Black Butterflies (14 page)

Eleni piles the ropes on the stern seat.

‘
Don’t leave them there, put them in the locker,’ the captain shouts, looking over his shoulder at her.

Eleni lugs the ropes to the deck and lifts up the seat that doubles as a cover for the rope locker. The sea is jolting the boat hard. She broadens her stance. The locker lid slams to close with the jar of a wave. She takes the impact on her arm, cursing herself for not putting on the safety latch. She pulls her arm free and allows the lid to slam home. She rubs at the pain as another wave takes her balance.

‘Come inside,’ a voice shouts above the noise of the engine. It’s Spiros.

Eleni staggers towards the cabin and unhooks a clipboard from above the chart table, and grabs the pen swinging on a length of string to note the time of their departure. She leans against the door frame. The cabin is open at the rear and the engine noise drowns the crew
’s voices. The radio crackles with indistinct words.

The boat gathers speed until its bows are smashing against the waves, rising and falling with power and urgency. The captain stands, thighs braced against the dashboard, looking out into the grey. It has begun to rain.

The other two men are sitting, one each side of the boat, on long benches. One, Spiros, is trying to smoke but the spasmodic movement makes him miss his mouth when he raises the cigarette to his lips.

Eleni returns the clipboard to its hook and allows the pen on the string to drop. This is her first rescue trip. She looks back to see if her mother is still standing on the quay, but they have already turned out of the port and round the first headland. It is not just that Mother is on the island, but that she walked straight into the port police office. In a blue dress. Hugging a stranger. Praying for a taxi boat man.

‘You OK?’ Spiros, with a half-smoked cigarette, shouts and moves along the bench, indicating that she should sit. Eleni nods and staggers across to the seat. They pass the two small islands topped with tiny whitewashed churches. The islands are menacing black rocks in the stormy half-light, white water foaming. Now they are coming level with the boatyard.

If her mother is on the island interfering with her life, what has that got to do with her no longer being in mourning dress? Blue, for goodness sake. It actually suits her, but pale blue is a long way from black. Why not brown, or even navy?

‘Do you feel sick?’ He flicks his cigarette to the rear opening, a practised action, confident that the wind will take the glowing end into the sea.

‘
No, I am fine.’ Eleni wipes her cheek. She is not sure if it is tears or spray. Her stomach turned and sank seeing her mother’s arms around another girl, a stranger. Who is she? More importantly, who is she to her mother? Her stomach turns again at the thought. She would have liked to have been in those arms. She hasn’t hugged her mother in how long? She wipes her cheek again.

The captain turns and scans the three of them before shouting.
‘Come on, guys! Life jackets on!’ The radio hisses and he picks it up and shouts for a repeat of the message.

Eleni reaches under her seat and pulls out a life jacket, and deftly hooks it over her head and ties it on. The other two sit unmoved. Spiros offers a cigarette.

Why did Mum cross herself when she realised who was missing? ‘Dancing man’ she called him. What does that mean? But if she was coming to report him missing, why was she so surprised when she found out who it was? It doesn’t make sense. The vision of her on the dock holding the girl comes again. Eleni feels very alone.

The captain turns the radio to full volume.
‘Boat..nd..isl..ne..ock.’

‘
Repeat please, repeat,’ the captain shouts. They are coming to the end of the island and no sighting is called by the captain. The waves tower here as the shelter of the channel gives way to open seas.

‘
Shi..ck..shi..ck.’

The captain turns to his men.
‘Anyone understand that?’

The man opposite Eleni edges up his bench, towards the captain, away from the spray. Eleni doesn
’t know the area but she has heard stories. ‘Maybe he meant “Ship Rock”,’ she ventures.

The captain presses the send button on his hand-held VHF. The wind is tossing the boat from side to side and the force of the engine is ploughing them forward through unbroken waves, banging the bow down in the troughs and rearing them like a cork on the crests.

Eleni begins to feel a little nervous.

‘
Did you say “Ship Rock”? Over.’ The static increases but they all hear the reply
Nai
– yes. Spiros takes out another cigarette.

When Eleni arrived on the island and was introduced to her colleagues, they had teased her about various things, breaking the ice, introducing themselves, flirting. But the stories of Ship Rock were told straight faced. It is a jag of rock that comes straight out of the sea, reaching for the skies. From a distance it looks like a ship, a triangle of full sail. It is not far offshore, and sailors unfamiliar with the seas, believing it is a vessel, may sail near the coast thinking it must be deep enough to pass. But the rock lifts it toes under the water and the sharp edges rip holes in the poor sailors
’ keels. If they are seaward when they sink, the current will take a man into open waters. There he must hope he is spotted, his tiny black head bobbing on a vast ocean of reflective, darkening wave. If he goes down between Ship Rock and the island there is a chance to swim to shore in calm weather. But with a wind and wave, craggy teeth await a man there, the sharpened incisors ripping muscles and limbs with each unforgiving swell, making breakfast for crabs.

Eleni stands to gauge their position. She clings to the overhead handrail and allows her body to swing with the motion. They have rounded the end of the island. The wipers, on full power, allow snatches of vision. She can see the
‘sail’ of Ship Rock, black against the grey sky.

Does her mother have a whole other life she does not know about? Has she found out her own secret? Maybe it would be better if she has. The vision of her hand stroking the girl
’s hair makes Eleni’s stomach churn. She sits down again.

‘
Feeling sick?’ Spiros flicks another cigarette end past her, out to the deep.

Eleni is about to reply that she is, but reflects that it is not the movement of the boat that is disturbing her. She shakes her head.

‘You look like you have swallowed a bad fish.’

‘
There!’ the captain shouts, and all three crew jump up to view the job in hand.

The taxi boat is between Ship Rock and the island. The swell is causing it to wallow about to such a degree that it is difficult to make out if there is anyone on board.

Eleni wonders why her mother called him dancing man.

The water appears black here. In the channel little frills of white suggest unseen rocks lurking just beneath the heaving surface. Ship Rock
’s face to their right rears smooth, glistening with spray, belying the rasps hidden under its skirt of black silk and white lace. The island to the left is jagged and split, with dark scars and gashes that run vertically from the churning froth.

‘
Hera
, can you hear me? Over.’ The captain puts the boat into neutral. They are a good enough distance away not to be carried into the channel by the current. The radio crackles no reply.

‘
Hera
, answer please.’ The static has no voice within it.

‘
There!’ Eleni cries. She points to the rear of the taxi boat where for a second a man appears, before diving into the water. The captain leans over his dashboard and peers between the wipers.

‘
Mother of God.’ He crosses himself. ‘What is he doing?’ He crosses himself again and kisses the cross around his neck. Eleni mutters under her breath her love for her mother.

Spiros grabs the binoculars swinging from their peg. He marches to the stern of the boat to look out unimpeded by the boat
’s salty windows.

Eleni searches the waves, the silver shards of reflection distracting from her search for the dark spot of the man
’s head. The captain pushes past her. Eleni thinks she sees the man but another wave rolls in and her vision is broken.

With a snap the captain turns on the searchlight. Its beam lights the whole channel. Eleni sees the man.
‘There,’ she shouts, pointing, but the captain on deck cannot hear her. The man at the helm, second in command, pushes her behind him to indicate to go on deck to tell the captain.

On deck the whole thing feels more real. The wind grabs handfuls of foam and hurls them at her. The sea around the port police boat swirls and raises, fingers of foam reaching over the deck feeling for prey. Eleni clings to the handrail and goes forward. The rain and the sea fill her senses, blocking her ears, pitting her skin, thrilling her soul.

She pulls on the captain’s sleeve and points. He sees the man.

The taxi boat man is swimming hard, following a line. The boat is roped to a large rock some distance from the island, surrounded by serrated teeth. It is hard to tell which is wave and which is rock. The head is gone, the line dips. A wave rears and the head reappears. Eleni gasps. The captain swears. He
’s gone again. The rain stops but the relentless pounding continues. He is there again, his arms pulling hard, halfway to the rock. ‘Mother of God,’ the captain prays.

‘
What do we do?’ Eleni shouts.

‘
Nothing. If we go towards him we will either hit the rocks or his boat will hit us.’

‘
We have to do something.’

He
’s gone again. A large wave, the line taut. His boat strains on the line and he reappears, close to the rock. He stops swimming and backstrokes, a metre or so from the rock. The waves crash and suck back. The man’s arms are outstretched. He treads water and a wave lifts him. He lurches into a crawl. The wave rises, the man on top. Tears prick Eleni’s eyes. She closes them; he will be smashed. ‘Mother of God,’ the captain exhales. Eleni opens her eyes. The man is clinging to the rock. The sea sucks back. He climbs higher, the sea pulling at his feet. He pauses at the line holding his boat.

‘
What’s he doing?’ Eleni shouts.

‘
If he has any sense he will be cutting his boat free. We have a chance of getting to him.’

‘
Captain, he’s cutting it free,’ Spiros, with the binoculars, calls from the stern. The captain turns. Eleni follows the cue. Hand over hand they return from the prow into the cabin. The captain takes the helm from the first mate. He puts the craft into reverse.

‘
The line’s free,’ Spiros calls.

The taxi boat nods in agreement. It rears with the next wave and comes hurtling out of the channel straight at them. The captain slams into forward gear and spins the boat off to one side. The crewless taxi boat sails past. The initial momentum dissipates as it floats off to sea.

‘Right, to work!’ the captain shouts.

The second in command takes ropes and life rings from the stern lockers. He too doesn
’t put the safety latch on, and the lid slams into his arm. He doesn’t flinch. The captain calls them round him.

‘
We are going out there.’ He points to the right of Ship Rock. ‘We are then going to turn towards the island and pass straight in front of Ship Rock. There are no underwater hazards there. When we are bridging the channel we are going to swing around. Our stern will go into the channel and we will be pointing out to sea. The arc of our turn will give you a chance to throw a life ring to our friend out there, and if the rocks don’t get him we will. OK?’

‘
Nai
.’ They chorus their understanding.

The three crew ready themselves and the captain thrusts the throttle forward, taking them away from the booming channel into the rolling swells of the sea. It sounds alarmingly quiet by comparison. Eleni decides that if she has the courage to get through this she will tell her mother everything. Then she will see if her mother still loves her, whether she will hug her the way she hugged that girl.

‘On deck,’ the captain commands, and turns the boat to make their attempt.

The crew of three waits in the stern of the boat. Ship Rock towers past them on their right, the indistinct darkness of its surface like a shadow bringing death. Cold. Close. Eleni shivers.

The bow clears the rock and points across to the island. Then the cacophony of the narrow channel grasps all thoughts and hurls them to the wind. Eleni’s hat is whipped from her head and some of her hair escapes her pony tail. It lashes her across her eyes. The wind blows her shirt sleeves into balloons. She holds the handrail tighter with one hand and readies the life ring in the other, ready to throw with all her might.

‘
Ready,’ the captain shouts. He spins the helm and the boat turns with acute sharpness, the stern spinning into the channel. There is a deep grating sound. The vessel shudders. Eleni can feel the deck vibrate with the sound. She holds her breath. The rocks grind beneath the hull. Spiros throws his life ring but the wind takes it too far to the left. The boat swings round further. The grating judders the deck more, and then ceases. The second in command throws his life ring at the same time as Eleni. The man on the rock, now only yards away, catches one but loses his grip. It slides down his chest. Clinging to the rock he sticks out his foot. The ring lodges. Holding on to the rock with one hand he bends to lift the ring from his foot.