It’s a hungry shark, a baby, about four feet in length. We have absolutely no food, and I decide to dangle a line over the side of the tinnie. The shark is attracted by smaller fish underneath the boat, and grabs at the bait. Uncle and Taea hold their breath as I grab the aggressive shark by the tail, flip him over, and land him in the tinnie. This isn’t the smartest thing in the world, ’cause he starts to thrash around like something gone berserk, snapping with his jaws and showing off needlepoint teeth. It takes the three of us to stomp and bash the shark to death.
Sharks have a really strong taste. I never liked eating shark when we were kids. Now we’re about to make a few cuts with the knife, and even try drinking some of the shark’s blood. It drips slowly, like thick oil out of the sump of a car, and tastes full on, pretty horrible, in fact, but you do feel the energy kicking in. It almost makes me throw up, and gives me goose bumps. We leave it lying in the bottom of the tinnie for a while, and then we start hackin’ it into equal parts, and the skin’s tough, blunts the knife as we chop through. Shark is also fatty, but it’s not too bad a taste. While the flavour is strong, I won’t call it my favourite fish. Taea offers me a kidney.
“Try it!”
“Nah, I’m all right.”
“Go on, eat it!”
“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”
It isn’t too bad, very fatty, but probably what I need right now as it helps lubricate the body. So the shark’s in the bag, and I regularly check to see what’s left – meat on the bone, the head, everything must be shared, and eaten. The skin is like sandpaper. You can hardly chew it. It wears away my teeth, but there’s nutrition.
Later on, I go to check the number of shark parts in the bag. I realise the kidneys and liver are missing, and I know Taea has eaten them. I start arguing with him. That’s when I really lose it, and Uncle orders us to calm down. Bad ideas are rolling around in my head.
We eat what’s left of the shark, and we catch more birds, and some small fish. We come across another trail of rubbish. We get onions, coconuts and turtles. We’re pretty comfortable. A couple of weeks down the track, and the fish swimming under the boat are bigger. I use bird gut on a single hook and line to catch them. The fish have skins like leather jackets. They’re really ugly-lookin’ buggers, about twenty-five of them. We eat about half a fish a day. I guess you can say we’re ahead of the game. So I’m back bein’ friendly with Taea again.
“What do you say we have two feasts today, instead of one?”
We eat the onions, coconut, fish and birds. We have plenty of water, and we’re thinking we’re kings of the world. We won’t starve. The only negative is not getting out of here. We just keep on spinnin’ around, goin’ in every which way.
Every week, we spot a couple of ships. Some are way off, but with some, we see people on the decks, see them pointing at us. There’s a big ship one night, with all portholes alight, and we think it’s about to run over us. The ship is coloured a deep blue, and there are nets hanging from the side-rails. We conclude it’s a whaler. I see people walking round up top, and they’re pointing at us. What do they believe we’re here for, an afternoon picnic? They’re probably stealing from the ocean, and they don’t want to know about us.
I start getting a really bad pain in the gut. I try having a shit, but can’t. I’m really blocked up. My uncle chips in.
“Don’t force it.”
“Did you suffer too, when you were lost?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened in the end?”
There’s a look on my uncle’s face, as if to say he knows what I’m in for.
The next night I try again for a couple of hours. Nothin’ is comin’, and it gets so bad I can’t sit down. I feel like something is up my arse that shouldn’t be there. It’s the worst kind of pain, and I’m sure something will blow up. I think, f—k, I can’t handle this. I’m stressin’ out heaps.
“Oi, Ben! The only way to do it … ’cause, ya’ see, everythin’s dry inside. We’ve been crunchin’ up bones and skin. You have to get in there an’ try’n break it up. Pull it out, or somethin’. Once you get past the first stage, you should be all right. Get your finger in there, an’ try’n break it up. Drink some water.”
So I drink a couple of inches of water. I just kick back ’cause I can’t handle it anymore. I insert my finger in my arse, and get hold of it. It’s just like … have you ever seen dogshit? This is like f—k’n concrete!
“Ahh! No!”
“Get in there, an’ break it up!”
“I can’t!”
“Do it!”
“Ah, you guys!”
Now I’m really frustrated. I get hold of the screwdriver, an’ I ram it up there, wiggle it around, and a little bit comes out, and there’s a lot of fluid. I look at my hands, and there’s blood everywhere.
“Get your hand up there, an’ try an’ grab it!”
I force my hand up to get a decent grip. I’m thinking I’ve never experienced anything like this, but here I am. I get a good grip of it a couple of times, with blood going everywhere. I know it isn’t good, but I get another grip, and pull it out, and the relief down there, the release … the feeling that nothin’ is gonna blow up. I might damage my arse, but I know I shouldn’t stop. It’s in again, and getting it out. Don’t stop until it’s all out.
The hard part is washin’ myself afterwards, what with the blood an’ everything. We don’t have water to waste, so I wash in salt water, and the salt burns. After that I just curl up in the bottom of the tinnie, with tears runnin’ out of my eyes. I wait, and the need to stamp my total victory builds.
“Ahh, shit! Ahhh! Oooohhh! Oooohhh! F—k that!”
“Yeah, well that’s it. You’re right now. I bet you feel a lot better.”
“I know it’s gonna hurt you guys too, but it’s a terrible feeling.”
Two days later, Taea and my uncle go down the same track. They have to suffer the same horror.
There are mornings when Uncle can’t drag himself awake; days when the diabetes kicks in, and he can’t lift his head.
“Hey, Uncle, are you gonna get up anytime now?”
“I’m all right, but I don’t seem to be able to get up right now.”
“Do you want anything? Do you want me to rub your feet?”
“I’m all right.”
I just grab him, and start massaging his feet, rubbin’ his feet to get the blood flow goin’. I know when it’s time to get my chewing gum out, the chewing gum I have hidden away in my backpack, get him a piece of chewing gum.
“Chew on this for a bit.”
I give him the gum, and then later, a squeeze of toothpaste. He likes to eat toothpaste. I learned about it in school. A kid had a diabetic collapse, and he chewed on some gum, and sprang back into life. You give them a Mars bar, or anything sweet you’ve got. Taea starts whinin’ on, like, “Can I have some chewing gum, too?”
“No, this is special, for Koraubara.”
But he keeps on actin’ shitty, so I have to give him a piece.
The next day Taea is awake early, and he’s sniffin’ around. I’m lyin’ there, and I smell chewing gum in the air, fresh chewing gum. I’m on my feet in a flash.
“Hey! Have you been goin’ through the backpack, knockin’ off the chewing gum?”
“Yeah, I was bored.”
“You should ask me first.”
“No worries. You want it back?”
Smart-arse things like that get under my skin but I hold back on my temper.
“Nah. You can hang onto it for the time being.”