Aquatic Grunge Read online

  He laughed in an uncontrolled, high-pitched squeal. He clearly appreciated his own humour. I left him to it.

  Now that I was sure that I was not welcome at the hostel, I could be much more blatant about stealing food and not doing any work. I headed to the kitchen, thinking greedy thoughts of forbidden two-minute noodles.

  A ringing sound came out of my shorts. I jumped. People rarely phone me.

  ‘G’day, this is Stan here, ay?’

  ‘Hey, Stan, it’s Kelvin Daniels here.’

  ‘Orright, Kelvin mate,’ he drawled. ‘Are youse still up for working?’

  ‘Yeah, man, like we said. I’d be good at it.’

  ‘The boss wants to have a gander at youse before he lets youse on the boat, ay? No wuckers?’ He asked, sounding like he was doing an over-the-top impression of an Australian.

  ‘That is perfectly understandable,’ I replied in my best Queen’s English.

  ‘Grouse. There’s another job garn if youse know anyone’s up for it,’

  ‘I must apologise, I didn’t quite understand that last statement.’

  My posh accent was obviously starting to get on his tits. He repeated himself loudly and slowly.

  ‘I said, IF YOUSE KNOW ANY OTHER DIVER, COOJA BRING ‘EM ALONG, COS THERE’S ANOTHER JOB GARN! You’re a mouthy little tripper, ay?’

  ‘Oh, do forgive me. If any offense was caused, I most sincerely assure you the intention of aggravation was completely absent from my disposition,’ I said, causing Stan to pause for a while.

  After fifteen seconds: ‘So do youse know anyone? We don’t wanna' be a bloke short. The Skip’s got some good spots in mind. We’re gonna’ haul up some slug.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. I’ll see.’

  Haul up some slug?

  ‘I’ll text the address to youse. He wants to see youse today. Bring that maybe-guy along with ya, ay?’

  End communication.

  Boat? Haul up some slug? Hmmm. Was this a gay swinger’s party boat? Would the captain ask me to strip before employing me? What if they asked me to haul up my slug first?

  I pictured the captain greeting me at the door wearing only an admiral’s hat, a leather G-string and a mischievous grin, hidden underneath his thick, black moustache: ‘Hi there, sailor boy. Wanna’ sink my battleship?’

  I needed back-up at that meeting. There was no way I was going to confront the situation by myself. So I gritted my teeth and did the unthinkable.

  He was standing in the swimming pool, his skinny, white chest gleaming. He was singing the tune of ‘Land of hope and glory,’ but had replaced the lyrics with his description of Jonny Wilkinson scoring a try for England. It killed me to do it.

  ‘Neville, mate. Are you interested in working with me?’

  ‘Fecking ‘ell, geezer, I’ve been waiting for you to ask. No worries. What’s the biz, then?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what the job involves at all. All I know is that the boss wants to meet us. We’ve got to go see him now.’

  I checked the text message on my phone. It read: BECHE DE MER DIVING. 168 DIGGER STREET. ARKSE FOR JESSE BARNES AT THE FRONT DESK. YOUSE CAN SAY STAN SENT YOU AND OTHER MAYBE GUY, AY?

  Wow! He actually texted like he talked.

  Neville and I hastily smoked a joint and then started the short walk down Grafton Street. Grafton Street eventually turned into Digger Street, getting uglier the further you got away from the centre of town, the ‘city.’

  The joint did the opposite of calming me down; it made me more paranoid than a goat at a lions’ convention. This gig was getting scarier with every step we took along Digger Street.

  It was time to calm down and go inside. At the front of 168 Digger Street, a white sign told us to ring the doorbell for any inquiries to Beche De Mer Diving. As we approached the door, a small ball of hair and fury came hurtling towards us.

  ‘Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!’

  It stopped two feet in front of us, bared its teeth and let out a low, guttural, ‘Grrrrrrrrrrr.’

  Before I had time to decide what to do it ran back to wherever it came from. Neville returned from behind a tree.

  After composing myself, I went to ring the doorbell. The front door swung open before I had a chance. I was welcomed by the sight of a young woman. She had wavy, blonde hair and deep, green eyes that matched her polo shirt. Her body was slight, but in proportion, and her brown cords and bare feet gave her the ‘cool-without-trying’ look that most people spend heaps on. All in all, I was starting to think that maybe this boat wasn’t such a bad idea.

  I smiled.

  ‘You must be Jesse Barnes.’

  ‘No,’ she suppressed a laugh. ‘My name is Victoria. Sorry about Harlot before; she’s very protective. Just wait here, and I’ll get Jesse for you.’

  While we were waiting, Neville blurted out what I had been thinking.

  ‘Not ‘alf bad, innit? Would not mind jamming that under the covers, know what I mean?’

  Ignoring Neville, I tried to picture Jesse Barnes in my mind. He had morphed into an attractive, red-headed woman with huge tits. She was Victoria’s sometime girlfriend, who liked to screw the new crew.

  A large man with a large stomach came to the door.

  ‘G’day, Jesse Barnes.’ He didn’t offer his hand. ‘This way, boys.’

  Damn. His hairy arse-crack led us into his office.

  ‘So how’s it going?’

  ‘Good,’ we replied in unison.

  ‘Good. I’ll tell you about this next trip and what I need you two to do for me,’ he declared in a strong, gruff voice.

  As he was talking, I noticed the walls of his office. It was full of shark jaws, the type I’ve seen mounted in the same way on the walls of pubs before. He had at least twenty of them. Occupying the rest of the wall space were photos of himself next to large, dead fish. He was pictured smiling next to limp, hanging sharks and strung-up marlins. He had the same slumped posture and proud moustachioed grin in all of them. There was one of him next to a gigantic green fish, its expression bemused.

  ‘ ...is pretty important to remember. So, is that clear, boys?’

  Paying attention has never been a strong point of mine.

  ‘Yes,’ we chorused, Neville more confidently than me.

  ‘All right, then. So I’ve got an account with Specialised Divers. We can take the cost of the ‘open water’ off your earnings from the first trip. I’ll get Victoria to text you the details. After that, you boys will be ready to come out to sea with the crew. Any questions?’

  ‘No.’

  We made for the door.

  ‘And, Daniels,’ he bellowed with a smile in his voice.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said as I was nearly out of the office.

  ‘I’ve heard you’re a bit of a mouthy cunt. Fucking watch it!’

  Chapter Four

  There were six people doing the diving course. We had been ushered into a small classroom by a woman with too much makeup on. The six of us made polite conversation and laughed at things that really weren’t that funny in order to stop any awkward silences.

  The group was comprised of myself, Neville, Rod (a middle-aged, middle-weight American man) and three backpackers from Switzerland. They introduced themselves as Heidi, Margrit, and Crispin. The Swiss trio were travelling together.

  Neville took the floor.

  ‘So this is Kelvin, innit? Me and ‘im are going to be sea cucumber divers in two-week’s time. We’re gonna crawl on the bottom of the ocean and pick up the little blighters.’

  ‘Really?’ said American Rod. ‘Who buys them?’

  ‘They’re shipped off to Asia, mainly,’ I said.

  And that, apparently, was true. I wasn’t concentrating when Jesse was talking to us, but Neville swore he wasn’t lying when he told me what we were doing.

  A man walked in. He was a man with presence.

  His broad shoulders held up his huge, barrel chest. He had crystal-blue eyes, which were complemented
by the blue Specialised Divers polo-top he was wearing. His blond hair was short enough to be neat, but long enough to be a little bit wavy and crazy. Margrit and Heidi were impressed. So was I.

  ‘Hello, guys, my name is Warren,’ he said. ‘I’ll be your dive instructor for the duration of this course.’

  He was tanned, buff, relaxed and in control.

  ‘First, we are going to do some theory sessions before we hop into the swimming pool. During this time, if you have any questions or queries, just yell out. You don’t have to put your hand up. We are all adults here.’ As he finished his sentence, he glanced towards Neville. The rest of the group snickered. Heidi and Margrit looked Warren up and down more thoroughly than I had been.

  Soon after, we all had to start focusing our minds on different matters.

  It had been a rare mistake of Warren’s to advise us to ask questions willy-nilly. Rod took it as a direct order to cut in with inane bullshit whenever Warren paused to take a breath. Here is a highlights package of the rest of Rod’s performance throughout the sixty-seven long minutes we were in the classroom together, all of it delivered in a whiny, oh-so-friendly American accent. We’ll start at the five minutes and thirty-two second mark.

  ‘Tell me, Warren, what kind of fish do you have in Australia? In Florida, we have bass, catfish, and pickerel. They are all freshwater fish. We also have a big problem with carp and walking catfish. That’s right, walking catfish. They are both introduced species. Do you get much of that ‘down under,’ Warren?’

  7:12: ‘So, what do you do if you get taken by a shark? I mean, in Florida we have gators, but at least we know where they are. It’s not like you’ll come across a White Pointer sunning itself on a golf course. Am I right, guys?’

  16:05: ‘How about this heat?’

  26:35: ‘I guess the unicorn could have used some scuba equipment when he missed Noah’s ark. Huh, guys?’

  38:01: ‘So, what are the chances of us being in the water when a tsunami hits? I’d want to be pretty deep in the water when that happens.’

  43:58: ‘Boy, this heat is intense. I’ve been to Egypt, South Africa, and Nepal, but this tops it by a mile.’

  54:12: ‘So, what’s with coral?’

  56:08: ‘Hey, we could probably find Nemo out there. How about that?’

  65:05: ‘Boy, this sure is taking a while. I feel like we’ve been sitting here for ages. I just can’t wait to stop talking and start diving. What about you guys?’

  Finally, the gruelling classroom session ended. It was a credit to Warren’s patience that he didn’t punch Rod’s head in, while explaining to him why the world would be a better place with him dead. Despite the constant distraction, he explained everything to us firmly, without being aggressive. Occasionally he threw in a reliable, well-worn joke. He answered all of Rod’s queries with patience and humour. Most importantly, he educated us at a level that I could comprehend. Tens of minutes later, I could still recall the things he had taught me.

  He explained that you have to pop your ears, or ‘equalise’ every metre or so that you go down in the water or your eardrums would cave in. He also explained a bunch of other shit that I got the gist of before we hit the pool.

  The first thing we had to do was change into our bathers. In a completely non-homosexual way, I quickly surveyed the other guys’ naked bodies in the change-room. They were all pretty average, like me.

  As Rod was getting changed, he kept talking to me. He kept crapping on about Florida, even when he was completely naked. I thought that Neville was annoying, but Rod easily had him covered. When he asked me a question about Melbourne, I went to answer and was greeted with his hairy, arse-crack staring right back at me. How fucking rude!

  As commonly happens, the girls took longer to get changed than the guys. The delay, I hoped, was caused by their talking about how much they liked me, while fondling each other’s breasts. As Margrit and Heidi finally emerged from the change-rooms, it was obvious that Rod, Neville, Warren, Crispin and I were all checking them out—big time.

  They were both pretty, by any standards, of which I have none. The Swiss Miss duo giggled and spoke Swiss words to each other as they climbed into the pool. Margrit had short, auburn hair. Her skin was tanned. She was slim and taller than me. Heidi was blonde, smaller and curvier than Margrit. They both wore black string bikinis that barely covered their breasts. As I was surveying their entry into the shallow end of the pool, I had to inconspicuously fashion my erection so it was pointing skyward. If anyone had looked at me closely, they would have been able to see the smallest amount of head peering up from the elastic of my shorts.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind munching on a double-Swiss cheeseburger,’ whispered Neville, from a safe distance.

  ‘That would go down nicely with a beer, Neville,’ I replied.

  After that we had to tread water for ten minutes, just to show we were comfortable in the water. If we couldn’t do it, we were refunded and shown the door. I suspect we all hoped that Rod would drown, or at least fail.

  ‘Excuse me, Warren,’ he said, as Warren braced himself for the inevitable. ‘Does that mean that we can use another person as a flotation device?’

  ‘No,’ said Warren, acting a laugh.

  ‘No worries, pal. Another thing—’ Rod continued, but was suddenly cut off.

  ‘I am not such a good swimmer,’ said Crispin in a deep, commanding European voice. ‘I need to be concentrating and I need you to be shutting the fuck up. You understand, yes?’

  That had been the first thing the man had said all day.

  ‘Yeah, no worries buddy,’ was Rod’s sheepish reply.

  For the next 600 seconds, the six of us trod water in complete, beautiful silence. If Rod looked like he was about to talk, he was met with a solid glare from the Swiss man and that was the end of it.

  We spent hours in the pool, going through different skills and exercises. Even Rod realised that he was out of his natural element, so he decided to shut up and actually listen. Using the equipment was fun and I was actually quite good at it. Already I could control my buoyancy using the air in my lungs or by putting air into my buoyancy vest. I could take my mask off, put it back on, and clear the water out of it. I could take my regulator out of my mouth and put it back in. And all of that I could do while under water. I was a gun. I was born to dive.

  I sucked up to Warren like a teacher’s pet. Whenever he needed a volunteer, I put my hand up. I was always the first to attempt a new skill and was always first to master anything we were given. He seemed to take an interest in me. We chatted while the rest of the crew were still trying to master some of the skills that were piss-easy to me.

  ‘So, tell us mate, what brought you to Cairns?’ he asked.

  ‘I came up here to learn how to dive,’ I replied.

  I am not a very talented man, but I am an above average liar. I feel more comfortable when I’m talking absolute bullshit. Being truthful is pretty boring and often hurtful.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve always been interested in fish and the ocean. I really wanted to see all of it up close,’ I fibbed.

  ‘Well, that’s good, mate. You should look into getting some dives up, and working with us or one of the other dive operators.’

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Well, once you’ve got enough dives logged, it’s just a matter of doing the training courses, mate. It takes a bit of work, but you can get up to instructor standard fairly quickly. You’ve just got to do the hundred or so dives, and you’re set.’

  ‘Well I’ve never been afraid of hard work,’ I lied again.

  Everyone else had, by then, come to the surface. He paused before addressing the whole group in his commanding-yet-friendly voice.

  ‘Now, guys, that was really good. I’ll give you a bit of free time to practice anything and everything that we have been through today, before we hop out of the pool. Neville, you need to keep practicing mask removal and replacement.’

  ‘Look, guv, I know
what you’re saying, but the chlorine keeps getting in my eyes. It’s not that I’m in pain or nuffin,’ it’s just that my eyes are my sexiest feature, and I don’t want to be disappointin’ the ladies, innit?’

  The Jendaya Chronicle: Part One

  My brothers, my mummy, my daddy and I used to live in Zimbabwe. For a while, it was good. My mummy and my daddy loved me very much. They probably still do love me, from wherever they are.

  The childhood that I can remember was fun. I played with my identical twin brothers all the time when we were really little. I looked after them when they were at school. It helped that my mummy was a teacher at my school. Nobody picked on us, and we had lots of friends.

  Jabulani and Emmanuel (my brothers) were two years younger than me and I loved them very much. Jabi was much braver and bolder than Emmi. Emmi was more thoughtful and relaxed than Jabi. I was somewhere in between, which came in handy if I was needed to resolve a disagreement between them. I could tell them apart by the way they walked, talked and just were. They both had fine black hair and deep brown eyes. They loved each other, and they also loved Mummy, Daddy and me.

  The longer that time goes by, the less I can remember of the school, my brothers, my mummy and my daddy. Daddy had blond hair and blue eyes. Mummy looked more like most of the people in Zimbabwe.

  Daddy was a farmer. Every day, he would get up really early in the morning and start farming. Mummy, Emmi, Jabi and I would help him out on the weekends and after school. Daddy never made us get up as early in the morning as he did. We would usually eat bota for breakfast. It was quite plain, but it filled me up for a long time. Mummy had a garden with lots of plants, where she grew fruit and vegetables. We often had tomatoes, zucchini and lettuce from the garden. We would sometimes eat it with our sadza for dinner. Once, for the twins’ twelfth birthday, we cooked two of our chickens. The chickens were my friends and I was sad when Daddy killed them, but he explained to me that it was an honourable death for them. They had stopped laying eggs, and it was time for them to go back into the magical circle of energy. I stopped worrying. They tasted delicious. I’d never eaten chicken before, and I haven’t since.