The Back of the Turtle (35 page)

TOASTED CHEESE, TOASTED CHEESE, TOASTED CHEESE.
Sonny has never seen so many toasted cheese sandwiches. Every time he finishes one toasted cheese sandwich, Mr. Crisp reaches into the basket and finds another.

“Ye needs consume the veggies as well.”

No, says Sonny. Toasted cheese.

“Scurvy’s no chuckle.”

Toasted cheese.

Crisp watches Sonny eat. “I’m sorry, lad. I didn’t know ye had hard-hammered the vending machines, for I’d packed the dispensers with provisions enough.”

A gust blows the napkins into the air. Crisp snatches at them, catching two before the rest get away. The tide is running hard, and the soft fog begins to blunt the edges of the world.

“Finish up, lad,” says Crisp. “For we mustn’t be late.”

Sonny leans against the dog. Is it a surprise, doggy? Is it a surprise?

“Bring the dog with ye, if ye wishes, but ye both must be quiet and reverent.”

Dad has warned Sonny about the hot springs, and Dad has warned Sonny about Mr. Crisp.

“It’s just over there,” says Crisp. “And when we gets back, I believe that there’s cherry pie and ice cream.”

Cherry pie and ice cream! Cherry pie and ice cream!

Wham-wham!

Sonny doesn’t remember Dad ever having any prohibitions on cherry pie and ice cream. Sonny thinks hard. If toasted cheese sandwiches are good and if cherry pie and ice cream is good, how can Mr. Crisp be bad? And if Mr. Crisp is good …

“Are ye coming, lad?”

Come with Sonny, Sonny tells the dog. Come with Sonny.

Crisp strides through the sand and the grass, and when he gets to where the beach starts to slope up to the bluffs, he stops and drops to his knees.

“There,” he says in a low whisper. “She be there.”

Sonny and Soldier crawl forward. Crisp reaches out and pushes the grass to one side.

“Do ye see? Did ye ever think ye would see such a thing again?”

At first, Sonny doesn’t see anything. Just the grass and the sand.

“There,” says Crisp. “Just there.”

Sonny crawls closer to Mr. Crisp and is surprised to find that Mr. Crisp smells very much like Dad. Now that he thinks about it, Mr. Crisp has the same deep voice that Dad has. But Mr. Crisp is not Dad.

“A thing of beauty, it is.”

Still, Mr. Crisp is here, and Dad is not.

“She comes ashore early this morning.”

Sonny raises up on his elbows, and now he can see what Mr. Crisp sees.

It’s Big Red!

“Easy lad, for she’s laying her eggs.”

Big Red, Big Red, Big Red, Big Red! Go, Big Red!

Sonny watches closely, and suddenly he sees an egg roll into the hole. And then another. And another. Now the eggs are pouring out of Big Red, and Sonny tries hard to keep count.

Twenty-two egg, twenty-three egg, twenty-four egg.

All the eggs are white and round, and look like large Ping-Pong balls.

Forty-six egg, forty-seven egg, forty-eight egg, forty-nine egg.

“Look there,” whispers Crisp. “She’s done and is coming out.”

Very slowly, the turtle climbs out of the hole and begins filling it in with her flippers. Sonny pushes a little sand into the hole.

“Don’t be helping her,” says Crisp, “for there is a way it must be done, and it’s she what must do it.”

Sonny can help. Sonny is a good helper.

“You are indeed.” Crisp rubs Sonny’s back. “But she don’t need our help. It’s us what needs hers.”

Sonny likes the toasted cheese sandwiches. He likes cherry pie and ice cream. He likes the feel of Mr. Crisp’s hand on his back.

Sonny reaches out and runs his hand across the indentation in the turtle’s shell.

Good turtle. Good Big Red.

Little by little, the turtle fills in the hole.

Crisp backs away from the hole. “With me,” he says, “for she’s done and will be heading back to open water.”

The turtles have returned. Soon the eggs will hatch. Soon the baby turtles will dash to the sea.

As it was in the beginning.

“Hurry, lad,” Crisp shouts. “For the rest of the faithful have arrived.”

Sonny shuffles through the sand, digging his toes into the loose beach, and kicking it up in front of him.

Turtle bone, clamshell, clamshell, clamshell.

Turtle bone, clamshell, clamshell, stone.

Sonny stops and turns his face to the wind. He listens to the sea crash into the land, and as he watches, he sees shapes emerge from the scuttling fog.

Two figures.

Two figures stolen from the water and carried to shore, like salvage on the incoming tide.

GABRIEL WAS QUITE SURE HE HAD NEVER MET A MORE STUB
born woman.

“You can’t stay here!”

“The hell I can’t!”

“You need to go now!”

“I’ll go when I feel like it!”

Gabriel was afraid they had waited too long. By the time they made their way down the sides of the shafts and reached the base of the Apostles, the flat had vanished. The water here was already up to their knees, and the rip was strong. It pulled at their legs and sucked the sand from under their feet.

And then another wave would come in and break over them. “Hold onto me!”

Gabriel leaned into the tide, as though he were hiking up a steep hill. Mara gripped his belt as they floundered in the roil. The white water yanked them backwards, tossed them forward, sometimes sideways. As he struggled towards the beach, Gabriel could hear the surf pounding the sea floor behind him. It smashed into the rocks and drove the wind against them, as the ocean tried to run the fugitives down.

That’s how Gabriel imagined the scene. Fugitives. Escapees from an island prison. The count of Monte Cristo. Papillon. Napoleon.

Gilligan.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

“You said, ‘Gilligan’!”

“Don’t let go the belt!”

Once, a massive wave caught them from behind, knocked them off their feet, and then sucked them backwards. Gabriel had clawed at the sand, had felt Mara ripped away by the surge, felt himself being dragged off.

“Mara!”

“Gilligan!”

“What?”

“I’m right here!”

And so she was. Somehow it had been Mara who had kept him from being swept away.

“That was a good one.” She stood waist deep in the water, wiping the hair out of her face. “You feel like doing that again?”

“No.”

Another wave broke on their backs.

“You’re not the only one who didn’t come home.”

“What?”

“Home!”

“What?”

Gabriel began timing the waves, driving forward with each surge, trying to hold his place in the undertow.

Drive and hold.

Drive and hold.

And then he was on his hands and knees in quiet water.

“You okay?”

“Fine!”

Mara helped him to his feet.

“You’re going to love the next part.”

Gabriel didn’t hear the cheering right away.

“Look at that,” said Mara, and she started walking towards a large group of people standing by the tower.

“What are they doing?”

“Waving,” said Mara. “Cheering us on.”

Gabriel straightened up. His pants were soaking wet. His shoes were gone, and he only had one sock. He tucked his shirt in and succeeded in driving more sand into his crotch.

Mara picked something off his forehead and straightened his jacket. Then she headed up the beach towards the people and the dry sand.

“Fix your hair,” she called back. “It looks as though someone tried to drown you.”

GABRIEL DID NOT FOLLOW MARA RIGHT AWAY. INSTEAD, HE
stood on the shore with the surf snaking about his feet and watched the waves explode over the Apostles. It was an impressive show of force, and he had to admit that the view of this natural cycle was better from where he now stood than from where he had just been.

It was only after he turned to join the people by the tower that he saw the turtle.

A sea turtle. Dragging itself towards the water. A turtle with a depression in its shell and a blood red slash across its neck.

It couldn’t be the same turtle from the tank in the lobby at Domidion, the turtle with whom he had shared his lunch all those years. Surely there were other turtles with indentations in their shells, other turtles with red markings.

That turtle had disappeared in Toronto.

This turtle had appeared on a beach in Samaritan Bay.

“You catch a train or something?”

The turtle was moving slowly, coming right at him. She looked tired. Her fins were ragged and scarred, as though she had crawled a great distance.

“Walk?”

Gabriel found himself hoping that it was the same turtle. There would be a good story in that. Turtle escapes corporate prison, eludes capture, still at large.

“Seat sale?”

Gabriel squatted down and waited for the turtle to reach him. He wanted to get a good look at this turtle, to see if he recognized her, to see if she recognized him.

“You ever spend time in a tank?”

It couldn’t be the same turtle.

“What about it?” Gabriel lay down, so the reptile wouldn’t see him as a threat. “You can tell me.”

The turtle slid along, pulling and pushing herself forward, leaving a long drag mark in the sand.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

The surf had caught him again. Small waves broke over his back. Larger waves would follow.

“It’s pretty rough out there,” he said, getting to his feet. “If I were you, I’d wait.”

When the turtle was level with him, she stopped. But it was just to catch her breath. She didn’t look at him, and she didn’t vary her line. She paused, raised her head, and then began moving again, straight into the surf, seeking the very waves that Gabriel and Mara had escaped.

And as he watched, she sank into the water and turned on her side, pulled hard once with her flippers, and vanished.

GABRIEL SAT IN THE SAND FACING THE OCEAN AND ATE
everything Mara put in front of him. He couldn’t believe all this food had come out of the one picnic basket.

“The man knows how to pack,” Mara told him.

Gabriel helped himself to a ham and cheese sandwich. “Is there a kitchen in there somewhere?”

Crisp and Sonny, along with the Chins, the Huangs, and a number of people Gabriel didn’t recognize, watched the waves. The larger ones brought cheers from the crowd.

“That’s the guy from the Co-op.”

“Folks in town saw Sonny’s tower,” said Mara, “and came down to see what was up.”

“And Crisp is feeding them?”

“Mr. Crisp is a man of substantial talents.”

Gabriel tried to peer into the basket. “Is there any roast beef?”

Sonny had found a long stick, and, as each wave receded, he and Soldier would race after it, would plant the stick in the sand as far out into the ocean as possible. And as the wave turned, the two of them would scamper back up the beach, yelping and shouting, the water hard on their heels, Sonny’s face bright as the sun.

Crisp had joined in for a while, but after several of these sprints, the man had come back to the blanket, awash in sweat and breathing hard.

“The lad’s a demon for fun.”

“And you’re not as young as you used to be, Mr. Crisp.”

“Indeed, Mistress Mara,” said Crisp. “Not by an eternity.”

“Is it true about the motel?”

“True enough,” said Crisp. “The Chins have experience on cruise ships, as it turns out, and you knows that Jun-jie can cook. They’re going to help the lad with the motel, and it’s expected that the business will support the lot.”

Crisp poured himself a cup of tea. It came out of the Thermos, hot and fragrant. “As well, two of the cousins are mechanics and have plans to fix the old bus and offer tours of the environs.”

Crisp blew at the steam.

“And Mr. Collins has installed the Huangs in that empty lot behind the Tin Turtle. Master gardeners they turn out to be, and will be supplying the town with fresh produce.”

It had been unexpected. The tears. Mara tried to fight them back, but without success, and her shoulders began to shake.

Gabriel had been slow to see what was happening, but then he quickly tried to gather her in his arms.

She slapped his hands away, her eyes flashing through the tears. “Do I look like I need to be held?”

Gabriel glanced at Crisp.

“Don’t be looking at me for starboard or port,” Crisp said quickly, “for I’ve no compass in such matters.”

“I’m fine,” said Mara. “I was just thinking about the reserve.”

“Aye, the reserve,” said Crisp. “No need for tears on that
account, for the word’s already on the wind. They’ll come home. Ye mark my words, they’ll all sail home.”

Two of the Huang boys had joined Sonny in his stick game. Soldier sat at the water’s edge and watched the ocean move. The sun had held. The fog bank had come to the breakwater, but no farther.

“Do ye see?” Crisp waved a banana at the fog. “It’s an ancient wall what holds the sea in check and dams the land. Not a sound it makes. Comes and goes without a word, it does. Ye may thrust your hand through it and breathe it in if ye have a mind.”

Crisp pushed off the sand. “Not even a proper colour, but all the hues at once. Ash. All ash. The sun burns it. The wind moves it. It has neither fangs nor claws.”

Soldier shifted nervously and bent his ears forward.

“Yet no one can catch it,” said Crisp, taking a step towards the water. “No one can hold it. And ye cannot reason with the creature.”

Mara looked at Soldier. “The dog hears something.”

Soldier growled and began moving down the beach, the muscles along his back and neck bunched and hard. Sonny was running into the ocean with his stick, laughing as he ran down the slope of damp sand, when the dog began to bark.

Crisp was on his feet. “Sonny!”

Down into the belly of the ocean the boy ran, his stick held high, delight bubbling off his body. Soldier chased after him, howling as he went.

“Sonny!”

And in an instant, Crisp was sprinting through the sand, throwing up showers and sparks.

“Sonny!”

Gabriel hadn’t believed anyone could move that fast. One moment, Crisp was standing by the blanket, the next he had caught Sonny, snatched him up, and was racing back up the beach, Soldier at their heels, as the scream came slicing through the fog.

A long, terrible, scraping screech that ran out along the shore as though the world had been ripped open.

Soldier spun about, began barking and snapping at the crowd, began driving everyone from the edge of the water.

“Get back.” Crisp was shouting and waving an arm, as he carried Sonny to safety. “Get back.”

And then something dark and impossibly large pushed its way through the fog, rose up and slammed into the beach like an axe into flesh.

Crisp put Sonny down on the blanket, took a deep breath, and turned back to the ocean. “Ye surely don’t see that every day.”

It was the prow of a ship, a huge and dented hulk, corroded and blackened, with fresh, bright tears on its side where it had smashed into the rocks on its way to shore. Half in the fog. Half out.

Crisp turned to Mei-ling.

“That be the vessel?”

Mei-ling shivered and put her hand to her mouth. “Yes,” she said, her voice no more than a soft whisper. “That is our ship.”

Crisp was the first to move. He walked down the beach, circled the bow, stroked the metal flank of the monster, as though he thought it was in need of affection. Sonny followed in Crisp’s footsteps, walking where Crisp walked, touching what Crisp touched.

Salvage.

Crisp smiled and rubbed Sonny’s head. “No lad,” he said. “There be no salvage here.”

Mara took Gabriel’s hand. “Come on,” she said. And the two of them made their way to the water’s edge.

“There,” she said. “Near the top.”

The upper reaches of the ship were hidden by the fog, but Gabriel could make out letters and then a single word.

Anguis.

The rest of the people from town slowly moved to the ship, Mei-ling and the two families hanging back. Crisp banged on the side of the hull to get everyone’s attention.

“I’ll be needing your help,” he said. And he placed both his hands on the bow and bent his back into the ship.

Gabriel couldn’t believe Crisp was serious. He expected the man would give up the joke, and they would all have a good laugh. One individual wasn’t going to move this ship. It was stuck fast in the sand. Even if everyone on the beach helped in the pushing, nothing was going to happen.

“Come on!” shouted Crisp. “For we’ve not much time.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You’re kidding.”

Mara punched him on the shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “When are you going to get another chance to push a ship off a beach.”

“You’re never going to move it.”

“It’s not about moving,” said Mara. “It’s about community.”

The hull was cold and hollow, and great rivers of rust ran down its sides, as though the beast had been wounded and bled. Gabriel had not considered how death might feel, but he supposed it might look like this.

“You will sing?”

Mei-ling and the rest of the Taiwanese crowded about Gabriel and Mara.

“You will sing that song?”

“A stupendous idea,” shouted Crisp, and he began to beat out a rhythm on the hull.

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Least you can do,” said Mara. “Seeing as you’re not dead yet.”

And so he started, singing the lead weakly, trying to find the right pitch. He was well into the first push up when a second voice joined his.

Mara.

By the time he got to the honour beat, Crisp and Sonny had joined in, their voices fighting each other. And then Mei-ling and the families. By the second verse, the people from the town had come to the song as well.

It wasn’t pleasant, but it was loud.

Not that the ship was moving. It hadn’t moved. They could sing and push until they were hoarse and sore, and it wasn’t going to move.

Then Crisp raised his voice above the surf.

“Sonny!” he cried. “Lend us your hammer!”

Wham-wham!

“That’s it, lad,” Crisp roared. “Hit it again!”

Wham-wham, hammer-hammer!

Sonny’s hammer rang against the hull, and slowly, by degrees, the sound of the strikes and the voices came together, until Gabriel could feel the vibrations running through the steel, could feel the song in the ship itself.

But now there was something else. Not a voice. More a tremor that Gabriel could feel in his feet. Thunder perhaps. That was it. Spring thunder.

“Away!” Crisp moved through the singers, pushing them away from the ship. “For the high ground,” he shouted.

Gabriel staggered in the first few steps. Mara grabbed his arm as they ran up the beach.

“If you could do it over.”

“I can’t.”

“I know. But if you could.”

“Higher,” shouted Crisp, as he drove everyone out of the sand and onto the face of the slope. “There be the push and the shove what’s needed.”

The first wave smashed into the ship’s flank and sent a shiver through the structure. And, as Gabriel watched, the
Anguis
moved.

“Again!” cried Crisp.

The second wave was larger. It lifted the vessel by the stern and slammed the bow down into the sand.

“Again!”

The next four waves came in a rush, welled up under the
Anguis,
and broke the ship’s hold on the shore.

“There she be!”

The seventh wave was enormous, taller and more massive than anything Gabriel had ever seen. It slammed into the hull, set the
Anguis
afloat on the tide, and sucked the ship into the fog.

Everyone stood on the slope and waited. Gabriel was sure that the ship would reappear on the next wave, was sure that the
Anguis
would rip through the fog and bury itself in the beach once again.

But it didn’t.

Crisp was the first to break the silence. “Well,” he boomed, “that surely worked up an appetite.” And he went to the basket, lifted the lid, and began laying the food out on the blanket. “Eat up, eat up!”

Gabriel tried to find the Apostles in the fog and high water, but it would be hours before the tide would raise them up again.

Mara appeared at his side. “You’re thinking you should have stayed on the rocks.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“Maybe not,” said Mara.

“I’m still responsible.”

“All right,” she said. “Then do something about it.”

Crisp came striding through the sand with Sonny in his wake.

“That was a powerful song,” he said, “to have conjured up such a wave.”

“It wasn’t the song.”

“Aye,” said Crisp. “The song and the lad’s hammer.”

“And I don’t think it was the hammer, either.”

“And yet the song was sung, the hammer struck, and the wave came.”

“You knew it was coming.”

Crisp shrugged. “I’ll admit to a possibility. But patience, for the boy’s got something of yours.”

Sonny was holding the drum.

“He found it on the beach. Ye must have lost it when ye and Mistress Mara was out frisking about on the rocks.”

The drum was wet, but there were no tears in the hide. Gabriel turned the drum over in his hands.

“Here,” he said, handing it back to Sonny. “You keep it.”

“That’s kind of ye,” cried Crisp, “for the boy’s fond of such things.”

“Then he should have this, too.” Gabriel slipped out of his jacket and brushed off the back so that the tipis shimmered in the sunlight. “Consider it today’s salvage.”

IT
was late afternoon by the time the people began to leave the beach. Sonny had spent the time in his new jacket, running up and down the sand with Soldier at his heels, hitting the drum and singing something about clamshells.

Mara stayed in the grass next to Gabriel.

“I still want to hear that story.”

“Which one?”

“The one you don’t want to tell.”

A flock of seagulls passed overhead on their way to town, arguing as they went, and on the bluff near the old motel, a raven shouted abuse at anyone who would listen.

“There.” Mara put a hand on Gabriel’s arm. “Look there.”

The sun had cleared the mountains and was lighting the face of the waves, driving the fog away from the shore.

“Look!” Mara shaded her eyes.

“What?”

“Do you see them?”

Pelicans. Coming in low, gliding across the water, following the line of the shore, with the sun on their wings.

“Are those the ones you and Lilly saw?”

Gabriel watched the squadron work its way north towards the headlands and the reserve.

“The very ones,” he said.

Mara and Gabriel stayed on the beach until the tide turned and the fog lifted, until all that was left was a beacon on a line of land and a silent horizon on an endless ocean.