My Enemy The Sea

My enemy the sea I do not like the sea. I do not like its unpredictability, the coldness of the water; its gloomy colouration; it’s fearful depth - which makes you think there might be a hideous monster rising up beneath you - and I must confess I actually get into a panic whenever I see it, even if it is just a glimpse. The sight of breakers crashing along a dramatic shoreline rather than fill me with awe or romantic associations instead fills me with nausea. As a result of my phobia I have never – well not since that day - enjoyed the rare delight of holidaying on the English seaside or anywhere else for that matter. On July the 11th 1959 I became lifelong enemies with the sea and since then have avoided it at all costs. It was one of the things my ex-wife continually bemoaned about our marriage: we never went on ‘normal’ holidays she would complain. I never told her about what happened when I was on the threshold of manhood. I thought then the curse would be with me for life but I was wrong – the sea and I had one last scene to play out before the end and that is what I shall tell now. It started one evening not long after my divorce when I was around at my friends the Atkins’s having dinner and discussing ‘what-to-do-next’. There was a pause in the conversation in which everyone seemed to reflect on the endless number of possibilities which lay before me. Gerald, who rarely reflects for long, however said suddenly and with a knowing glance: “Well you could always stay at Mandalay.” There was a dramatic pause, and then a silence. Gerald knew about my phobia and since Mandalay was by the sea the suggestion was an intentionally risqué one. I felt surprise, fear and confidence all at once – as if I had been encouraged by an admiring colleague who I respected to go for a promotion I knew was out of my reach. It was late and I felt tipsy with wine – perhaps it was that, I don’t know, perhaps the liberation from an unhappy marriage but in that moment I became foolhardy. Gerald’s company often had that effect on me – as if he were a sort of confidence ‘catalyst’. “You could work on your book there in peace.” He added pulling the cork out of the Macon Village and refilling my glass. ”Yes, what a good idea Gerald,” chimed in his wife before she suddenly looked up as if something had occurred to her and then said almost involuntarily, “But..” “But..I cannot stand the Sea.” I completed for her. “Well - yes...” I looked at Gerald and Annette and thought about how lovely my friends the Atkins’s had been to me supporting me through the terrible final stages of divorce. For a moment I entertained the irrational idea that they were somehow gifted beings who knew what I needed better than I did. I leant back and closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief; then - I do not know how it happened but I overheard myself assenting. I even said something like: “I’d love to, that’s very kind of you, it would be my pleasure.” Gerald smiled and emptied his glass in one swig as if he had completed one of his multi million pound deals.

*** When I set out I purposely left it till the early evening so that I could arrive when it was pitch black and thus avoid any unpleasant glimpses of the sea on the way up. It took a while to find but eventually I saw the sign in the headlights amongst the undergrowth. I felt slightly giddy just being near the invisible mass of the ocean with its terrible strength, its terrible secrets, its capricious waves and currents. Mandalay it turned out was indeed a large house built of grey brick. I could not say it was beautiful – I had expected something more picturesque with grand bay windows and festoons of wisteria and ivy but even in the darkness I could see this was a more simple structure – with a touch even of the simplicity of the modernist about it. I smelt the salt air immediately and stood for a moment with the car door open and the light inside still on. The smell of the air alone had taken me back to that holiday in Grayson Sands in 59’. Suddenly I felt sick and had to steady myself against the bonnet of the car. Then I jumped from fright at the sound of a sea gull squawking as it flew overhead shrouded by the impenetrable darkness. At that moment – with the car door still open and the luggage not yet unpacked – my nerve almost failed me and I almost decided to turn back. But then the thought of having to tell the Aitkin’s who had already left for their tour of the subcontinent, and of all the trouble it would cause I forced the unhappy associations out of my mind and decided to keep going – the human spirit was capable of anything I reassured myself. I set off across the shingle drive taking one step at a time and found the key under the appointed and rather incongruous urn. Then I let myself in. It was both exhilarating and slightly frightening being in such a large house at night, on my own. I hurried around switching on all the lights. The lounge was the only room which looked old-fashioned. It was gracious and impressive with large French windows overlooking the lawn, and a large ornate fireplace in the centre around which was arranged a suite of modern and more comfortable beige sofa and chairs. By the windows there was a fine Edwardian side table which looked like an abandoned desk in desperate need of a sitter. Fashion and girlie magazines - no doubt belonging to Charlie, the Atkins’s daughter - lay sprawled around on side tables and the main coffee table in front of the fireplace. The room, one felt, would have been more ‘at home’ with large groups. There was the feeling too that this was space for entertainment – I saw in my mind’s eye the many parties the Aitkin’s must have enjoyed down here; an imaginary grand piano struck up a tune; I could see dashing men in smoking jackets and beautiful girls and young rich people smoking pot. I walked over to the window and drew the curtains and then went into the kitchen and made a cup of tea… *** She strode confidently as other people simply walked and I can still remember how she strode that day, with great purpose over the gently undulating Norfolk sand dunes, a lone figure with a conspiratorial smile on her face; no doubt with reference to our clandestine kiss we had had in the hotel the night before. She wore strange bug-eyed sunglasses which hid her curious mischievous eyes – and I think I may have asked her where she bought them trying to be an expert ladies man, and she had said the Kings Road. Seeing her looking so fabulous in her designer swimsuit, walking towards me over the dunes made me wonder whether I was dreaming – was it really possible this

beautiful, athletic young women was interested in me? Though I was not exactly ugly I wasn’t an Adonis either and it all seemed too good to be true. She was such a ‘healthy specimen’. When she smiled at me I felt a sickness and fear in the pit of my stomach. I have often thought beautiful women make people nervous and this was the effect Monika Bradley had on me then. She was in a different league to the sorts of girls I kissed after dances who always had some unfortunate physical defect whether it was acne and specs or bad breath or too much weight. Monika in contrast looked as glamorous as a film star, she was confident, she was older; she was married, she was wealthy. Eventually she arrived at the spot I had chosen with the intent of spying on pretty girls using my new binoculars whilst officially keeping watch of the twins who were playing on the beach. With an instinct for the underhand Monika understood my sordid plan immediately. That was something else that was different about her – she understood my darker carnal thoughts and urges almost better than I did. Her smile became a chuckle as she approached me. “Peeping are we?” “What?” I said faux incredulously. “YOU, up here in your crow’s nest.” ”I’m just keeping an eye on the twins whilst the grown ups are at lunch.” “Oh really?” She said lifting her sunglasses onto her dark bob as she sat down rather archly – and overly close to me. I felt our thighs chaffing as she snuggled into the sand. ”You’re a good kisser you know.” I then felt as I always did in her company – painfully embarrassed. Thoughts and words dried up completely. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to pull myself together but all I could do was ask her about her sunglasses again. She smiled and answered vaguely. All of a sudden she seemed abstracted. We watched the sun pour golden afternoon light on the strand. The scene would have been perfect for a painter. I felt hot and itchy. I felt my penis stirring in my trunks. It seemed to have obtained a mind of its own in the last year. She wiggled her red-painted neat little piggy-toes. Suddenly unbidden the thought of sucking them came into my mind – I blushed and tried to look away from her. Her breathing seemed to intensify audibly. Suddenly I remembered I was supposed to be looking out for the twins. I was glad for something to get my mind of Monika and picked up the binoculars. The twins were busy playing in the sand building shapes. “So did you manage to get the key off your parents?” “No,” “ – well yes.” She laughed. “Did you ask them?” I didn’t answer. “You didn’t did you? You stole it.” “They wouldn’t have given it...” She looked at me again with her crimson lipstick smile, she looked even more beautiful than ever. “So shall we go?”

“Can’t. I’ve got to stay here and keep watch of over the twins.” I said pointing in the direction of the beach. “What, them?” “Yes.” “But they look as old as you.” “That’s because they are big for their age.” This seemed to amuse her. “They’ll be ok.” I frowned. “Oh come on, for gods’ sake you are not telling me you have to sit here all afternoon watching them do you?” ** The morning after I arrived I closed the curtains and pulled down the blinds on all sea-facing windows in the house. I managed to do this without so much as the tiniest glimpse of salt water, although I did notice the edge of the beach by mistake. I then made myself a breakfast of eggs and bacon and a cup of fresh coffee before preparing to work. I had mentally assigned the Edwardian desk which looked like it was in need of a sitter as my work place but when I actually came to sit at it, it felt cold and awkward, and I was worried I might damage it so I looked around for another desk. Eventually I opted for a table in the beautiful old conservatory which overlooked the back garden. The view of the flowers was beautiful. There was a nice muggy atmosphere in the there which reminded me of the cupboard where my father kept his tulip bulbs. ** We went to my room. The golden afternoon sunlight slid in through the slats in the blinds striping the dark floor. I was hot and sweaty and excited now: my rigid penis pushing painfully against the fabric of my trunks. She deliberately took off her sunglasses revealing her large brown Clara Bow eyes and then knelt down in the semi-darkness. I felt her hands gently pull down my trunks. It sprang out into the open air and I moaned with pleasure. She placed her hand around it and slowly took it into her mouth. I felt engulfed in a wave of emotion. Then after a bit my vision blurred for a moment as I came. This seemed to excite her further. Afterwards she sat back against the wall and sighed a little and closed her eyes as if savouring an exquisite pleasure, and I think I heard her mumble breathlessly, “like oysters” to herself. I lay and looked at the ceiling and felt as if I needed nothing else other than this: I had found the holy grail and my life was complete. I said: “I love you Monika.” She smiled and said: “good” I think, and then we sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Then I felt my thing grow hard again and I crept over and kissed her. We made love to each other slowly this time with me on top of her. Every time I looked at her face I felt a wave of pleasure like nothing else I had felt before. After I lay back and saw the

beach in my minds eye and the sunlight and the water glistening a deep azure, then I fell asleep. When I awoke she was dressed and leaving. She said goodbye and left before I could properly work out what had happened. I suddenly remembered the twins and hurriedly got dressed. I felt suddenly worried – what if something had happened to them whilst I had been away. My heart started to beat quickly and I ran back to my place in the dunes. As I rounded the corner to the beach I notice a large crowd of people gathered near the water. I could make out my parents, the Ashby’s and several other holidaymakers. There were also rather ominously several policemen and ambulance people. My aunt was sitting down on a log or something with her head in her hands weeping uncontrollably. I knew what it was immediately: there had been an accident and the twins had drowned whilst I was away. I felt a cold sweat come over me and my heart began to beat wildly in my chest. I wanted to cry. My brain tried to work out what to say. Then my aunt looked up and stared at me with bloodshot eyes and pointed at me. Some people looked around including my parents. My father then looked down at the ground. To this day I still remember the look my aunt gave me when she looked at me through her tears of grief that day. It was a look of unadulterated hatred the like I have never seen or experienced in real life before. It was the hatred of incompetence, of breach of duty, I had failed in my duty to protect her twins and they had drowned. ** The days passed and merged then an event punctuated their interminability. I worked on my book a little but found myself increasingly blocked. I thought about my past life and my wife and the sea. I wanted to break the curse and go down to the beach which was only a few hundred yards away and see the water again but I couldn’t. Then out of the blue a group of unexpected visitors arrived at Mandalay. It was Charlie, the Aitkins’s daughter and some of her friends. I watched through the curtain as three girls and a large sporty blonde boy sprang out of Gerald’s Range Rover no doubt requisitioned especially for the trip. Charlie said hello in a familiar but slightly “Oh no not you again..” tone which piqued me a little but a pretty dark haired girl called Imogen, who had unusually slow speech but seemed unduly kind asked me about my work and seemed genuinely interested. Then the sun came out and a decision was made to go down to the beach. They did not invite me to come along. I could not be sure but felt certain it was because Charlie knew about my fear of the sea; but my mind invented other less comforting reasons too – I was dull, old and boring - oddly enough it was then it happened – I sat down and began to cry uncontrollably. ** “All you had to do was fucking sit here and watch them.” I mumbled a sorry. Apart from the guilt and shame it was shocking to hear my prim aunt saying “Fucking”, it was the first time I had heard her swear. The tears welled up inside me. I felt a panic a hundred times more than exam nerves. There was absolutely no escape, my mind had given up searching for excuses and fire exits. I considered shifting the blame to Monika – after all it had been her idea to leave the look-out. She

was a grown up and should have known better. I was barely seventeen, my life was just beginning. But somehow I couldn’t. I may have been too much in her thrall. I think I was afraid of her. I felt she was a more powerful being than I, and if I attacked her she would be able to defend herself amply and make me seem even more guilty than I was. “Go away, just GO AWAY, I never want to see you again.” I walked away shaking. I looked at my parents and they looked away. From that day on their attitude changed towards me forever. A year later I moved out. I never did see my aunt again. I was not welcome to the twin’s funeral. ** I think about these things now as I sit weeping in the kitchen of my friend’s holiday house. I think about Monika Bradley and the gentle breeze in the afternoon that came and slipped over our naked bodies as we lay next to each other and her smooth skin clothed in stripes of sunlight giving onto my bed from the blinds. Yet that afternoon’s pleasure came at a heavy price. My mind sinks as I reel through the first sighting of the crowd, my father’s stinging slap across my face, the deep guilt I felt, the fear and the shame. I wonder for how many years I should carry the fear and the guilt. What should be my punishment? Something left me in those minutes – something which I lost forever. I never quite got over it and was it perhaps the reason behind the failure of my marriage? Somehow I could never let go. Something essential died in me that day, something which somehow allows life to be fruitful, bountiful, natural. I never had children; I had a limited physical relationship with my wife, the wife I could not properly love or let in because of my scar. Then I think about Charlie and her friends and the dark haired girl with kind eyes, and I wonder why it was I met Monika Bradley and not her when I was seventeen; and I weep at my bad luck again - how different might my life have been if I had met ‘Imogen’ and not ‘Monika’ - why I may even have had a normal life, with children and a happy wife who sang and baked and kissed me when I came in from work. What silly thoughts.. and then I suddenly feel a lightness and a sort of joy come over me. It reminds me a little of the joy of waking up in the morning at the weekend when I was a child and knowing there was unlimited time for play and friends. I am not sad anymore or thinking about what happened with Monika Bradley. I decide to go up to the bathroom and wash my face. I have to turn the light on in the bathroom because it is one of the rooms which faces out onto the sea and I have pulled the blind down. I dry my face and then hesitate for a moment before pulling the cord on the window blind and rolling it up slowly. The bright clean coastal light floods the little bathroom; and then I see it for the first time in years – the sea below. I take a deep breath and feel a frisson of pleasure. I look at the deep azure tint of the waters, the rolling breakers and the foam. I look up at the vast trance of sky above and then down at the people on the beach. Charlie and her friends are at the edge of the water just dipping their toes in and preparing to swim. I see Imogen, the dark haired girl patting an old stray dog. The blonde boy is already in the water, expertly crawling out to the depths. I look at this view for several minutes without fear or sickness and am surprised. I make a decision. I go into my room and put on my shorts. I go around the house and draw all the curtains and blinds; then I walk up the path which leads to the beach. As I come over the dune Charlie looks around at me. She looks shocked. I

smile and wave. She waves slowly back like a zombie, still surprised. I take off my Tshirt and start to run down to the water. It has been years since I dived in and felt the rush of foam and pull of the tide. The dog starts barking and following me and I see Imogen smiling. I get to the edge and plough in; the water is slightly chill but as fresh as a glass of champagne on a hot summer’s evening. I hear Charlie say something like “Robert, my gad.” And then I am under the waves and free, swimming, swimming and swimming and they are cheering, cheering, cheering.