It is early. Steely light brings a cool gleam to the high tide lapping at the wrack-covered sand. Ari Noble closes the car door carefully, but it still sounds like an intrusion.
The store is full of nostalgic smells of creosote and engine oil. His net is not quite dry, but it will do.
Ever the outsider, Ari keeps his boat tied up in the old section of the harbour. Whole sections of the concrete pier are cracked and tilting, and the iron bollards are covered with thick flaky rust.
Ari steers his Zulu through the harbour mouth, then stops the engine and hoists the sail. Clear water with the ultramarine blue-green of depth. A solitary raven turns, its eye flashing in the sunshine.
Ari shoots the net over the starboard side.
The boat is drifting very slowly. Ari’s thoughts are becoming as glassy as the sea, and he feels the air cool with each breath.
A dreadful jerk on the rope, and the boat judders while the winch lets out a few coils. Ari can’t believe what he sees.
A golden hand breaks the surface, rippling through the water. Then the winch strains to bring up a life-size bronze figure. The fisherman carefully disentangles the statue from the net’s braided cords.
Exhausted, Ari leans back against the mast, dripping sea-water. Fortunately his iPhone has escaped a soaking.
“Aristo!”
Ari stares at his mobile in astonishment, realising he hasn’t yet pressed the button. He looks up to see the statue glaring at him.
His phone clatters to the floor.
“You have to die, Aristo!” the automaton cries in archaic Greek, then suddenly grasps his arm, and with inhuman strength thrusts him right over the side.
Darkness closes over Ari’s eyes and he becomes flaccid in the toils of the wine-dark sea. Suddenly the metal hand tightens its grip even further, the pain bringing consciousness back to Ari’s dying brain. He opens his mouth wide and takes an enormous breath, bracing himself for a final convulsion.
Air!
She lands him on the boat’s floor with a negligent thump, like a large but not very appetising fish.
Still gasping for breath but recovering slightly, Ari’s vision clears sufficiently for him to see the bronze automaton hunched over his iPhone with obvious enthusiasm.
“Nice, very nice, Aristo!” she croaks, looking up reluctantly.
Ari is shaking, but concentrates hard. “Oh, you’ve found my pictures of Delphi? We - we were there on holiday years ago.”
“Mm, a ruined place….. But this is wonderful – tiny screws! How did you make these?”
“Look… I need to catch some fish. Perhaps you would like to eat with us?”
She cackles. “Ari, you foolish man, I have no need of food!
She stretches over the gunwale and paddles one hand in the sea. Almost immediately a large shoal of mackerel surfaces, and Ari shoots his badly rumpled net overboard.
Soon he has a boxful of fish, flipping and slapping.
Copyright © Donnie Ross 2010
A shorter version of this story appeared in www.rammenas.nl in April 2010.
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