Old Davey’s story was written on his skin, available for all to read. The years had rubbed themselves deep into the grain and surface. Ancient pain was etched into crevices that followed the line of his cheeks. They disappeared into the wattle at his throat like tributaries flowing in reverse. Leathery hands scrubbed at sand filled eyes. It was as though life had sucked away any moisture from his body. He had been left, husk-like, a spinifex tumbleweed of the man he had once been.
Where there had been muscle only bone and sinew remained. Held together purely by stubbornness and resolve. Pride and hope had long been cast into the salty breath of the winds careening across the bay.
In younger days, he had thought the ocean a playmate. She had offered an ever-present opportunity for adventure. As he grew, he recognised that although She could be cruel, She was also plentiful. He had savoured many feasts from Her depths; silvery scaled and shelled delicacies that fed his bones giving him his sea legs. His limbs grew long as his heart kept a constant tempo. The pump’s regular beat marking his days and measuring his nights.
Now, though, all he had were the stories written on his weathered skin. No one was left to remember Davey or his youthful exploits. No ink could be found on his body, but the artwork was vivid, nonetheless. The tales cut and pressed into his shrinking flesh.
His gaze shifted to the sands that curved around the small bay. Their rippled surface shaped by the outgoing tide. Mountains and gorges carved in miniature; saltwater lakes held in their valleys. They existed only for a few hours, changing as the waters progressed and receded in their endless moon-driven cycle.
Small birds strutted in the dips and dents, pausing only to probe an inquisitive beak into the soft, wet surface. He couldn’t identify them at this distance anymore. His brine-soaked eyes were too clouded with age to allow him the clear focus of his youth. He could see small white shapes that darted along the shoreline, but they remained unnamed.
From his vantage point at the edge of the grassy dunes, he watched the sun skip along the water’s surface. The light brightened the gentle surf as it rolled onto the shore. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. She looked magnificent when viewed from the wind-swept dunes. So calm, so inviting, so seductive.
She was the place he wanted to be, wrapped in Her embrace. He didn’t remember why he had ever wanted to be anywhere else. He was a fool. He gave a chuckle as dry as the beachgrass around him. It was time to go home. Time to go home to Her.
As he watched the shape of the water moving across the beach, he recognised the turning of the tide. This little bay did not take long to empty and fill once more. He knew it had caught many a poor soul unaware. They had told him as much. The shock remained with them for several years, astonishment holding them in a perpetual state of drowning. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed this cove so much. It gave him a taste of danger, let him savour a sniff of peril. He missed peril and wondered what had happened to it in this modern world. A world where everyone knew everything all at once. At least they thought they did. When someone met Davey for the first time was when they understood how insignificant they were. They finally understood the futility of humanity’s desperate scratching in the dirt.
Davey looked towards the horizon, the place where the sky brushed the water. He stood, feet soft in the warm sand. His joints joined in a chorus of creaks and protestations. He walked slowly, carefully, down the beach toward the singing waves. His bare feet sank further into the wet sand the closer that he got to the surf. The little white birds scrabbled away, heads bobbing. Their long legs bending backwards in a mocking parody of Davey’s own bony limbs.
He felt the first gentle touch of water on his gnarled toes. It was cool, but not cold. He stepped in further, the water lapping at his ankles as he strode forward with renewed vigour. The ocean rushed to greet him, soon he was up to his thighs. He stood straighter, stronger. He felt both energised and focused. He stopped, turning back towards the birds who continued their foraging at the water’s edge. Little egrets, that’s what they were. He could see them clearly now, their yellow eyes and long, black legs. He smiled at having remembered their name, everything was coming back to him. He turned away from the shore once more continuing ahead.
Pressing onwards he soon found himself with his arms gently floating on top of the increasing swell. He held his hands in front of him, noting the return of smooth, supple skin. He touched his face, wet with the salty foam, the lines were fading, he could hardly feel them under his slippery fingers.
She had done it again, his fearsome love. She had made him youthful once more. He was back in Her arms. As he moved further into Her embrace, his head bobbed below the rocking waters. His cry of joy drowned as his eyes, nose and mouth became submerged.
The journey up top had been a change. It was good to get up there every few years or so. It reminded him of what he had bargained away in exchange for his water-logged eternity.
However, this was where he really belonged. In his lover’s briny embrace. As he drifted further and further down into the mounting darkness, Davey felt the quiet thump of his long-dead heart returning.
And with that, he was home.