The water isn’t claiming me, I’m letting myself sink.
The water isn’t claiming me, I’m letting myself sink.
As I sank, I kept my breath inside me, then I opened my eyes. The water was murky and streaked with weeds and pecks of mud. It was like the river understood that it could no longer take me. The deeper I sank, the harder it tried to push me out. I didn’t look down. I knew there was a great depth of water below me. My chest could hold in the air no longer and I let myself be pushed upwards. I broke the surface and fought to stop myself breathing out in one big gasp. If I did, it would feel like I’d never catch my breath again. Instead, I blew out slowly until I was empty and took another big breath.
I looked across the water. The rowing boats were further away than I expected. What if I could never swim back to them? I pushed that thought away. I had to find my mother. I took another breath and a hand grabbed my ankle and yanked me down. As I screamed, my mouth filled with water. I saw hair floating in the tide, a mouth with a string of bubbles floating upwards, eyes wide with terror. George Symons. He was drowning and he was taking me with him.
I kicked at his hand and felt my heel connect with his knuckles. He let go and I managed to rise until my head was out of the water. I coughed and spat, my arms flailing around me. The river was fighting back. It had come for me again. A hand held my shoulders. I tried to wriggle free.
“Stay calm, Eve.” It was Jacques Francis. “I’ll take you back to the boat.”
“They’re both in the water,” I said. “George Symons and Mama.”
“I can’t save both. Let me take you back and then I’ll find your mother.”
“No,” I said. “No one must drown.”
“But you—”
“I saw George Symons. If he’s there, bring him up and I’ll help him.”
“I’ll try once. That’s all the time we have.”
I nodded, rolled on to my back and waited. Mama was under the water, under the stones. I had to roll that thought up, push it away. I must only think thoughts that would let me keep floating. A moment later, one head surfaced and then another, eyes closed, wet hair stuck to his skin.
“He’s alive,” Jacques Francis said. “Here! Over here!” He raised his hand and waved it towards the boats. “Take him quickly, but if he drags you under…”
If he dragged me under, I was to let go.
George Symons was floating on top of the water. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open. I grabbed the shirt beneath his shoulder and kicked my legs gently.
“I have to go,” Jacques Francis said. “Promise me, Eve. If he starts to drag you under, save yourself.”
Jacques Francis disappeared. All I had to do was to keep George Symons afloat until the boat came. My arms were already hurting. Should I be here with this man who didn’t care if my mother died? Perhaps I should let him go. I had jumped in to save Mama, not him. My fingers loosened on the back of his shirt. I turned a little to look at his face. Nearly thirty years ago, he hadn’t been much older than me when he was cast into the sea and knew that his uncle was dying below him. It hadn’t been his destiny to drown then and it wouldn’t be today.
I heard the swish of oars in the water and lifted my head. The rowing boat was close. Samuel manoeuvred towards me. The oars clunked as he dropped them on to the bottom of the boat. He leaned over and grabbed George Symons’ shoulders, grunting hard. The boat tipped but didn’t capsize.
“Lift his legs,” Samuel said. “But take this first.”
He handed me a pale ball, an inflated pig’s bladder. Some of the wherrymen carried them, especially those who worked close to the bridge and worried about capsizing at high tide. I held the bladder in my hands and hooked my arms around George Symons’ legs and heaved up. I only moved him a few inches, but it was enough for Samuel to pull him the rest of the way into the boat. George Symons landed with a thud.
“I have to take him back to shore,” Samuel said. “Are you coming?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
Samuel nodded. “I hope God’s luck is with you all.”
He rowed away. I let myself float on my stomach, face down peering into the gloomy water until I had to lift my head for a breath. How long could Mama hold her breath? No one could for this long. Down there, there were masts and anchors and bones and maybe even treasure. The river had secrets and intended to hold on to them. Please don’t hold on to my mother.
I heard my name. It sounded far away. I saw an arm waving in the air close to the shore. That was Jacques Francis. Where was Mama? I kicked my legs hard, holding the bladder with one hand and pushing through the water with the other. The water became shallow and my feet kicked mud. I stood up and waded through, my feet sticking in the troughs left from the waves. Mama was there, lying on the shore. Jacques Francis was crouched over her. As I ran towards her, I saw her face was covered in blood.
I dropped down next to her.
“Is she alive?”
He looked at me and said nothing.
AFTERWARDS
Jacques Francis isn’t angry any more. He told me that he was angry when
