| Changing
Horizons
by Shane Payne
The last time I was here was when the tragedy happened, and boy was it
tragic. The loss of life to the elements is always devastating, but when
the sea is the assassin it seems more so; more calculating, more senseless,
with more suffering due to a slow painful death. Generations of sea-faring
men have been seduced by the ocean, allowing it to become their secret
love; a mistress that playfully teases them, leads them on, making them
believe that the love is mutual, only for it to turn on them like a sadistic
monster.
The sea is much calmer than when I last stood here - innocent almost.
It seems playful and friendly with the surface glistening in the sun as
though millions of flickering candles are floating on it moving with the
gentle swell. Small imperceptible waves roll themselves up tightly before
slowly unravelling onto the beach, washing between the pebbles like tiny
probing fingers. A stark contrast to that afternoon twelve months ago,
when its personality had turned aggressive and angry, snarling and pounding
at all who dared confront it. During such bloody mindedness it claimed
another victim.
A father and son decided to take their small inflatable dinghy out onto
the water to explore a cave. The sun was burning brightly, the intensity
of its heat being disguised by a gentle on-land breeze. The sea was motionless
save for small waves unfolding onto the golden shore; a perfect day indeed
for taking to the ocean. The men walked into the water pulling with them
the small vessel until they were both standing waist high, at which point
they clambered into its hull from each side. Once settled and balanced
they set out towards the rocks and the cave, using a small paddle to propel
themselves along.
It was only a matter of minutes before they were at their destination
inside the large belly of the cave. Although dull within the confines
of the cavity, the shaft of light radiating through the small entrance
lit the water within, its beam like a giant fluorescent tube reflecting
upwards and outwards, illuminating the cavern on all sides. The inner
sanctuary was tall and curved; looking like it had been scooped out by
a giant hand many years before. The high curved ceiling was a mixture
of dark jumping shadows and sparkling stars created by the water below.
It was cool and peaceful, the only sounds to be heard being the slapping
of water against the rock walls as it swayed backwards and forwards, and
the dripping of water from above landing into the seawater below making
tuneful ‘plunks’ that echoed around the place, each time resonating
at a higher pitch. The cave was so calming and relaxing, a tiny stress-free
world that massaged the hustle and bustle of city living away.
Time passed and it was the father who noticed that the level of the water
seemed a little higher against the stone walls than it was previously
and appeared more agitated, hitting the side of the cave much harder than
before. It seemed slightly darker inside leading the men to assume that
the sun had been veiled by the clouds. The blanket of water on which the
dinghy was floating had also become more unsettled. They realised that
the weather was changing. It was time to make their way back to land.
As soon as they left the confines of the cavern, entering the expanse
of the sea it was apparent that drastic changes had taken place. Gone
was the sun, replaced by dark threatening clouds, no longer was their
ride smooth with small undulations of swell but a deep rising and falling
of the surface combined with erratic rocking of their vessel. But most
alarmingly was the change in the wind which was now incredibly gusty and
blowing away from the shore.
The younger man started to paddle with urgency towards the shore but within
minutes was fatigued by aching arms and tiredness. The wind was increasing
and the rain begun to fall yet they were no nearer the beach. His father
took over paddling as hard as he could using every muscle in his body
to move the craft towards land, but as the storm increased they were being
blown further and further away. They began to panic as they became aware
of the seriousness of their situation. The young man once again took his
turn with the paddle, this time with his father assisting by using his
hands as oars in the water in the hope that it would help move them towards
land. It was these erratic and urgent motions being performed by the pair
that caused the dinghy to finally tip over, pouring its occupants into
the ocean below.
As the boy rose to the surface he saw his father dipping below the waters
skin, one hand held high above the water as if pleading for help. Having
always been a strong confident swimmer with little fear of the sea but
respect of its capabilities, he scrambled towards his father. Placing
his hand beneath the old man’s chin bringing his head above the
water and resting it on his chest, he swam towards the dinghy which had
now righted itself in the wind.
‘Hold on to the boat dad,’ he said in gasps, ‘I’ll
grab the other side and when I give you a shout, get in while I stabilise
the boat. Once you are in I’ll join you.’
His father acknowledged with a blinking of the eyes and a nod of the head.
The boy made his way around to the opposite side of the boat, treading
water whilst guiding himself along the outer edge of the craft. Upon reaching
the starboard side of the vessel he gave the signal.
‘Now!’ he shouted above the roar of the storm, ‘NOW!’
His father tugged and heaved eventually pulling himself out of the water
and into the boat, immediately turning himself over onto his knees wedging
one against each side for stability and reaching out his hand.
‘Grab my hand, son, quickly grab my hand,’ he screamed now
very distressed.
But his boy had lost his grip and was being swallowed by the mouth of
a large wave.
When the first gulp of water was drawn to his lungs he began to panic,
splashing his arms, desperately trying to reach the hand of his father,
scrambling for life as the deafening noise around him continued. But the
whooshing and growling sea lifted him up to the top of a large swell before
sliding him down again, like being in the playground of the devil with
his face being covered with a thick pillow of water at the bottom of the
ride.
He could see his father screaming his name from the boat, fear emanating
from his face and sadness in his tearful eyes. Even through the chaos
the sight made him feel sad because he had never seen his dad so distraught,
hopeless and pathetic. He could not believe that he could feel such emotions
now. There he was, fighting for his life, only being able to take half
breaths before the lungs were full, administering excruciating pain. Yet
he felt sad – no not sad, sorry that he had to put his father through
such an ordeal.
The young man was trying hard to draw in breath when rising up in the
water, but he was tiring, losing concentration, losing the energy and
will to fight. A large wave of water engulfed him once more causing an
intake of breath that sucked in more water. The available space in his
lungs was now so small that only short painful breaths were possible.
It was not enough anymore; he knew that death was close. He had never
felt pain like this ever in his twenty-one years.
The old man was still shouting his name at the top of his voice, as his
offspring began to lose consciousness. His son didn’t want to let
him down, could not bear to see him like this so he tried one last time
to reach him, outstretching his hand the best he could, aware that this
would be his final chance. The sea was throwing him about yet still holding
tightly to his whole body. It was making him feel very tired, very heavy,
very slow and very weak.
It was at this point when I realised that I was looking down, watching
my father and me; a spectator who felt no pain, who felt no fear or sadness
for I had lost the fight and moved on.
Dad had grabbed my hand, the delight showing in his face as he pulled
me aboard the boat leaning over my body trying to look into my eyes for
signs of life, calling out my name. I did not respond so he turned me
over the best he could in the limited space of the dingy into the recovery
position, immediately beginning the process of pumping out the water from
my lungs. But it was too late. Yet he never stopped, never gave up hope,
refusing to accept that it was all over, desperate not to lose his son.
He was still trying to resuscitate me when the sea rescue team arrived
an hour and a half later.
So why have I returned to this place? To remember. Today is my birthday,
born into my new life one year ago today. In my present form I no longer
feel emotion, but I still have my memories and being here helps me to
see them more clearly. Witnessing a bond between two men only possible
between a father and his son. To see myself again happy in life and witnessing
the events that culminated to my tragic death, and the love of a father
who refused to believe that I had left him. I do miss him every bit as
much as he misses me, but being here I am able to remind myself of what
to look forward to. I know that at some point in the distant future, we
will both be standing here reminiscing about that day.
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