wave, feeling her power as I headed for the light of day; from behind, a storm of spray chased me out of the shrinking air space. I busted out into open air to be greeted with a dark blue wall peeling off ahead. I raised my arms in triumph: the biggest barrel ever. My only barrel ever!
But it hadn’t finished, and the wave began to crash overhead once again. The violent noise inserted itself into my shaking body. The water turned to black. The light at the end of the tube became a needle’s eye. The wave swallowed me without chewing.
And my body slammed into the reef.
I reached for my board, but was knocked down.
I attempted to swim for the surface, but was knocked back under.
Knock, knock.
I screamed out loud in a surge of bubbles, before my skull connected with the reef’s razor edge, knocking me unconscious.
Knock, knock.
I sat up straight in my bed, untangled myself from the sheet, and stormed to the door, feeling for it in the darkness. It opened to a half-risen sun in the distance. I rubbed my eyes deeply with my palm in an effort to maintain some sort of focus. The door was used to support my weight.
‘What’s the time?’ I asked, not bothering to check whether it was friend or foe.
‘Umm, quarter past six. I was waiting on the driveway, but I thought you might’ve forgotten.’
The triple lines of sight began merging into one; Jess was standing a couple of steps back from the door in a pair of trackies and a light jacket zipped right up to her chin. Her face was to the side, revealing hair in a tight ponytail, and a fine jawline. She fidgeted with her hands, holding them, folding them under her arms, hiding them behind her back. I realised I was standing in just a pair of undies. It didn’t concern me though; they were my favourite lucky ones with the half-broken elastic.
‘Nah, I had the alarm set on the clock radio,’ I said. ‘Bloody thing must’ve broken. Hang on a sec, I’ll chuck some clothes on. Be right with ya.’
I left the door open and walked back into the darkness.
As the high pitch of the alarm started up.
We walked across the two front paddocks to the beach. As far as the eye could see both east and west it was deserted, and for a few seconds I imagined we were the only ones left alive on the planet, a world at our disposal, the continuance of humanity resting on our loins, like a new Adam and Eve — I wouldn’t get with you if you were the last person on Earth, Fin. But I wondered if she’d mean it; I mean, it’s an easy thing to say to someone until you’re in that position. A middle-aged lady and her dog appeared from the lupins, and suddenly my fantasy was gone. She smiled at us and commented on the weather; I think she thought we were a couple.
‘So what’s up first, coach? Couple of press-ups? Burpies? You’re not going to make me go for a swim are ya? Too bloody cold this time of the morning.’
Jess pulled out a notebook and turned to the first page, scribbled in the date and the words Base Fitness. She then pointed down to the distant hill range where Mike and I had spent our last moments together.
‘It’s five k down to there. We’re going to run it to see how long it takes us.’
‘You’re running too?’ I sounded inquisitive, but deep down my pride sent out a warning: I was about to be shown up by a girl.
‘Sure, you’re not having all the fun by yourself.’
A warm-up and stretches followed — I was amazed how Jess could touch her nose to each shin; I could barely reach my toes. She tapped at the stopwatch on her wrist and we began. Typically, I started off with an unsustainable speed, and within the first minute I was slowing down to half the pace. At least I won the first four hundred metres. We jogged side by side — a healthy, handsome single guy with his female equivalent. An attempt was made at conversation, between the sound of sand being compressed and the sea on our right. She told me she was born and raised in Auckland, she and Jack were the only children, and their father was in the building business. I acted as though it was new information; her brother had already shared most of their background already. Her questions were a bit more unusual, I thought, especially for a first run. Yes, boardies made good running shorts. No, I didn’t always get hassled for having a lack of calf muscles. Yes, I did own other pairs of underpants.
We reached the point where beach turned to native bush and summer tourists flocked to soak in the uniqueness of bush walks through the pohutukawa. I’d phased down to a walk for the last hundred metres, placing my hands on my hips, striding out to stop the back of my legs cramping, and filling my chest with dollops of air. The sea now looked warm enough to wash away my sweat. Jess continued to trot right to the end, where she took note of the time and recorded it in her book.
‘How was that?’ she asked as I came to a standstill beside her.
I think I need a lie down. Just check on me later to make sure the high tide hasn’t got me.
‘Yeah, good, once I got my fifth wind. Can’t remember the last time I went for a run. Must’ve been back in college I reckon.’
‘It took us just over twenty-seven minutes.’
‘Uh huh. Cool,’ I shrugged, clasping my hands behind my head, my breathing slowing down to give my throat a rest; I felt no inclination to try to better that time in the future. I noticed the empty parking area. ‘So where’s the car?’
Jess looked at me like she wasn’t sure how to answer; waiting for some sign to show I was only joking, or being serious. Any straighter and my face would’ve been a canvas painting.
‘The car that’s going to take me back to my eggs on toast?’
She put her book away and laughed.
‘You’re funny, I’ll stick that in your profile. C’mon, you don’t want those eggs going cold.’
She began running past our previous footsteps in the sand, turning just once to beckon me with her arm. I waited for my heart to be winched back up into place before starting some sort of momentum after her.
During the return journey, Jess asked me if I’d already entered the surfing competition — the same one on the flyer Bobby had shoved under my nose a week or so earlier.
‘Already entered?’ I asked, ‘I was never going to. Don’t do comps.’
‘Sure you do, from the sounds of it you’d do well.’
‘Nah, never have, never will. Don’t listen to what your brother has to say about my surfing ability either — he doesn’t know what performance surfing looks like yet. No way could I compete with those guys, they’d shit all over me.’
‘But don’t they have other categories so you wouldn’t have to? More amateur ones? Age group? ’Cause to be honest, there has to be some sort of end-goal for this paper, just beating your running times isn’t going to cut it. I need you to enter this competition.’
I stopped and started walking. Jess halted a few paces further down, and waited. She stared at my shaking head.
‘Please?’
‘Sorry, I’ll help you with whatever, but I’m not going to lower myself to do any sort of competing. If you want that, go and hang out at the surf store and ask one of the locals; I bet a good-looking girl like yourself will get a ton of grommets keen to do anything you asked.’
Her face softened — probably due to the clumsy few words that escaped my lips. She probably gets told she’s good-looking all the time by those flash city boys. The effect wore off quickly.
‘Well, can I at least have a reason?’
‘’Cause Mike decided they weren’t important, that’s why.’
‘I see … sorry, I just assumed it was something everyone does.’
I sighed, and continued walking. Jess kept beside me. The beach was starting to wake with warm, glowing sand and dots of people in the distance. I picked up a couple of thin shells and skimmed them through the air; they flew like miniature Frisbees into the sea. I knew it sounded like an easy excuse to use Mike like that, even if it was the truth. How could she argue her case when the deceased was involved? She would’ve crossed the line in her first step. Jess didn’t deserve my cold shoulder; I didn’t want to shove it in front of her. Either way, an explanation was needed on how he’d influenced me; at least then she’d know the facts. My hands became outstretched like they were about to catch the words. I hoped she didn’t see it as a lack of confidence; I knew there wasn’t going to be a short way to explain it.
‘Look, it’d be an easy excuse to say that Mike was a better surfer than me because he’d built a life around immersing himself in the culture. Sure, coordination and fitness take up the biggest slice of surfing pie; however, there’re other important aspects, ones you’d be more familiar with. Like flexibility, state of mind, diet, all of which Mike had written the comprehensive Guide To, understand?’
She nodded her head, moving closer to sidestep the incoming tide.
‘Man, I remember how he used to do yoga stretches each evening in front of the TV news because he said it helped repel all the bad shit happening in the world. And his eating habits ran parallel with Neanderthal Man; he consumed every bit of greasy fat from the cooked meat, yet would rather drive into a minefield than resort to going up a fast-food drive-thru.
‘There’re other elements too, you know — the whole commitment, determination, sacrificing stuff to make dreams happen. Mike couldn’t give two shits about these. Basically, they’re reserved for the competitive among us — even though he’d tell you differently, saying stuff like, “Look at them with their sponsor stickers and personal camera crew. Parading around in their fancy sharkies and signature sneakers like they own the fuckin’ place.” He’d tell them to piss off back to their own overcrowded breaks. Reckoned we didn’t need them crawling into our underground world as soon as there was a sniff of swell, showing everyone in the universe how good them and our waves were. “Fuckin’ sell-outs,” he used to call them.’
Her hands were tucked into the side pockets of her tracksuit top. I sensed she was taking it all in like lumpy porridge.
‘If he hated competitions, why didn’t he just ignore them?’
‘Well, it wasn’t that Mike didn’t have the will to win of course. A trip to your aunty’s house tells a story, with three Eastern BOP Surfing Champ trophies gathering dust in a back room. You certainly don’t get those by telling the other competitors how good they are. He won those on pure skill and drive. Yet he was never cocky about the winnings, and he didn’t talk about how he won it more times than anyone in the past, or showed any evidence of financial awards or handouts. In fact, if it weren’t for the clippings from the local paper his mum keeps in a scrapbook, you’d almost think he had made it all up. Shit, even in black and white he’s got a self-effacing expression like the camera was about to explode.’
