Finding Atlantis - 6. Chapter 6

Aziz sat amidships beside Krilla, the wind buffeting their hair as they sailed across the slightly choppy sea. The sails billowed with the force of the wind and Aziz stood to go the prow. He watched the waves skid past for a moment and then turned. Sitting on the rail he watched Krilla sitting at the tiller. His friend looked none the worse for the previous night’s excesses, in fact Krilla positively glowed, his hair shone in the morning light. Too be fair, it wasn’t very early morning, in fact it was really closer to lunch. Aziz never knew how Krilla got anything done, there were no clocks on board and he didn’t own a watch. All the standard radio equipment sat in the comm room, switched off. Aziz was never worried, going out on La Belle Mere. He trusted Krilla implicitly.

When Krilla had deemed they were out far enough, he dropped everything but the jib and went below, reappearing with the net. Aziz helped him hang the two corners and then took up his place at the rudder. They’d done this enough times for Aziz to know exactly what was expected of him. Krilla stripped off, unashamed and uncaring, and leapt into the water. Aziz didn’t know how he did it. He couldn’t keep up with the boat, even at this speed. How Krilla fished when there wasn’t someone to man the ship he didn’t know. Either slowly or dangerously. A few minutes later Krilla pooped his head up above the water and gestured.

“Turn port-wards, fifteen degrees!” and then he was back under the water, swimming along with the fish. And so it went, and they hauled up a huge catch of brown trout. Aziz caught the net with his fingers and hauled it over the fish bin. Krilla sprang up out of the water and climbed up beside him. Together they released the fish into the water. Krilla got into the tank and began to haul out and throw back the smaller fish.

“Kril? Why do you keep them alive?”

Krilla didn’t answer straight away, but hauled out two medium sized fish and handed them to Aziz.

“Lunch,” he motioned, “Because,” he climbed out of the bin, “They don’t get stressed in the bins, and I don’t really want to cause them too much pain. Plus it’s kind of nice to have them around, don’t you think.” He stroked some of the fish distractedly and got dressed.

“So,” Aziz held up the now dead fish, “You want them grilled or raw?”

Krilla sat with the fish on the stern with his knife, considering. He chopped off heads and tails, then split the fish down the middle and removed the bones. Carefully he eased the knife under the fish’s scales and began to peel them away, revealing the pinkish white flesh beneath. Aziz watched him with interest.

“You don’t eat the scales?”

“Not always,” Krilla finished one side and began on the other, “They stick in the teeth and this way they grill better all round. Or you can do them with lemon and stuff if you have foil.”

“Do you?”

Krilla raised an eyebrow and blew back his floppy hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Krilla continued to skin the fish with careful motions while Aziz talked.

“So, you and Alek looked rather comfy last night. And he slept here did he not? I saw the blankets in a mess downstairs. Are you seeing him again?”

Krilla growled in the back of his throat.

“I let him stay because I know where he’s been sleeping the last few nights. He’s been kipping on the ground out in the olive groves. And I don’t care if it’s warm enough these days; it’s downright cruel to let him go.”

“So where is he now?”

“I’m not too sure. He jumped ship at dawn, while I was in town getting bread and fresh water. He left a note, says he’ll be back.”

“You like him.”

Krilla sighed.

“Is it that obvious?”

“After last night, yeah. You’re falling quick, Krilla, not like you.”

“Sorry, but I spent the whole day with the guy. He’s nice.”

“Nice?” Aziz’s tone was sceptical.

“I’m not gonna use those kind of adjectives with you. You’ll get uncomfortable. Again.”

Aziz glared at him under dark brows, and let the matter slide.

The fish hissed and spat their tasty oils on the suspended grill; Krilla reached out and flicked the fillets over with his fingers. The smell wafted along with the wind. After they’d eaten, silently and without haste, tearing the tender flesh with their fingers, Krilla wiped oily fingers on his slacks, leaving streaks, and they set sail again.

*

Aziz lay on the prow, staring down at the water. The afternoon sun dried the water droplets on his back, making his skin tighten with the salt. He watched Krilla. His friend was almost impossible to get out of the water once he was in. They’d weighed anchor in a little bay of one of the small uninhabited islands and gone for a fast swim to the beach. Krilla had won, hauling his naked tan form out of the water before Aziz was halfway there. They’d lain around on the beach for ages, staining their skin white with the chalk deposits and skimming stones across the perfect blue of the calm sea.

Now Aziz watched Krilla swim in the clear waters below the boat and marvelled at his friend’s skill. Krilla seemed to glide through the water as though made for it, long legs flicking out gracefully in the deep. He rose, broke the surface and looked up at Aziz, his long hair stuck to his skull, highlighting the angular shape of his features. He smiled up at Aziz.

“Aziz! Come swim some more!”

Aziz stretched like a cat, languid and dark against the bright tan of the wood.

“No. The sun is too warm. She makes me want to sleep.”

“Sleep in the sea.”

“Kril, my friend, you are like an otter. Just don’t drift off while you nap down there.” Aziz rolled over and put his back to the warm wood of the deck, flinging up a hand to the guard his eyes. In the perfect blue sky, a single white gull reeled over head, hardly moving on the currents of the air, just gliding around as though enjoying the view. Aziz watched it circle in the endless blue and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke, there were strange noises coming from below the hull. The gull was gone but the sun had hardly moved, so Aziz figured he’d only been out for a few moments. Krilla wasn’t on the deck, and Aziz rolled over to look over the edge without much expectation. Krilla was floating, upright, just under the surface of the water. A few bubbles floated up to the surface. Then he heard the noise again. It was like a song, or speech, coming from under the water.

“Ki’ou iniia hela ka’aran osula, ke k’im inchii helu.”

Krilla wasn’t alone under the water; there was a sea horse there. And it was huge, bigger than any creature of the sort Aziz had ever seen. It was nearly the height of a man, its bright gemlike tail wound in a tight coil, its amazing translucent fins rippling in the clear water. There was a soft fluting noise, and Krilla looked up. His eyes went wide, then the sea horse dropped out of sight into the blue and then Krilla rose out of the water and took a breath.

“I thought you were asleep.” He said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, so did I.” Aziz shook his head and blinked a couple of times. That had to have been a strange dream. He stared down at the sea, confused. Krilla swam out of sight and Aziz heard the dripping sounds of his friend getting out of the water. Aziz was trying to remember a time when he’d seen Krilla more than visual distance from the sea. He’d only once accompanied Aziz on one of his walks, but even then he wouldn’t go down into the valley. Krilla slept at sea, ate at sea. He lived his entire life in and around the harbour. Market, at the far end of the town, was the longest distance he’d ever go away from the sea.

But a big seahorse, and Krilla talking in a language that wasn’t Turkish, Greek, English or anything else Aziz even half recognised. He must have been dreaming. Sun touched.

Krilla was getting dressed when he went down below to get a drink. It was unbelievably dark after the bright light up above and it took Aziz a few moments to adjust. He talked through the hatchway while Krilla found clean clothes in a box in the cabin.

“Kril?”

“Hmm?”

“How come you never come to the olive groves?”

“Too far.”

“It’s three miles Krilla! It’s further than that to Kaputas beach and we walked there that one day last summer.”

“Road to Kaputas is flat.” Krilla’s voice was hard and edgy, he didn’t like this line of questioning.”

“You have a problem with hills?” Aziz asked incredulously.

“You have a problem with me?” Krilla’s anger crackled like lightning coming down to strike the sea. The tension was palpable between them in the small dark space.

“Why do you never leave the sea?”

“Because,” Krilla’s shoulders were hunched under the weight of the tension, and suddenly he breathed out, relaxed and his voice calmed but to its usual honeyed richness, “Because…it makes me uncomfortable. Ill. It doesn’t feel right.”

“But-” Aziz started.

“No Aziz, it’s not the same. I know we both spend all our time at sea. But you go home. You don’t sleep there. I feel sick on land, it doesn’t move right. I can’t sleep. I’ve been at sea so long I’ve forgotten what not being at sea is like. I miss the freedom, the sense of space.” He stopped suddenly, as if just realising he’d spoken so much out loud. Turning his back on Aziz, he disappeared up the companionway, into the day light. Aziz followed him, cautiously, at a distance. Krill was leaning against the rail, staring out to sea, his hair still letting sparkling droplets fall onto his skin. “Don’t you feel it?” he stared intensely into the distance, “All that space.”

Aziz came to stand beside him.

“It makes me feel scared.” He said, and knew that, deep down, it was true.

“It makes me feel safe.” Krilla said, and his voice was like a sigh, a release. He let go of the railing.

Together they stood on the deck and watched the sun go down, the redness spreading across the sea like wine. Like blood. The sky darkened. As they watched, the stars came out along with the now slowly thickening slice of the milk-white moon. They didn’t speak but Krill got out a blanket and they lay on the deck and watched the stars. Aziz gestured to how the little beach had now become a streak of glowing whitish blue in the darkness. The sea was nearly black under the inky sky, the little silver fish glinting softly under the waves.

Krilla broke the silence first.

“Your birthday is in March. You’re a Pisces right?”

“Yeah,” Aziz grinned, “Me and Murat both. Figures we’d be the most keen on sailing. What about you?”

“Dunno.”

“What d’you mean you don’t know?”

“I’m late September. What sign is that?”

“Er…” Aziz scanned the sky, trying to remember, “Libra I reckon. How come you don’t know your own sign?”

“I know Pisces ‘cause of the fish. And Aquarius. Water Bearer. Makes sense that I’d be one of those. No such luck. What’s Libra anyway?” Krilla’s voice had lost all its earlier tension. He was calm now, and sleepy, lulled by the sound of the waves.

“Scales. Balance. Justice.”

“Heh, figures.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Krilla?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry. About earlier.”

Krilla smiled in the dark.

“My friend, you are forgiven.”

*

“Duck!”

Aziz dropped to the deck as the massive wooden pole of the boom swung across the ship. He raced to the other side of the boat, grabbed hold of the forestay and swung his weight out over the sea to balance the ship. They were clicking along fast through the choppy waters, the bright port of home gleaming in the distance. Krilla cried out in triumph of the smooth manoeuvre and went to drop a handful of seaweed to the captured fish. Aziz laughed.

“We really should have caught them today rather than have to feed them.”

“Nah,” Krilla adjusted the tiller and went to join Aziz at his precarious post, “If we did that, we wouldn’t have time for what I have planned.”

Aziz frowned.

“We’re not putting straight into the harbour?”

“Oh no my friend. We are going abroad.”

Aziz grinned as they began to get close to the island of Meis, ready to haul himself across the ship again for the sharp turn they were about to perform to swing around into the harbour.

Krilla dropped the main sail as the edge of the harbour came near them. Technically he should radio in and ask permission to dock. But he knew the harbour master here and his subordinates, and his ship was so recognisable he could dock first without too much hassle.

Unfortunately it was the boat official from Krilla’s annoying incident a few days back who was first to their boat. He stood with his arms folded as Krilla jumped ship and turned to catch the line from Aziz.

“We didn’t get a signal from you.”

“Radio’s broke,” Krilla lied smoothly, tugging the rope to make sure it was secure, “We’re only putting in for three hours.”

“On what business?” The man had a notepad in hand, writing everything down.

“On pleasure,” Krilla grinned, cheeky, and moved out of the way so Aziz could jump ashore.

“Passports?”

“Ah…”

“I got it!” Aziz dug around in his back pocket and brought out two ancient cardstock passports, the photos taken when they were both eighteen. The regulations had changed since then, when you only need one of these things to get into Meis on account of it being so close.

“You boys need proper passports.”

“We’re waiting for them, coming in from Dalaman. They got delayed, on account of the new tunnel not being finished.”

The man put the two passports in a little satchel by his side.

“Come pick them up from the office when you’re done.”

Krilla watched him go.

“The trouble with passports,” he said evenly, “Is that eventually they are gonna make us get new ones.”

“Ah, we got the money,” Aziz said, “C’mon, let’s go have a drink.”

They ended up sitting at a half shaded table outside the bar on the very end of the wharf. The owners were Greek, but the waitress who served them was Australian, her accent thick and peaceful. They sat with the waves lapping the stone wall not three feet from them and drank long glasses of fresh orange and pineapple juice. The girl brought them a wooden mother of pearl inlaid backgammon set and Krilla and Aziz sat and played under the sunlight. All the tension of yesterday was gone, and a cool sea breeze blew across from the great bay between the two countries. Aziz looked out towards the coast and sighed.

“It always seems strange,” he said mildly, “Home is just four miles across the sea, and yet this is a whole new country.”

“Yeah,” Krilla’s tone was studious as he stared fixedly at the board, trying to work out his next move, “One with a completely unreadable script.” He waved expansively at the signage along the wharf, all the spiky characters harder to understand than the fluid spoken language. “Can’t even make a hash of the pronunciation.”

“Be fair Krilla,” Aziz turned back the board to find Krilla had taken three of his pieces in one move, “Up until the westernization of Turkish it was just the same, that beautiful backwards flow. That was what Grandfather wrote in when was little.”

“It’s a dead script Aziz, neither of us can even read it.”

“Not true!” Aziz made his move and finished his juice, “We can both do that one phrase.”

“Everyone can do that one phrase.”

“There is only one true god.”

“And Mohammed is his prophet.” Krilla finished.

Aziz won the game, and they wandered back along the wharf, collected their passports from the boarder station and cast off with a holler and wave, setting sail toward home.

*

Aziz waved goodbye to his friend as the men from the fish market closed in on the little boat, and headed towards home. When he arrived he found a note on the kitchen table telling him that everyone was out, Tamil at the harbour, his brothers had taken the Aikaterine out with tourists, and his mother was out shopping or something. Aziz took advantage of an empty house and had a long cool shower to wash the salt from his skin and then fell asleep in the main room wearing his towel, able to stretch out fully on a comfy surface.

He woke to find the room lit softly with the little hanging paraffin lamps his mother was so fond of on summer evenings. Someone had placed a stack of clean clothes next to his prone form. The enticing smell of cooking drifted towards him out of the open kitchen door. He could hear his mother talking to someone. A figure appeared in the doorway, holding a glass of tea in either hand.

“Hello Aziz.”

A slow perfect smile spread across Aziz’s face.

“Shalla.” He drew his towel closer about his waist and blushed, “Hang on, let me get dressed.”

She turned away while he hastily wriggled into his trousers, and when she turned back his was scrabbling with the buttons of his shirt. She handed him his tea and sat down close by.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Out on the sea with Krilla. We went to Meis.”

Shalla smiled and for Aziz, it lit up his heart.

“I bet he brings me a present when I see him.”

“No doubt.”

“You never bring me presents,” Shalla’s musical voice was low, “Aziz, when are you going to tell father about us?”

“Soon.”

“You always say that.”

Aziz shook his head slowly, and Shalla reached out and took his hand, warm and big compared to hers. Aziz was a few shades darker, his skin rougher, not that Shalla didn’t work hard on her father’s boat.

“He thinks you’ll end up marrying Krilla.”

Shalla giggled and Aziz couldn’t help but smile.

“We both know that’ll never happen,” She sighed, suddenly serious, “It’s not right. I’m cover for him, and he’s cover for you. Father likes you Aziz, our parents are friends. He’s not going to say no.”

Aziz swallowed dryly.

“I love you Shalla.”

“I know Aziz. I love you as well. But you have to ask father. I want to be married to you.”

Aziz wrapped an arm around her briefly. There was so much in that fast embrace, so much longing on both sides.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“Of course.”

From the kitchen doorway, Aika watched her son and the beautiful girl and the sad loving look shared in their dark eyes. And deep inside she knew that there was something strange about Krilla.