Kaimoana Tales
by Kiwi
Dylan
Part 11
The three of them, Paul, William and Dylan, spent an enjoyable morning fishing on the beach in front of the small seaside settlement of Oaro. Well, Paul and Dylan were fishing, William wasn't. He was just supervising and offering advice because he knew so much more about it than people who'd been fishing for years.
Paul was fascinated at how well the boys were getting on together. He didn't know what had happened and he wasn't going to ask. He was just pleased that something had. His son needed a friend, and he couldn't do better than Dylan, he was a nice kid.
However, he did hope that Wills wouldn't be wanting studs in his ears. That was not going to happen.
By lunchtime, they'd caught and landed a couple of blue cod, some perch and a crayfish! Crayfish were not often caught on lines, but it did happen. William wondered at the dull brown colour of it. Shouldn't it be orange?
"No, Wills," Dylan said. "They're like this until they're cooked, then it'll be orange."
""I see. I've never seen an uncooked one before."
"Well, now you have. Anyway, time we were going home now."
"Go?" William protested. "Couldn't we stay a bit longer? This is fun."
"It was, but there'll be no more fish. Time to go."
"But, how do you know there won't be? We were doing all right here."
"We were, but it's over for today. That pod of dolphins out there will see to that."
"But why? We're not hurting them."
"Wills, Dylan's right," Paul said. "The dolphins are fishing as well and they're better at it than we are. What they don't catch, they'll scare away. There'll be no more for us here today."
"Oh. Damm the dolphins!" William expressed his disappointment.
"Tell you what," said Dylan, "The tide's getting low and it's a spring-tide today. We could stop at Geese Bay, on the way home, and get some paua."
"The shellfish things? Oh, yeah! Let's do that."
"Shellfish things?" said Paul. "They're called abalone in some countries and they pay a fortune for them."
They loaded everything back in the car and Paul drove a few K. back up the road. He stopped, where Dylan said to, just north of the first pair of road tunnels.
They got out and stood looking around. The tide was low and the rocks were sticking well up out of the gently heaving sea.
"Oh, wow! Look at that," William said. "There's another tunnel down by the beach. Is it natural, or did they dig that one too?"
"It's natural, I think," Dylan replied. "It's not a tunnel, just a cave."
"It's really cool. I'm going to check it out." William clambered down the rocks and headed along the shore.
"How do we go about this?" Paul asked. "I've never fished for paua before."
"Usually you have to dive for them, but the tide is so low we should be able to get them from the rocks. Just lie down, as close as you can get to the water, put your hand in and feel around.
They have to be 125mm long. Less than that is illegal and a Fisheries Officer could confiscate all our gear, including the car."
"We don't want that then!"
"We don't. It's a long way to walk home. If you can't pull them off the rocks, you have to prise them off with a knife. A dozen is all we need, that's plenty to feed the family. I'm not sure what the limit is, but it'd be about that.
We're probably going to get wet."
"We probably are, but I don't think we'll melt."
William was soon back from the cave; it wasn't very exciting, just a low, dark, dead-end tunnel.
"One day I'll take you and show you some real caves," Dylan said. "In the hills back there, there's some humungous ones."
"That'll be cool. Thanks, Dills."
"Welcome, Wills."
Paul smiled to himself. He was delighted at how the boys were getting on now -much better than they had been!
They took turns at getting paua and soon had all they wanted. It was not difficult and there were hundreds of them there, just below the water-line. They did get all wet, especially William, he was smaller and his arms were shorter. He insisted on getting some himself, so they let him. He lay down on the rocks, on his belly, and Dylan sat behind him, holding on to his legs.
He got one shellfish out, beaming with pride, and then reached in for another. Suddenly he screamed and leapt to his feet, shaking his right arm around in the air. There was a small octopus wrapped around his bare arm, but it was hard to see because he wouldn't keep still.
"Eww, yuck! It's disgusting! Get it off. Get it off me, Dylan? Dad? Somebody? Yuck!"
"Whoah, Wills," Dylan grinned. "Settle. Calm down. It won't hurt you; it's just a baby."
"I don't care what it is. It's disgusting. Help me Dylan!"
"I'm trying to help you. Keep still."
He did settle down and stood shuddering while Dylan peeled the tentacles off his arm.
"Kill it! Kill the damm thing!"
"We're not killing it." Dylan released it in the water and watched it swim away. "It didn't do any harm. There, it's gone."
"Didn't do any harm? It nearly killed me. I could've had a heart attack!"
"Okay, Wills." Paul joined them on their rock. "You had a fright, but it's over now. Say thanks to your cousin."
"Yeah. Thanks, Dills."
"You're welcome my friend. We need one more paua, are you going to get it?"
"No way! No way am I putting my hand back in there. Yuck! Let's go home."
"Don't be such a drama-queen, Wills," Paul said. "We need one more. I'll get it."
He lay down, reached in the water and got another paua, (and also got wetter when a wave splashed). Then they returned home with their spoils and a story to tell.
The way William told it, he was attacked by a monster from the deep. He had sucker-marks on his arm too. Totally gross!
The mothers were happy to cook the fish, but they weren't gutting them. The icky job of gutting them and cleaning them up for cooking was for the men - they caught them, they could prepare them.
There was no pot in the house big enough for the crayfish, which had to be boiled whole. So Paul did the cod and perch while Dylan and William took the cray down to the 'community cookpot' at the railway maintenance yard.
Paul offered Dylan his car, but he took his mother's one instead. He was used to driving her car.
The cookpot was half of an old oil drum, mounted over a wood-fire, under a verandah roof, outside the painter's workshop. Luckily, when they arrived there, the fire was already going and the water was boiling in the drum.
Dylan's father's mate, Ray Hunter, was there cooking his own catch of the day.
"Hey, Dillinger," Ray greeted them. "Who've you got here?"
"Hey, Romano. This is my cousin, William. Have you got room for one more cray in there?"
"Not a chance. She's full up. I'll be done in a couple of minutes and then it's all yours. Hello William. You'd be one of the squatters in Dillinger's house, I suppose?"
"No, he's not!" Dylan protested. "He's a very welcome guest and he's family."
"Thanks, Dills," William beamed. "Hey, Romano. Are you a fisherman?"
"No, I'm a painter and an amateur, just like Dylan is. I'm better at it though."
"In your dreams!" Dylan retorted.
"Yeah, that too. I'll raffle these beauties around the pubs and that's my weekend drinking money taken care of."
"Does Sue know about this?"
"No she doesn't and what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
"Of course!" Dylan grinned. He got the sack out of the car boot and spilled the crayfish out on the ground.
"Eww!" William squawked. "It's still alive!" He took a couple of steps back away from the creepy thing.
"Sure it is," Dylan replied. "They can live for hours out of the water. Dunno why though, they never come out of the water until they've been caught.
"They're just hard buggers to kill," Ray said. "But they don't last long in boiling water."
"Guess not," William said. "We wouldn't either."
"Probably not." Ray extracted his crays, using a pair of flat, wooden sticks. "That's a good-size one you've got there, Dylan. None of mine are that big. I've got more than one though. Where did you catch him?"
"Down at Oaro. We were surfcasting and caught it on a line, would you believe?"
"Yeah, that happens, sometimes. Silly buggers get caught-up in the line. Well, it's all yours, Boys. Top the water up and stoke the fire before you go. Norm will probably be around later. He's painting a house, down by Oaro, and he took some craypots with him."
"Nice work if you can get it."
"It surely is! Don't tell the bosses that. What they don't know won't hurt them either. 'Bye Boys." Ray got in his old car and left, tyres squealing.
Dylan picked the crayfish up, holding it by the main carapace. Its claws, legs and feelers waved weakly.
William stood well back. "It's a mini-monster!" he shuddered.
"Yeah, guess so. They taste good though," Dylan replied. He held the cray over the boiling water, solemnly intoned, "In the name of the father, and of the son, and into the hole he goes!" and he dropped it into the water.
The crayfish screamed.
"Eww! That's cruel," William cried. "It screamed."
"Well, yeah, but that's mostly just air escaping. They don't feel like we do. It's just a fish, kind of. It's all over pretty quick anyway."
"Don't you have to gut it, or anything?"
"No, none of that. The guts and everything in it gets cooked too and we eat it. Best part of the feed."
"You eat the guts? I won't be. This whole business is gross and disgusting."
"I suppose it is; but then so is any meat you eat. Someone has to kill it and chop it up and wrap it in the nice plastic it comes in from the supermarket. You could put some wood on the fire, unless that's gross too?"
"Shut up, Dills. I'm not that much of a girl."
"I know that. You're not a girl at all. You're a boy - a fine-looking boy."
"Takes one to know one," William grinned. He fed the fire, and then sat on the ground, next to Dylan. "Ray's a nice guy, for an oldie."
"Yeah, he's okay. He's a bit of a character and he's a friend of Dad's."
"A friend of yours too, by the look of it. You've got a lot of friends around here, Dills, the whole town in fact."
"Well, maybe not the whole town, but you get to know people in a small town. You'll see. Once you've been here for a while, you'll have lots of friends too."
"You think I'll have friends?" William sighed. "So far, no-one wants to know me."
"They will. Give them time. I think people are too scared to approach you, they're all looking though."
"Why would anyone be scared of me? I'm not scary; I don't bite or anything."
"You don't. They just need time to work that out. I think you're just too awesome, too good-looking, so they think they're not good enough for you. Once they get used to having you around, they'll see that you're actually a nice guy."
"You think? I've never had any problem before."
"You've never been new in a small town before."
"That's true. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I've got a best friend and that's all I need. You're the best friend I've ever had. I love you, Dills."
"Ah, Wills! You're my best friend, and I love you too."
A small truck pulled up next to them. A big guy got out and scowled at them. "What are you little shits doing here? Bugger off home!"
William was taken aback, but Dylan just grinned. "Up yours, Norm! We'll go when we're finished. You'll just have to wait like we had to."
"That's what's wrong with the world today - no respect anywhere."
"Norm, with all due respect - up yours!"
"Little Shit!" Norm grinned a broken-toothed grin. "I'd tell your dad on you, but he'd probably say the same thing. Ray's already been here, has he?"
"He has. He just left a few minutes ago."
"Okay. How many crays has he got?"
"Five or six, I think."
"That many? I'll bet they're little buggers."
"Buggers? We wouldn't know, they were already dead when we got here."
"You've got a smart mouth for a young one, Dylan James. What's your dad doing?"
"Just working. I think he's out on the Burgess' farm."
"He's always bloody working. Tell him it's his bet for the syndicate this week."
"I will, when I see him. He's doing long hours, humping and hollowing, so they have to make the most of the weather when they've got it."
"Must be making a bloody fortune out there. I'm having a cuppa. You boys want one?"
"Railway tea? No thanks, Norm, we'll pass on that. We're nearly done here anyway. We'll be gone by the time you've made it."
"Good job too. Bugger off, why don'cha? See you later, Boys." Norm disappeared into the workshop.
"He's a character too, is he?" William grinned.
"Yeah, kind of. Norm's okay, he's all bluff and bluster. Wouldn't hurt a fly really."
"Right. What's the syndicate?"
"Their betting syndicate. There's 6 guys and they all put money into a pool every week and take turns at betting on races and sports games. At the end of the year, they divide-up what they've got and that's their Christmas money."
"I see. Do they make a lot of money?"
"Not really. They'd be better off just saving it, but it's a bit of fun and they get to give each other a hard time when they lose."
"It's like a game for grown-ups then."
"Kind of. Kind of grown-ups. Let's see how the cooking's going."
Dylan took the lid off the drum and lifted the cray out of the boiling water, using the pair of sticks. It was now a bright orange colour.
"All right! We're done. Stick your head in the door there and tell Norm that we're outta here."
He put the crayfish on the sack on the ground, lifted it all and put it in the car-boot. He got in the car, and then William got in with him.
"Norm says, "about bloody time" and "bugger off then"."
"Of course he did. When you see Norm around town, he'll growl at you. Just growl back and you'll get on fine."
They returned home. Dylan left the crayfish in the beer-fridge, and then went to play his guitar while William joined the 3 girls for a game of cards.
("My 3 favourite card games - Grab, the Old Maid, and Poker.")
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
