Boys of the Abyss (unfinished)

Boys Of the Abyss

Jonah and Adrian sat, passing a brown bag between them, looking out at the twilit street.    the brothers’ routine for the previous five summers. Always a bottle and often a warm breeze, usually the only things that passed between them. From behind the door they could hear the television and, occasionally, their father’s voice talking back to it. Adrian threw pebbles at a street lamp while Jonah swayed slightly and counted aloud, “Four.. Three.. Two.. One..” then -Ping- as Adrian’s pebble stuck the pole, its lamp ignited.

                                                               …

When their father was diagnosed with lung cancer he stopped working on the boats. He sold his boat to pay the bills and the boys quit school to find employment. They searched the town for opportunities and found nothing, but finally the manager of the docks where their father had worked took pity and offered them a job cleaning fish. They were given no special exceptions and even the other fisherman, men who had known and worked with their father, had no time to pay the boys any special attention. Following tradition their father had not taught the boys to swim, so when they carried supplies or entered a boat they took timid steps and kept their eyes fixed on the water below. Their work provided them with enough money for food and rent, plus a little left over for liquor. But as their father’s health continued to decline he ate less, and as months passed the money for groceries was spent on more beer instead.

                                                              …

An old woman emerged from the shadows into streetlight, her arms burdened with as many bags as she could carry. She hobbled past the boys and pretended not to notice them. When she passed back into the shadows, Adrian spoke. “What happened? Things used to be so good. Now, it’s too much pressure. I’m sick of it.” Jonah shook his head. “We’re doing fine. You’re doing fine.” Adrian frowned, raised a thin arm and resumed his rock throwing. Ping, ping, his throws hit the pole, his arm movements mechanical, his aim precise.

The next morning at work they stood inside the storehouse sharpening their knives while they waited for the first boats to come in. The marine radio crackled to life and announced “Securité, Securité, Securité, this is coast guard, coast guard, coast guard. Water advisory for today, May 3rd, 2016: 40-60 knot winds southeast.” The announcement repeated itself and both paused their sharpening to look through the storehouse window. The water reflected a rippled pink dawn under the breeze. black dots on the blue sky grew nearer and took the shape of birds. Gulls flew inland, circled noisily over the docks and dove into the shoreline canopy. The boats rocked and out beyond the bay whitecaps crested angry waves. The docks shifted and the boys had to catch their balance when the storehouse floor started to move beneath them.

The dock manager rushed down the walkway, shouting orders as he came, but the boys were already gone. They ran from one end of the dock to the other, stowing away or tying down anything that was not already firmly fastened. Garbage cans, rags and even fish bins tumbled down the docks into the water and the boys chased after them, scrambling to save what they could before it sank. Then came the boats. Barrelling into the bay at full speed, engines roaring, captains steering with fixed eyes and pursed lips. It became a mad dash to tie one down before the next came in. Boats slammed into the docks and, once moored, squeezed buoys between hull and wood until they were ready to pop.

When all the boats had returned the boys resumed their stations inside the storehouse and cleaned the few fish that had been caught. Gradually the winds subsided and by the time their shift was over the water was calm again. The two ran home, eager to share stories with their father.

They entered the house, struggled out of their waders and jackets, went to the living room– and found their father dead. He reclined in his armchair and might have been at rest, were it not for a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The TV people carried on happily in front of him while the boys stood silent, unable to believe the thing they had both been expecting for so long.

Adrian and Jonah buried their father under a heavy summer downpour that soaked their clothes and filled their boots, accompanied only by a priest from a church they had never once attended.

The feeling of death lingered in the house for the next month. The place smelled of him and what little character their home had was his doing. The dock manager offered to pay some of the burial expenses but he did not allow the boys to take time away from their work.

When they returned home from the funeral they did not enter the house. Instead they sat drenched on the stoop and drank with abandon until the last of the dull grey light had faded from the sky. Jonah lay on his back with eyes closed while Adrian collected rocks to throw. His movements were violent now, his aim wild, and when Jonah counted out the seconds until the streetlamp lit up, Adrian broke down in tears.

When they were not working the docks they were outside the store waiting for a bootleg or sitting on their front stoop drinking until sleep came to them, usually right where they sat. In their dreams they fell off the docks and drowned or became trapped in their father’s grave, torrents of rain pouring in around them, caught between saving his body and saving themselves. When they were awake it was not much different; They were always staring out at the water or down through the neck of a bottle.

Only when Jonah caught his brother staring out over the sea with the same empty gaze did he realize his own sick state. That afternoon when they finished work and were about to go home Jonah stopped them. “We’re not going back tonight.” Adrian turned around, the red light of the evening sun on his face, and squinted. “Huh?” he said.

“That house still feels like death and I don’t want to be anywhere near it. We’re going somewhere else– Follow me.”

The two walked back in the direction they had come, their faces tired, their bodies stinking of fish and sweat. When they reached the docks Jonah turned and they walked along the shoreline until they were outside the bay. Around the point a sandy beach stretched out before them. Theyy found a log and watched the sun sink into the ocean. After a while Jonah spoke. “We can eat and live well now he’s gone. That’s what he would want us to do.”

“I don’t want to live in that house anymore” Adrian said, his voice breaking.

“Me neither,” Jonah agreed, “We’ll go somewhere else.”

When the sun was almost down they built a fire, burning logs until flames sent up sparks that became stars in the evening sky. They stripped off their dirty clothes and danced, making ape noises and gesturing with sticks, and for the first time since their father died they laughed. As the fire became embers they stopped their dancing, unsure of what to do next. Then, without notice, Adrian sprinted for the water. Jonah watched in awe as he dove in and disappeared beneath the surface.

A few seconds later he came up. “Not as hard as it looks!” he shouted. Jonah hesitated an instant and then ran in. They splashed about and kicked out blindly to find their footing in the sand but after awhile they became calm and floated easily. They lay on their backs in the shallows, staring up at the night sky. Jonah, caught in another reflective trance, did not see when Adrian began to roll his body with the waves and move further out. He was 50 yards offshore before Jonah finally sat up and noticed. Adrian swam smoothly, his arms working confidently beneath him. “Careful,” Jonah warned, but Adrian only spat a jet of water in his direction and went out further.

Soon Adrian felt his arms begin to tire and his excitement turned to fear. He looked around him and saw the black night sky merge with the opaque surface of the water, looked behind him and saw the fire, now only visible as a small orange glow on the distant beach. “Jonah!” He shouted, swallowing a mouthful of water as his head began to sink. Jonah watched helplessly from shore, afraid that if he went to help he might drown himself. But when Adrian sunk beneath the surface Jonah dove in and swam out to his brother as fast as he could. Keeping his head up he paddled to where his brother had disappeared.

Then, not far off, Adrian resurfaced, gasped for air and vanished again. Fighting his own exhaustion Jonah swam over and dove down, groping blindly for his brother. Deeper and deeper he swam, his lungs choking for air, but his grasps only caught handfuls of the murky sea. He brushed something with his finger tips. With a final surge downward Jonah reached out his hand again and caught adrian under the arm. He pulled with all his remaining strength, unaware of the sharp pains in his lungs, feeling only the desperate spasms of his brother’s body. Jonah could feel his consciousness starting to fade. He opened his eyes to see the light of the moon, hoping it would help him gauge his progress, but instead more blackness creeped in around the edges of his vision. The last thing Jonah saw was the face of his father beside him, a thin stream of blood leaving his lips and diluting into the blackness.

Jonah took his final gasp and felt water rush down his throat and into his lungs. His body went limp and he felt Adrian slip from his grasp. He sank deeper and waited for the convulsions that would mark the end of his life, but they did not come. He wondered, “Has it already happened?”  but when he opened his eyes he felt the sting of the salt. He felt his chest heavy with water, felt it swell and contract uselessly. Instinctively, he drew in more water through his nose and, to his surprise, felt his blood surge with fresh oxygen. His next thought was of his brother. He reached down again and this time he grasped Adrian’s hand, felt it squeeze his own. They swam back to shore together and when they reached the surface they coughed the water they had taken in. When they reached land they crawled to the embers of the fire and collapsed beside it, exhausted.

Adrian woke with a start, gasping for air. He’d been sleeping on his clothes and in trying to give himself more cushion he had pushed his shirt into his face. It had rained during the night but the morning sun was already warm on his body. Adrian looked over at Jonah, still asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. After re-lighting the fire he woke up Jonah to tell him about his dream but got only part way before his brother began to nod and agree, saying he’d had a similar one.