Ham, Cheese & Tomato: 2020 Fiction WINNER
WORDS BY BRIE DARK.
The sea is calm today. A whisper of a breeze brushes past my calloused fingers and I readjust my grasp on the old fishing rod to flex them. Waves barely lick upon my small boat, Sierra.Their tentative curiosity flicks a spray into the air, which falls to lie upon my face, and I can taste the salt on my lips. The tip of my rod dips. This one’s for dinner.
My boat basks alone in the sun’s morning display. No men venture beyond Meera’s reef. Too many missing. But I know there are fish here, and my desperation wrenches the wheel from the hands of my fear. Besides the fish and I, there is not another soul to be seen. Or so I think.
I drop the thrashing whiting into a bucket. Frantically, it circles its new confinement, water escaping over the side, until it finally slows. The duct tape on my fishing rod peels from the pole’s grip, and I flip open my tackle box. I know it’s here. Lunch, lures, sinkers—Aha! I pull a roll of tape from the carrier and begin to wrap it around the end of my rod.
Wait. What was that?
In the corner of my eye, a figure jumps deftly in the borders of my view. Is the sea getting to me? But no, I am certain there is a person just beyond the body of my boat. Cautiously, I tread towards the edge of my boat, and it shifts as my weight pushes it to one side. The sea is the colour of liquid sapphire. Reflecting light from the swirling surface obscures what lurks beneath. Beautiful but deadly.
The pinpricked chill of water lands upon my exposed neck. It’s too much than what the lethargic waves could offer. Worry weaves through my veins like spider webs, and I feel my lungs being gripped by anxiety. I trail my eyes along the edge of my boat, slowly twisting my body until I see...a hand?
My gaze skips up to catch on a pair of eyes so golden; it is as if they are pure pearls of sunlight. What is she doing so far out here? Her arms are crossed against the gunwale, and she leans her cheek upon them. She is grinning, but it is a bit too wide. She is dazzling, but it reminds me a little too closely of the sea’s beauty.
Does she need help? But if she’s in trouble, why is she smiling?
I take a tentative step closer, and this seems to please her. Her mouth reveals more teeth. She opens her jaw, and her lips begin to move slowly but with determination. She uncrosses her arms and lifts one towards me, beckoning me to come closer. She’s singing. My focus draws to her lips, I can’t read them; there are no words to her song. I do step closer. I admit I am curious. Another reflection glimmers beyond my boat, but it isn’t the water. I see more of her, and what I see isn’t human. Streams cascade from a glistening auburn tail that rises from the sea. Oh. I plant my feet on the hull. I see.
Her smile dips, and so does her eyebrows. She continues to sing, though I see from her scowl there is fury in her melody. I yawn. This seems to enrage her more as her fins begin to whip against the surface and she leans precariously forward. Turning on my heel, I return to my tackle box and I pull my sandwich from it. Ham, cheese and tomato: my favourite. I retreat to the driver’s seat and unwrap my lunch. I ignore the thrashing from an angry sea creature and take a bite. Delicious.
The commotion eases, and I allow myself to look up from my lunch, chewing peacefully. In the distance I see a mop of swirling hair floating above the surface. And if the sun really did gift her the gleam of her eyes, it must have also gifted the fire. I could almost feel myself sweating under the heat of her glare.
My sandwich is cut into two triangles, the superior method of slicing bread. I let out an exasperated exhale and grab the untouched slice. Anything to stop her staring. I strut to the edge of my boat and softly place the heavenly sandwich upon it. I poke my finger at her, and then pointedly at the sandwich. She continues to glare.
I return to my seat to finish the remaining half of my lunch, and let my eyes drift back to the waves. She’s gone. Tiny, bronze fingers extend from the side of my boat. They slowly drop onto the abandoned sandwich and recede back out of view.
She resurfaces further out still intent on glaring at me, until she takes a bite.
Ew, soggy bread.
Her brows lift, followed soon after by the corners of her lips. A true smile. She wolfs down the remnants of the slice and catches my eye again. The smile drops, but she glides closer. The siren leaps onto Sierra’s gunwale, accompanied by a shower of droplets that fall into the hull. She gestures to the forgotten sandwich in my hand.
Her lips move: what is that?
I let a smile slip onto my cheeks and lift my hand palm down. I move it horizontally across my face, biting my teeth together. Sandwich.
The siren repeats the sign, pleased, and slips back into the sea. I don’t see her again. Finally, I can return to fishing.
She’s stolen my rod.
~
It’s been days. I haven’t seen so much as a glint of orange scales since she swiped my fishing rod. Every day, I’ve had a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich. The other fishermen think it’s something of a good luck charm, to help me survive past Meera’s reef. In a way, I guess they’re right.
I’ve noticed that I’ve been hooking more fish recently. It’s as if they want to be caught. Or maybe, it’s the borrowed rod. Mine had barely classified as a fishing rod; it was closer related to a branch with twine tied on the end. I recall the look my friend, Ted, graced me with when I asked if he could lend me one of his fancy rods. He looked like he had gulped a mouthful of seawater. That must be it. The rod.
The float bobs gently against the waves, tethered to the shiny, blue pole. Nothing yet. I lean over Sierra’s side, arms outstretched, and dip my hands into the shifting glass. The seawater is ice cold as I splash it onto my skin. That should wake me up. I open my eyes and scream.
I found her. She is just centimetres from my nose. A wicked grin envelops her features as she stares up at me with those amber eyes. Her hair surrounds her like a halo. She purses her lips together and sprays a string of water onto my forehead. I reel back stuttering, and trip into the boat. I’m not sure how it is different from the seawater I rubbed on my face. But it is. I level her with a flimsy glare, which is shattered by her amused face peaking over my boat. She throws her head back and laughs, and though I fight it, I do too.
I stand and attempt to wipe the mud from my clothing. It’s unsuccessful, and my rear is damp from sludge that rolls around the hull. She’s still smirking, apparently very proud of herself. Her expression changes to one of realisation and grabs the steel to pull herself up the hull and onto the gunwale.
She stares at me curiously, lifts her arms and makes a sign: a flat hand drawn across her face and her teeth tapping together. Sandwich?
I grin at her before reaching for my tackle box. I unfurl the wrapper and offer her one of the two slices. She lightly takes it from my hands and waits until I sit down with my piece before she chomps down on the bread. Her honeyed eyes light up and she chews with greater enthusiasm.
She leans on the hull and waits patiently until I finish my half, having consumed her portion seconds after her first bite. I bundle up the wrapper and flick it back into the tackle box. Sliding from my chair, I reach over to the fishing rod and cast the lure. It soars gracefully through the air until—plonk—it drops beneath the sea’s surface. The siren has disappeared. She must have slipped away while I had my attention diverted. That is what I think until dark locks of hair surfaces beside my rod. She’s peering at me and I watch as her lips form two words: thank you.
Ok, I admit, my cheeks flush at the praise. I take one hand from the fishing rod and place my fingers upon my chin. I push my hand from my chin as if blowing a kiss. Thank you.
She waves before sinking back into the ocean.
A couple minutes later, a large tuna flies from the water into the bottom of my boat.
~
I swing back my fishing rod before lurching forward, the bait landing a reasonable distance away. I certainly can’t lose this rod; It’s shiny, sleek and a cheerful colour of orange. Thanks to all the fish I’m catching, I finally had enough money spare to buy my very own.
At first, the fishermen in town thought I was simply lucky to survive a trip past Meera’s reef but as I returned not only alive but boat full of fish, day after day, they soon realised it wasn’t the case. Some are still sceptical and remain in the safer fishing spots, but others are beginning to venture out despite the risk. I see them in the distance on occasion, their vessels resting between the bright blue of the sky and the deep cobalt of the sea. Oddly, their catches hardly ever compare to the number of mine. It’s getting increasingly more difficult to be alone. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t seen her in weeks.
Resting on my dash is a stack of two ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches. Just in case.
~
There’s one other boat tilting in the waves nearby, staying close in hopes of catching onto my luck. So far they’ve caught nothing, even though we’ve been here for hours. I’ve watched the sun lazily drift across the sky. It rests directly above now, sunlight gazing over our shoulders. My neighbour’s propeller bubbles in the water. Guess they’re tired of waiting. Their boat makes a sharp turn, and a swirl of froth shoots behind them as they make their way back to shore with empty buckets.
Finally.
I let myself melt onto my seat, the canopy’s shade hiding me from the sun. Warmth envelops me and I begin to doze, comfortable in the heat.
Cold.
I jerk wide awake, drenched in water. The taste of salt overwhelms my mouth and I sputter. I blink droplets from my eyelashes. And there she is, perched on the gunwale, her face a painting of false innocence.
I jump to my feet and swiftly shove her off my boat. Gangly limbs flail as she face plants into the water. She re-emerges with her eyes wide and mouth gaping open; an expression of shocked betrayal.
I chuckle as she flings herself up the hull to sit back down on the edge. A pout distorts her mouth, which gives way to a grin when I hand her an unwrapped sandwich. She bites into one slice and extends her hand, offering the other half. I shake my head and reach for the second sandwich. I lower myself next to her with a crust between my teeth. The corners of her mouth curls up further and she resumes munching.
As always, she finishes before me, but instead of disappearing back into the water’s embrace, she stays. She grooms her scales as she waits, taking delicate care as she straightens them.
~
I stuff the last bite of the sandwich in my mouth and dust the crumbs off my fingertips onto my jeans. I shift pose towards her and smile, my cheeks full of bread. Her hand shoots to her face, to hide her laugh. The ends of her brows dip before she looks at me curiously. She firmly points a finger at my chest, then turns her wrist and gestures towards her own. She repeats the action, clearly conveying her point. The siren looks at me, awaiting my answer.
I remove my arms from their grip on the boat, clenching one into a fist and wrapping the opposite over the top. I gently shake them. I accompany the sign with my mouth forming a word: friend.
Her eyes crinkle as she smiles wide. She lifts her hands to mirror mine.
Friend!
ARTIST STATEMENT
We have all heard tales of mischievous sirens. Ones that lure unsuspecting sailors into the sea’s depths. There have been many depictions of sirens: some are incarnations of evil, others are far more sympathetic. I have seen tales of heterosexual women sailing their ship through infested waters, saving their crew. I have read stories of homosexual men accomplishing the same. But I, personally, had never read about a deaf person surviving a siren song. In my short story, I wanted to change that.
Although about someone without hearing, ‘Ham, Cheese & Tomato’ is in no way a representation for all deaf people as it affects each person differently. The fisherman in this tale was largely based off a relative, who was born deaf and primarily talks to my family through AUSLAN (Australian Sign Language) and lip reading. In this story, I wanted to present hearing-impairment as a strength and an open door for new opportunities. It is only because the fisherman is deaf that he gains the chance to make a new friend.
EDITORIAL NOTE: This article has been reuploaded and was originally published in 2020.