SHORT STORIES
Summertime - a short memoir, published in the Dominion Post.
Eve and Adam - short short story.
ABOUT BERNARD
All contents of this site copyright Bernard Steeds.
Parting
EACH MORNING, before his father and stepmother have risen, Tom climbs the fence in the eastern corner of the garden and looks down over the harbour as the ferry sails in rough seas through the inlet, strikes rocks with a force that shakes the earth, lists, and lies on its side, rising and falling with the ocean, as its many hundreds of passengers, who Tom sees from this distance only as tiny spots, drain from the ship and spread their colours across the sea; and he is tugged by an urge to climb down the steep bank and fetch his father's dinghy from the garage, and drag it across the road to the sea, just as he did many years ago on the first morning of the storm, when he rowed out across the rough waters to the wrecked ferry and searched among the floating bodies for the still-breathing, who he pulled onto the little craft and brought back to the beach, where they lay, coughing up seawater and taking deep, hard breaths, which could be heard out in the ocean for many miles.
Tom made several trips out to the ferry, navigating among the other rescue craft and the bruised, lifeless bodies, until a launch pulled up beside him and he felt himself being heaved off the dinghy and pushed into the arms of his father, who cried 'oh god, oh god' - but Tom struggled from his grip and turned, as the launch sped towards shore, and looked back at the little dinghy rising and falling in the water, and at the woman who lay in it, pale and still, as the waves washed over her.
When they were back on shore, Tom's stepmother asked him: 'What were you doing out there? It was such a storm!' She told him how worried they were; they checked everywhere and finally, after searching the house and section, found the dinghy missing and called out the coastguard. Tom apologised for causing such trouble. 'I can't explain,' he said, to protect the feelings of his stepmother.
But amid his memories, most of which have faded over time, so he sees the sinking almost as if it is a projection on a screen, is an image that will never fade, but returns each morning as if it is occurring all over again: as he is lifted from the dinghy, he looks back down at the woman he has, only minutes before, hauled from the sea. She seems peaceful, as if she is sleeping; her arms are wrapped around her body. And even now he has no words to describe her, or to describe his feelings as he sees her recede into the distance, but still he whispers, very faintly, so no one can hear it, 'Goodbye, mother.'
This is a slightly edited version of a story published in the Tandem Press collection The Third Century (1999).