Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
John and Bob's Tale - Pt 1
Midnight in Westpoint. Well, almost. The four 'B's headed out to the Shingle Beach.
Tomorrow was going to be the first day of the Whitebait Season and they were going to be there waiting on the rocks near the river mouth as soon as dawn broke. The little fish should bring a really good price this year and Brian's dad said that he'd buy all they could catch. They needed the money.
They had a tent and blankets and stuff all loaded up on one of Bruce's dads' old trotting sulkies. If they were going to camp out, then they were going to do it in comfort. Bob had even brought an old carpet square for a floor for the tent. He hadn't asked for it, but what his mum didn't know wouldn't worry her.
Going down Coach Street, dodging around the puddles, ("About time the Council put some new gravel down here."), it was really late but there was still a party going on in Mary Jacob's house. All the lights were on and they could hear people laughing, yelling and singing. Someone had a guitar, it was really loud. Her neighbors would be delighted.
"That's what you get when you live next-door to a whore I suppose," Bill pointed over to the noisy little house.
"Do you really think that she is?" Bob wondered aloud.
"That's what everyone says," Bruce answered.
"Yes, of course she is," said Brian. "You don't think she's always down at the boats at the wharf to do their cleaning do you?"
"Well, she might be. She's got no man, so she has to do something for her money," Bob replied.
"Mary Jacobs has got lots of money, Honey," Bill laughed. "She's got lots of men too. Where do you think she got her kid from?"
"I dunno. Under a cabbage tree maybe?"
"Yeah, right!" They chortled as they pushed the cart on out to the beach in the night.
The four B's - four good friends, mostly. Bruce Adams was their leader, usually. He was little but he was bossy, it was easier to just go along with what he said. Bob Lyons was the brains of the outfit. His name was really Robert, but they called him Bob so that he could be a B.
If Bob was the brains, then Brian was the brawn. Brian Reynolds, tall, big and strong. And his dad owned the soft-drink factory so they were always good for free soft-drinks.
Bill's dad owned bugger-all He was a Carver, but they always included Bill because he was Brian's best friend. His name was really 'Billy-Bob', but he hated that - "Stupid Hillbilly name."
They arrived at the beach and started setting up camp. Bruce and Brian unloaded the tent, Bob searched around for some wood for the fire. Bill let them. He just sat down on a small log running his bare feet through the still-warm sand and looking at the moonlight out on the water.
"Come on Carver. Get your a. into gear," Bruce grumbled at him.
"Nah. You guys have got it under control, you don't need me."
"With you would be easier than without you," Brian grunted as he hauled the heavy canvas across the sand.
"If you're not helping, then maybe you want to sleep outside?" said Bruce.
"It wouldn't be the first time. Oh, whatever." Bill stood and helped put the tent up.
Once it was up, they had to drop it down again while Bob and Bill installed the carpet floor. Brian stood holding the heavy center-pole out of the way.
"All right. At last, we've got a home for the night," Bill dived in through the door when the tent was finally up.
"Hey! Watch it, Carver. Wipe your feet before you go in there," Bruce ordered, too late.
Bill's grinning face appeared in the doorway again. "Bossy-Boots, Adams. So. Who's coming in for a jack-off session before we go to sleep?"
"Eww. No."
"Not likely."
"No thanks," Brian agreed. "I'll just wait out here and look after the fire until you've finished."
"You don't have to do that, Brian. It only takes him about 30 seconds."
"Shut up Lyons. Come in here and I'll give you a race."
"Funny sort of a race," said Bob. "The winner would be the loser wouldn't he?"
"That depends," Bill answered, still grinning. "You guys ever played Soggy Biscuit?"
"No. What the hell is Soggy Biscuit?"
"We put a biscuit down in the middle, everyone sits around in a circle and beats off - we all shoot our spunk on to the biscuit, and the last one finished has to eat it."
"That's totally disgusting Bill Carver. Eww!"
"I don't see why anyone in their right mind would want to play that."
"Aww, come on! It's fun - as long as you don't finish last."
"That would be a great recommendation wouldn't it?" Bob squatted down to feed the smoking fire. "I mean, when you're trying to get a girl to go with you, you can tell her that you're so fast you won all the soggy biscuit races."
"Yeah Bill,": Brian agreed. "Girls don't like it fast. They like you to go slow and easy."
"So you say," Bill laughed. "How would you know anyway, Reynolds? You've had no more girls than any of us - i.e., none."
"None? That's what you think, Carver."
"That's what I know, Reynolds."
"No? Well I'm not playing your dirty little games anyway. I'm saving it for the ladies."
"Sure you are - it'll be all dried up by then. That's not what you said last summer."
"Yeah, maybe," Brian grinned, remembering. “But that was then and this is now. We're too old for those sort of games now."
"Too old? Listen to the old man. You're no older than me, Brian Reynolds. We're all 15, that's not old."
"Shaddup Bill Carver. Fifteen's grown up, well almost. We're too old for circle jack-offs anyhow. What are you looking at Bob?"
"What? Oh, I thought I saw something out in the water, but it's gone now. No, wait - there it is, look!"
The other three stood and followed his pointing finger, out across the water in the small bay inside the river mouth. There was something out there, something small, sticking up out of the water and shining in the light of the almost-full moon. Then it submerged again and was gone.
"What on earth was that? What would be swimming around out there in the middle of the night?"
"I don't know. A shark maybe? They don't sleep."
"Pull the other one Bob Lyons. Of course sharks sleep, everything has to sleep."
"No, they don't. Well they do sleep, sort-of, but they keep swimming."
"Why would they?"
"Because. It's the way they're made, they have to keep moving. If a shark stops swimming, then it drowns."
"Good job too. Pity they don't all stop and go to sleep then."
"I don't think it was a shark," said Bill Carver, the expert on all things to do with the sea. His dad worked on a fishing boat. Sometimes. When he worked. "It was too small and it wasn't moving fast enough. Whatever that was, it was just sitting there. Look! There it is again."
"Where? Where is it?"
"It's gone again, bugger it."
They stood a while, watching, but saw nothing more exciting than a couple of splashes out there. Bill rolled himself a cigarette, and then passed around the tobacco and papers. They all sat studiously making ciggies. None of them was as expert as Bill was, he'd had a lot of practice. The mysterious thing out in the water was forgotten now. They lit their smokes with burning twigs from the fire, then laid back and relaxed on the sand.
A few minutes later it was time for bed, according to Bruce. They weren't holidaying here and they'd have to be awake really early in the morning. The others all went straight into the tent, but Bob had to pee first. He wasn't tired anyway. He walked along the back of the beach, well away from the tent, and unbuttoned his trousers. While he was standing there, quietly emptying his bladder, he saw something again.
It wasn't in the water this time. There was something pale sitting up on a big flat rock, just above the water's edge on the tip-head. He tried to sneak up closer to it, but as he approached, the figure, (it was a person sitting there), raised its head and looked at him.
"Hi," said Bob, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "How are you?"
He got a 'killer' smile back - big white teeth flashing in the moonlight.
"Hi yourself," said the boy.
It was a boy sitting there on the rock, a teenage boy, probably about Bob's age of 15 years. He was barefoot, had very tight black pants, like a dancers, and was naked from the waist up. Even as wet as they were, the curls of his hair were stunningly white - eerie looking in the moonlight.
"I'm fine. Just resting. How are you?"
"I'm good." Bob sat down on the next rock to the boy's. "Were you swimming out there in the dark?"
"Yes and no. Yes I was swimming, no it's not dark - there's a big, bright moon up there."
"Yeah, I had noticed that." They exchanged smiles again. "So what are you doing? Swimming in the night?"
"Just swimming. I like to swim at night, it's different, sort of peaceful."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Bloody dark though."
"No. It's not." They both sat and looked up at the moon.
"You're new in town." Bob offered his hand. "I'm Bob Lyons. I live in Westpoint."
"Hello Bob Lyons." The stranger took his hand with his cold, wet one and shook it. "I am new. I'm John Williamson and I guess that I live in Westpoint now as well."
"Nice to meet you John. Do you want to come back and get warm by our fire?"
"No. Thanks anyway. I'll have to get back in the water in a minute, I have to swim back home. I don't mind the cold."
"You don't? Just as well, dressed like that. Where's this home you're going to swim to then?"
"Up the river," he grinned. "We've got a house on the Esplanade, just below the town bridge. What did you think?"
"I dunno. I thought maybe you were a mermaid, or a mer-boy I suppose."
"I knew you did,” John grinned.” I'm not a fish, just an ordinary boy." He stood up to go.
"Okay. I can see you're a boy, you've got two legs and everything, but I don't think you're ordinary."
"Well I am. Nice to meet you Bob Lyons. I'd better be going now, my dad would kill me if he knew that I was out swimming this late."
“Really?"
"No. Not really," John grinned again. "But he wouldn't be happy, so I'd better go. Maybe I'll see you around."
"You probably will, it's a small town. Will you be going to school?"
"Yes, probably. Mum says that we have to go until we can find jobs."
"We?" Bob queried.
"Yes, we. My brother, my sisters and I. I might see you there then?"
"Good. I'll look forward to it. Goodbye then, John."
"Yes, goodbye Bob Lyons."
The boy - John - stood straight, lifted his arms and dived expertly into the dark water, hardly making a splash. He didn't surface again. There was nothing but a small trail of bubbles showing where he'd gone.
"Well. You're interesting. Strange, but interesting." Bob got up and walked back to the tent to go to bed.
Next morning Bossy Boots woke them all up at the 'crack of dawn' and all four were sitting in their 'possies', (positions), on the rocks on the side of the river, each with a big round scoop net on a long pole.
They were waiting for the sun to rise - the whitebait fishing season didn't officially begin until sunrise. Other people were arriving with their nets and gear, but they were too late. The four B's had already taken the best rocks.
As soon as the sun rose over the hills to the east, everyone put their spotters into the water. Spotters were white-painted, weighted, boards or strips of iron that sat on the rocks underwater so that the fishers could see the small fish swimming upstream across them.
They all sat looking down into the water with their big nets at the ready, and waited.Watched and waited. And waited. Nothing was happening, the whitebait weren't coming. They often had to sit for hours, all day sometimes, before the fish started 'running'.
People started wandering up and down the track along the riverbank, chatting, socializing with their neighbors, and checking to see if anyone else was catching any. By the local rules a net could be left unattended for one hour reserving the possie it was left on.
The B's, ever keen, sat and waited. Bob hadn't said a word about their midnight visitor. He didn't think that they'd believe him anyway and he hated being laughed at.
He just sat and watched the water. It was a nice morning for it anyway; it was going to be a great day. Then he jumped. Something had moved in the water, moved across his spotter, but it wasn't whitebait. It was too big and dark and it was going the wrong way -moving downstream, not up. (Whitebait swim in from the sea to breed and die upriver somewhere.) Bob stood up for a better view, then he relaxed and smiled when a head broke out of the water.
"Hello Bob Lyons," he grinned up at him.
"Hello John Williamson. You startled me there," he smiled back at him. Bob liked this kid.
"Oh. Sorry. What are you doing up there?" His wet, white hair was glowing in the early morning sunshine.
"Fishing. We're trying to catch whitebait, but there doesn't seem to be any about."
"Yes there is. There's lots. They're swimming up the middle of the river."
"That's why there's none here then, and there won't be as long as you're swimming around."
"Do you want me to help you?"
"Help? How? You could help by going away, or getting out of the water."
"Oh, I can do much better than that. Get your net ready Bob Lyons." He flipped over, kicked once and was gone.
"Who the hell was that, Bob?" Bruce asked from the next rock.
"Just a kid who likes to swim. Get your nets ready, Guys."
"What are you talking about, Lyons?"
"Just do it."
"Wow. Damn! Look at them all!" Brian yelled as he started pulling urgently on his net.
The next few minutes were frantic, busy and exciting. Four pairs of young but practiced hands worked their nets, dragging the wide-open mouths downstream, hauling them out of the river, emptying the catch, and dragging again. Other people, upstream, were catching some too, but not as many as the fish were swerving in by the rocks and most were being caught by the four B's.
In no time at all their buckets were all full to the top - 2 kerosene tin buckets each. Their emergency-overflow pillowslips were full, even the ends of their big nets were full and they had nowhere to empty them into. They had caught all that they could carry home.
The boys had all been fishing all their lives, with their parents and families and for the last few years with each other, but none of them had ever seen anything like this. None of them had ever heard of anything like this. This was incredible.
"Wow!" said Brian, flopping down exhausted now that the excitement was over. "That was amazing. That was more fish than we caught all season last year."
"They've stopped now," Bruce noted as he peered into the water. "There's no more coming."
"We can't carry any more anyway," said Bill.
Bob just stood looking out across the river. His patience was rewarded when a head appeared out in the middle of the river, and a hand waved to him. He waved back, then waited when the head disappeared, but John didn't come back again. He finally had to move when the others all kept pushing him to.
It was a struggle getting their heavy catch back to town but they eventually managed it. They had to make a second trip to take the tent and stuff home.
Mr.Reynolds was amazed and delighted with their haul. He took all the fish, but he couldn't pay them right away, they'd have to wait until he could draw the cash from the bank on Monday. They took a bottle of soft-drink each anyway - for breakfast.
On their way back to the beach, Bob told the others all he knew about John Williamson.
They couldn't understand how he'd done it, but they agreed that the incredible catch was because of his help, and they agreed to give him a 1/5 share of the money. They wouldn't have been getting any at all if it wasn't for his help.
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