Keri Hulme - The Bone People

The boy refuses sandwiches and fruit. "You still feeling queasy?" asks Joe. Simon says No, but looks involuntarily at the basket of bloody fish.

"That's making you feel crook?" Kerewin picks it up, as the boy

touches his nose. "Yeah, fishblood doesn't smell too rosy… it's probably that shark goo up your end too, Joe."

She balances the basket on the gunwales and sluices it down with the bailer. "Oath that's cold. They'll keep better for it, though." Joe's removing the blood and guts that landed in the boat during the shark shambles. "Watch that lot bring the toothy gentlemen round. Cannibalistic creeps."

"I'll have a go at them with the gaff even," says Joe. "How long we been out?"

"Nearly two hours."

"I thought so. That means I've averaged a fish and half a shark an hour."

"Never mind. I've caught enough for a feed, and a small smoke. And who knows what we'll catch in the groper patch?"

Simon's thumb.

It all goes sweetly until that happens.

Kerewin slung the anchor out as soon as she stopped the motor. It's a smaller patch than the other one, she says, and if they drift, they'll drift off it.

A breeze is up now, just enough to ruffle the water.

For some time, nobody catches anything, but it's pleasant sitting in the sun. The sea is jade green here, still as a pool when the breeze has passed. A jellyfish drifts by, glassy discoid pulsing, long purple tentacles dangling after it in a backwards slant. Something elongated and silver flashes down in the deep, too fast to see what.

Two mollymawks skid across the water on their pale feet and settle close by the boat.

"They're hopeful," says Joe, but Kerewin says it's a good sign. "They expect us to catch something they can share eh," and shortly afterwards the man hooks a large trevally. "Great!" she rejoices, "haven't seen one of those for damn near decades, and they're beautiful eating." "I'll catch us a couple more then" he jokes, and to their rowdy delight and astonishment, he does so. "Bloody wonderful," says Kerewin. "Forget the terakihi, those are the fellas we'll have for dinner… come on now, Sim. Catch us something spectacular." He grins. His fear and sickness are forgotten. He settles down on the middle seat, rod at the ready.

The mollymawks honk, and swim hopefully closer, and the boy begs for something to feed them. "Look at them, fat as pigs already.. But I suppose it's their due."

She cuts a seaperch into filleted chunks, and gives them to the boy.

The birds squawl and splash and gobble the fish. A third molly comes cruising past, and skates in to land in the middle of the feast.

"It's a bloody circus… hey, that one's different. Not toroa."

"A variety I guess," says Kerewin frowning, "but I haven't seen his sort around before." The newcomer is the same size as the other two, but where their heads are neat grey with dark brows, its head is shining white. Its bill is orange, flushed pink at the base, and the other mollys have black and yellow beaks, razor-keen. They all have the same appetite for fresh seaperch, however.

"Chuck that new bloke a bit, Himi. I think the others are ganging up on him."

The boy draws his arm back, aims, and at that moment the tip of his rod saws down. He grabs the butt and hangs on. The mollymawk, eye on the hunk of fish, nearly comes aboard, grabbing it.

"Out you cheeky bastard," yells Kerewin, and, "Hang on, boy."

Joe swings over from the bow seat and sits behind his son. "Want a hand?"

Simon shakes his head frantically. The rod is jerking down, down, down, in hard insistent tugs. The tip is under water, but the child clearly wants to catch whatever it is by himself.

"Okay, this hand's just here in case." He straddles the seat and holds the upper grip of the rod loosely. "When you want a rest, I'll take the strain." Sim nods. He's doing all he can, bracing the rod back.

"Looks a weight." She takes a waddy from under the stern seat, and slides the gaff up from the centre of the boat. "Keep it on, Sim… it's probably just a largish shark, but it might be a groper…."

The tugging stops and the rod straightens. Simon's face is misery incarnate. "Wind in," urges Joe. "Wind in quick, he might just be tired."

The boy winds in hopelessly, shoulders sagging. Three turns of the reel, four, and five, and wham! down goes the tip again.

They all yell.

This time the fish pulls for over five minutes before the line Slackens once more.

Joe braces the rod with both hands, and Simon winds in until again the fish hauls down.

"Oath, I wish I had a camera," says Kerewin.

The boy is gritting his teeth, hands whiteknuckled round the butt Of the rod. Just as well Joe has him caged in his arms, she thinks. If that thing pulls really hard I'll bet the urchin wouldn't let go even if he went in the drink… wonder how much longer he can hold out?

It's a grim death struggle: the fish might be tiring, only might, but the child definitely is. Sweat streams down his face, overflowing his cheekbones and dripping off his chin. All his effort is concentrated on holding, waiting for the next period of grace when the fish will cease struggling for deeper water. feel crook?" Kerewin picks

Just as well the reel's star-drag geared… you'd have lost a finger by now, or skin at least, the power dives this fish is making.

Twice more Simon gets to reel in line, the second time making tens of feet, and each time after, the enemy on the other end drags the rod tip down again.

"Sweet Lord, my wrists are getting sore," says Joe, and Simon groans in real anguish as the fish beats down again.

But it is near enough to the surface now for Kerewin to glimpse it.

"Not a shark, boy! Lean the other way, Joe." She balances against the gunwale, ready with gaff and club.

Simon is breathing raggedly, heavily, but he's winding up steadily now.

There's a brief flurry as the fish breaks water, but it's finished.

"Groper!" screams Kerewin, and slides the gaff in at the mouth edge of the gills.

"Keep on winding, fella. Ah you beauty!" whacking the fish hard, "You beauty!"

"Himi or the fish?"

"Both! O my oath, superb."

Simon is laughing, eyes closed, head back against Joe.

As she brings the stunned fish over the gunwales, the man sees its full size for the first time.

"Sweet Lord, it's about as big as he is-"

"And weighs a bloody sight more," grunting with the effort of lifting the groper inboard. "Okay maestro, you can put your rod down now."

The boy opens his eyes, and stares, awed. Bluegrey, massive, huge mouth, that's all he can take in at the moment. He's shaking now the long struggle is over. He lays the rod down on the bow side of the seat: there is enough slack nylon for Kerewin to manoeuvre the fish.

"Is it really your first catch?" and when the boy nods, still looking dazed, "Well, that's the best first fish I've seen in my life. Big, and the best eating kind in the sea, for my money. Beats Joe's trevallies, even," she grins.

He smiles, tipping his head back to catch his father's reaction.

"Ka pai," says Joe and gives him a kiss.

The groper chooses that moment to thresh convulsively in a final bid for escape.

"Ye gods!" from Kerewin in a highpitched shriek as the gaff twists loose.

"Getit!" roars Joe and dives to grab the tail.

The groper's head is on the middle seat and the tail is flailing the deck: a few inches more and the fish will make the sea. Simon

seizes the nylon, Kerewin seizes the waddy and belts the fish viciously hard thunk thunk thunketty thunk, the beat shivering through the boat. The groper's eyes become rigid in their sockets and protrude. The gills rasp once, then clamp together. It falls back into the bottom of the boat.

"Wow," she says weakly, lost for once for words.