The Watermark (Part 3 of 3)

The Watermark (Part 3 of 3)

The next day Thomas took the bus to the nudest beach. Someone at the school had written the name: Porto de Mos on a piece of paper, to show the driver when he paid. He sat in the nearest seat to the driver, so he could be easily signalled where to get off. He had a small rucksack with him, in which, along with his bathing stuff, he had a bottle of white wine, and a small package of raggy looking grass he'd bought from Casey in Lost Nights.
The bus ride was along the very dynamic coastal road west. To his left was always a frightening drop of the high cliffs, and sometimes a small cove and a beach. To his right only steep hilly, dry, red, sun-burnt fields, with the occasionally villa, or hotel.
There seemed to be a diamond sparkle to the day. Ever since the experience with Amanda on the beach his mind had been occupied by her. He wanted so much to make a closer connection to her.
But in that little whisper corner of his mind, he was also thinking about Carl. He hadn't seen him since their disagreement yesterday. And he regretted what he had said to him. After all they had been best friends for so long – blood friend, Carl had once called him. But, he felt sure Carl was wrong about Amanda.
As for the criticism of his writing, he thought Carl was right. He had read his chapters again after reading the notes Carl had written for him – and the good comments and bad ones all made sense. And he wanted to tell Carl this, and that he was determined to work on it all again.
But there was also the news that Carl would soon be leaving for London – when he thought about it, something delicate and lonely welled up in him – had he lost his only real friend? He felt a hollow sob in his chest. And Amanda, too, had said she wanted to leave. Which meant he would be friendless here in Lagos. He had the feeling his life was being pushed into a dark stairwell.
The bus ride took only about ten minutes. Where the driver told him to get off, there was no sign designating a bus stop, nor the name of the place. But he saw a little cove and the beach below.
This was the place. Amanda, had been right; there were very few people: maybe twenty naked bodies lying on the beach taking the sun, or strolling along the water's edge.
Thomas scanned them: and there she was! Lying on her front, exposing her slightly lighter tanned buttocks to the burning glare of the sun. He thought to shout to her, then changed his mind, thinking it would be cooler just to appear before her. He noticed there was another towel laid out next to her. 'She was expecting him!' So, it was correct what he had said to Carl: she did like him!
He hurried along the cliff looking for a way to get down. He came to a place where a thick rope – attached at one end to a strong metal ring, set in concrete in the ground – continued over the cliff edge. The rope then threaded three or four dangling, metre and half long, sharp metal rods like large sewing needles. It was obvious that these rods, at one time, had served as a rail, but being so flimsy had been dislodged from the cliff. So they served no purpose, which left only the rope!
The cliff must have been about fifty feet high. Thomas looked at the forty-five degree slope that went down about ten metres, then there was a large bulge, which the rope disappeared over. Was it a sheer drop after that?
He walked to the left and right of the rope, but couldn't get a view over the bulge. He walked further along the cliff hoping to find a better way down, but the cove soon came to an end. He walked fearfully back to the rope. He couldn't believe it. Was this a trick on the nudists – of whom they; the Portuguese, disapproved of – or a Portuguese compromise? To provide a place for nudists stuck out in the middle of nowhere (out of sight), and make it an obstacle course to get there – no wonder there were so few people here!
Thomas stood looking down the cliff terrified, then over to where Amanda was now laying on her back with her wonderfully shaped, proud standing breasts, and a dark thin line of pubic-hair exposed to both him and the sun! A battle between terror and lust began within him. Should he just go back to Lagos...? It wouldn't take long to walk..... He could just tell Amanda that he was unable to make it – some excuse...
But it didn't take longer than a couple of minutes for lust to win-out! – as it always does with young men with a lot of testosterone pumping through their systems!
Thomas reasoned that Amanda, and those other people all got down in one piece...! So reluctantly, and mumbling oaths and blasting Christ, he took the rope tightly in hand, and began backing down over the edge, and then down the acute slope....
He noticed a series of footholds had been cut into the side of the cliff, which he could use. Slowly, shaking – ignoring the dangling rods – he reached the bulge, he could now see over it to where, it did indeed, become an almost sheer drop of about three metres, before the forty-five degree slope continued down.
He began edging his way over it, trying to keep his body – as near as possible, at a balanced angle to the cliff. Then suddenly both his feet slipped, which caused his hands to begin to slide down the rope. His reflexes made him grip the rope tighter, which managed to stop the sliding, and a fall. He crashed painfully against the cliff! But hung on for dear life! The rope-burn to his hands was excruciating.
With a blistering racing heart, and his raw hands he gingerly managed to lower himself down the rope to the next slope, then finally down to the beach.
Falling to his knees, he struggled out of his rucksack, and rolled onto his back exhausted, sweating and panting!
The next thing he did, which is always the case in these circumstances, was to look around to see if anyone had been watching his undignified decent. Luckily it seemed no one had.
He sat in the shade of the cliff inspecting his chaffed raw hands, and eyeing Amanda, who was now only around fifty metres away.
When he had recovered a little, he picked up his rucksack and strolled over to her, trying to look as casual as possible, although his hands were afire, and he was still shaken, and sweating. His only worry now was about getting naked in front of her! He had put his swimming trunks on under his shorts, because he didn't want her to see him in white y-fronts – 'uncool!'
Amanda was lying on her front again, head in a thick paperback, wearing nothing but her wrap-around shades. He stopped a few paces to her right and said, 'Hi!' Her head turned towards him, but said nothing, for a moment – she didn't seem to recognize him. She took off the shades and said 'Oh hi!' She half turned her body, propping herself up on her arm, exposing her truly amazing breasts to his stare. They seemed to have a life of their own!
'You came!' she said.
'Yeah,' he said looking away, 'the cliff was a bit of a surprise....'
'Mmm, you have to be a bit of a mountain goat, don't you!' she smiled. 'But, you found it, alright?'
'Yeah, it's not very far. Have you been here long?'
'No, about an hour or so.'
Thomas wanted to lay down on that towel at her side, but felt too self conscious to ask or just do it. He wanted her to invite him, but she didn't!
He put down his rucksack, and took out his own towel and spread it about a foot or so from hers. He took off his shirt, and slipped off his sandals, then slowly took off his denim cut-down shorts. He sat down on his towel about to take off his trunks, when a large shadow fell on him! He looked up to see a very large! No! a giant naked man standing over him! Thomas gave a little jump. The guy had massive muscles, and looked like the Hulk. Not green, but dark-brown from a heavy tan. His face was large with wooden-like features, like one of those American-tobacco-store Indians, and his sheer bulk and bearing reminded him of a ships figurehead!
'Hi!' The Hulk said, then, 'Bom dia!'
Amanda introduced them. She said his name, but Thomas didn't even try to remember it; it didn't register, he was too taken-aback by this presence.
'He doesn't speak English,' she said.
The Hulk smiled at Thomas, then sat down on that towel on the other side of Amanda, and began stroking her shoulders.
'Jesus!' Thomas thought. He was completely gutted! He felt the blood rising to his face. It burned like his sore hands!
Amanda, spoke in Portuguese with the Hulk, while glancing around at Thomas, who sat looking like a very peeved gargolean hare. She was obviously explaining to the Hulk Thomas' sudden, and it seemed, unexpected appearance!
He felt as if he had been pole-axed! He felt ridiculous, like some worthless discarded toy. He didn't want to be there. He got up, and said he was going down to the water to freshen up. His emotions came soaring up to the surface, his eyes filled with tears. 'You bloody fool!'
He drifted slowly down to the water's edge, it was as if he were walking through the very wreckage, of what earlier had been images of his burning desire for this woman!
'Why,? Why? Why?' He halted mechanically. Stood dazed before the large ferocious waves as they crashed nosily onto the beach, echoing the blood thundering in his ears, brought on by the waves of his turmoil and despair now dashing against his slowly crumbling stunned consciousness.
He bent and bathed his stinging hands in the salt water, then cupped them to his tear-wet face – salt to salt!
What he did next, and why, he would later reflect on, and be unable to work out! Was it the anger, the humiliation, or just the desire to disappear from sight as he looked around and realized people were staring at the only person on the beach who wasn't naked?
He felt something twist inside his straining brain, it suddenly snapped like a metal ribbon with the vibrations that follow – vibrations like a tuning fork that ran the length of his torso and out along his limbs!
He wasn't a strong swimmer (not seaworthy), and the height of those bloody waves would normally have scared the hell out of him. He remembered he heard the cry of a gull like a siren, just before he ran for the surf. He dived over the top of a metre and a half breaking wave, and disappeared into its curl! It whirled him like a dead fish in a washing-machine, scraping his back along the rough stony bottom. He struggled hopelessly against its strong, sweeping undertow. The stiff powerful curl held him, as the procedure was repeated again and again. The light was strange and glassy as it swirled him around as in a bottle!
Then there was a lull, as between two breaths, a slow rocking motion, and his mind suddenly clicked into survival mode, and he began fighting upward towards the source of the light to find the surface.
He managed to break the surface with a desperate gasp, but was swept forward and taken up by next wave. And he saw, to his dismay, he was now about fifty meters from the shore, and yet another next great wave loomed up behind him.
It hit him, but he managed to keep his prone position. And ride it. He felt its great push, as it covered him, but was quickly followed by an even greater drag! He pressed and kicked with all his strength against it... Alas, when he surfaced, he saw he had made little gain. The next wave also ploughed him forward, then sucked him back like a coke. His limbs felt numb – the kick of his legs pathetically ineffective.
The following wave like a moving ridge swamped him, and again turned him head over heels! He felt his remaining energy and will give out; he couldn't fight – he had nothing left! He thought he was about to die. He saw the sharp face of death! The thought took away all sound and breath, and he took water into his aching lungs.
Then suddenly, something griped him around the chest – something stronger than the undertow! Up he went to the surface. He spluttered and coughed and took air. He realized the force was human, he saw black hair, pulling him. Then there was a face talking to him. What was it saying? He couldn't understand, but he clung with his last strength to the shape that held him!
He was coughing and sucking air, his senses were beginning to return. The face…he knew...yes....It was the large face of the Hulk. In a few moments he was being carried like a wet rag-doll out of the surf and onto the beach in the large powerful arms of the Hulk.
Ironically, like a large fish out of water, Thomas lay prone coughing, and fighting for breath on the beach, with the Hulk kneeing over him talking in Portuguese, and gently pressing his back to help him breath. Amanda, and a crowd of on-lookers were standing over him. Her eyes glared at him like brown crystals – her face disgusted, as if he were a damp patch on one of her pictures. She shouted hysterically! 'Why did you do that, you idiot, didn't you see the red flag?' Her tongue was a little red flame in her mouth.
After about twenty minutes his breathing had normalised, and Thomas had recovered enough to thank the Hulk, and apologize to Amanda for giving her such a scare. He felt so tired, he made his way over to the dark honey-shade of the cliff, and fell into a strange jelly sleep.
When he awoke he felt alien, and not at all himself.... he went over to where Amanda and the Hulk were laying. The Hulk, through Amanda, offered Thomas a ride home in his car, which Thomas declined, saying he wanted to walk to clear his mind. Then he thanked the Hulk again, and to Amanda's obvious disgusted – she speaking only his name, curtly and coldly – he took out his wallet and offered him some money.... Which produced, from the Hulk, only a grimace, a tut, and a look to the heavens! In the end it was settled with a handshake and a simple goodbye.
Thomas looked again at the sea's hungry tongue still licking at the shore! He knew he would now always be afraid of the sea!
He began climbing the cliff, which he was surprised and relieved to find, was much easier going up than it had been coming down!
Upon reaching the top he set-off back to town; he needed to think, and his mind was like an electrified spider's web connected to his tortured nerves. He lit a cigarette that made him cough. His lungs ached and seemed too big for his chest. He could feel every part of his body moving separately as if it had been taken apart, then badly put together again. And his ears hissed like a snake-pit.
He'd had a near death experience, and now a pale vision of that death fractured his being. He pictured his white, lifeless body lying down there on the beach. A picture of absence! His mind was still weighted by the fear of his compulsive actions, that had come from a dark-side, which he hadn't seen in himself before!
'I just can't understand why I did that!.... Such an idiot!' he spoke out load.
To drown so – the utter panic – the senselessness – his come-to-naught-life and death! He imagined the sad face of his mother getting the news! It was horrible! His skin felt uncomfortably too tight for his body. He thought how burlesque in death he would have been! A clown making a theatrical exit! And after all, he had jumped; he wasn't pushed.
How the day had started with so much wonderful temperament. And how a few hours later it hung like callus metal to his flesh. But he was alive, and so grateful not to be buried in the deep bosom of the sea.
Being still alive seemed to put all life's problems into a new perspective.... life has no security – when one can simply in the next moment act in such a reckless, mindless manner – go bananas! He had surely experienced his own naked spirit – felt it down there! But by sheer luck he had cheated the jaws of the sea, and he would get another throw of the dice.
And he just couldn't comprehend how, and why he had walked so blindly into the situation with Amanda?
'How can I face her again?'
He had somehow let himself be blinded by obsessive desire. It was as if he had been hypnotized. And Carl had tried to warn him!
Yes, sure she had led him on.... Didn't she? 'But still.... my whole life has been a kind of sleepwalking.... with Julie.... I was like one of those nodding dogs – obeying!' His words were metallic tasting in his mouth.
And Julie had left him like a fly strung up in a web – a spider's dinner! She had tied up all the loose ends before she left!
But he knew he and Julie had never had anything in common! Not at all! And it occurred to him, Julie wasn't his loss – his hurt pride was his loss – his dignity. Julie was just a symbol of that loss. She had not loved him and he had not loved her. Many was the time he had wanted to shout 'No! No Julie!, No!' But he had been too weak, and she had always been stronger, and always the organiser. It pleased him now to think that Carl had metaphorically spit in her face! Carl had seen through her....
But what had happened to him over all those years? How bottled his life had become; hackneyed by sameness – desensitized to the richness everything around him. A long list loomed up before him – a list of the undone, the left-out, passed-over, missed, dismissed, unnoticed, unrealized, over-looked, the many unuttered possibilities of being alive – the myriad details of a life... He had lived as though the entire world was in one place – even losing the pleasure of his beloved books, and writing!
Thomas thought about the time his dad had died.... For that ten year old boy it was if a door had closed on him... As if a part of his life had just fallen away. He felt there must be something that lay in this... had this made him timid?
He stopped walking a moment to collect his thoughts, to try to remember. Nothing came, the tracks of his memory disappeared into the mist of the past. If it hadn't been clear then, why should it be now?
And when he came out here, what had he expected? To live the life of a Lotus Eater; to just forget everything? What is it he wanted, what had he been doing, where had he been heading? He'd only been drifting – following in Carl's wake. He had been eating himself slowly since he got here. If it was for adventure he'd come looking .... well, he had got the full thrill-menace of an adventure.... but it was far more than he'd expected!
And there had been nothing back home... Nothing he wanted – no life there – no direction! He had only been marking time! Denying life! 'A jumbled man in life's loop!' He suddenly felt like a stranger to himself... Only his name familiar.
He walked on, his mind turning over, his thoughts jarring against the hard stone of logic. Then a little awakening voice spoke to him, and it came to him all at once with an electric-bite! He froze like a machine!
Carl and Amanda....'yes!' of course, they were, in fact, an item!
'Yes....! Yes ….!' he knew it! And he knew it in his bones..... 'Sure! Maybe it was a kind of loose or open relationship... two artists... ''She's a free agent!'' – And Carl thought I would complicate things for him! And that's why she'd took a sudden interest in me... Carl's oldest friend... and now, they are both planning to go to London… was that it? Why hadn't he got that sooner?'
He thought of them as a couple. Yes, they were well suited... He knew he had never been for her... He felt again a sudden crush of his feelings. A hard wail sprang from his chest! Tears welled up again in his eyes and he sobbed loudly!
He walked on, wiping away the tears with his still fiery hands, trying to control himself.
'But now! 'What now? Back to England like a whipped-dog?'
He imagined being back in England, living with his mother again, and Sally Owing, the girl from the library with her knowing remarks...
'But I just can't stay...!' He imagined what it would be like when the story got out here. Imagined the endless ragging, the sallies of non-stop wit from Greg and Kent! And he must, as yet, still face Carl!
'No, I can't stay... Humiliating!'
'I'll give notice to the school today – make some excuse-- maybe something with mother.... write Carl a letter, take the next plane home.'
This decided, he dried his eyes on his t-shirt.
'But why go home!' it suddenly occurred to him. 'I have my redundancy money.... I could go where I want.... Rome!.... or even Paris; not too hot there! He needed a chance to make a new start, and see with a new perceptive. He was resolved to try.
It suddenly occurred to him that all this; the all strange baffling trip, the people, everything, could be a story! And for the first time, he could really feel how life and stories were linked. Sure, he had always known all this, but there was knowing and knowing!
Life is a story – and a writer just adds and mixes, and enquires. And it always has a meaning beneath it, and he suddenly knew he would be able to figure it all out... Yes, he could write it... And he knew just how it must be written. He could imagine it. He saw it waiting for his simple reach...
Coming so close to his own death had suddenly opened his eyes – made him understand just how precious life is... He would never forget! If there is such a thing in life as duty, it is to live; not just to exist as he had been doing – but to accept life as a challenge, and to embed oneself in the full richness of its possibility. He had been living a linear life, and now he wanted a parallel one... The life-bell was now ringing loud and clear in his head!
He stopped again to think, and looked out, with an over-the-rainbow-stare at the full-fire-sun-licked sea!
That's what he should do, he suddenly thought. Go to Paris and write his story! Fiery images now filled his brain, and an urgency seized his sinews! He now had an egg in him -- a surprise he could not predict, but he could imagine its content! And at that moment he also realized it would be his first real piece of writing, and his unfinished book would remain just that – it was dead! He thought about all the stories his father, and later his mother, over the years, had told him about his father's war, and he was now convinced it wasn't his story to tell. The writing had no colour – Carl had been right. Writing had to be about real things for the writer, even if the plots were imagined.
He walked on.... Lagos now came into view!

The next day Thomas took the bus to the nudest beach. Someone at the school had written the name: Porto de Mos on a piece of paper, to show the driver when he paid. He sat in the nearest seat to the driver, so he could be easily signalled where to get off. He had a small rucksack with him, in which, along with his bathing stuff, he had a bottle of white wine, and a small package of raggy looking grass he'd bought from Casey in Lost Nights.
The bus ride was along the very dynamic coastal road west. To his left was always a frightening drop of the high cliffs, and sometimes a small cove and a beach. To his right only steep hilly, dry, red, sun-burnt fields, with the occasionally villa, or hotel.
There seemed to be a diamond sparkle to the day. Ever since the experience with Amanda on the beach his mind had been occupied by her. He wanted so much to make a closer connection to her.
But in that little whisper corner of his mind, he was also thinking about Carl. He hadn't seen him since their disagreement yesterday. And he regretted what he had said to him. After all they had been best friends for so long – blood friend, Carl had once called him. But, he felt sure Carl was wrong about Amanda.
As for the criticism of his writing, he thought Carl was right. He had read his chapters again after reading the notes Carl had written for him – and the good comments and bad ones all made sense. And he wanted to tell Carl this, and that he was determined to work on it all again.
But there was also the news that Carl would soon be leaving for London – when he thought about it, something delicate and lonely welled up in him – had he lost his only real friend? He felt a hollow sob in his chest. And Amanda, too, had said she wanted to leave. Which meant he would be friendless here in Lagos. He had the feeling his life was being pushed into a dark stairwell.
The bus ride took only about ten minutes. Where the driver told him to get off, there was no sign designating a bus stop, nor the name of the place. But he saw a little cove and the beach below.
This was the place. Amanda, had been right; there were very few people: maybe twenty naked bodies lying on the beach taking the sun, or strolling along the water's edge.
Thomas scanned them: and there she was! Lying on her front, exposing her slightly lighter tanned buttocks to the burning glare of the sun. He thought to shout to her, then changed his mind, thinking it would be cooler just to appear before her. He noticed there was another towel laid out next to her. 'She was expecting him!' So, it was correct what he had said to Carl: she did like him!
He hurried along the cliff looking for a way to get down. He came to a place where a thick rope – attached at one end to a strong metal ring, set in concrete in the ground – continued over the cliff edge. The rope then threaded three or four dangling, metre and half long, sharp metal rods like large sewing needles. It was obvious that these rods, at one time, had served as a rail, but being so flimsy had been dislodged from the cliff. So they served no purpose, which left only the rope!
The cliff must have been about fifty feet high. Thomas looked at the forty-five degree slope that went down about ten metres, then there was a large bulge, which the rope disappeared over. Was it a sheer drop after that?
He walked to the left and right of the rope, but couldn't get a view over the bulge. He walked further along the cliff hoping to find a better way down, but the cove soon came to an end. He walked fearfully back to the rope. He couldn't believe it. Was this a trick on the nudists – of whom they; the Portuguese, disapproved of – or a Portuguese compromise? To provide a place for nudists stuck out in the middle of nowhere (out of sight), and make it an obstacle course to get there – no wonder there were so few people here!
Thomas stood looking down the cliff terrified, then over to where Amanda was now laying on her back with her wonderfully shaped, proud standing breasts, and a dark thin line of pubic-hair exposed to both him and the sun! A battle between terror and lust began within him. Should he just go back to Lagos...? It wouldn't take long to walk..... He could just tell Amanda that he was unable to make it – some excuse...
But it didn't take longer than a couple of minutes for lust to win-out! – as it always does with young men with a lot of testosterone pumping through their systems!
Thomas reasoned that Amanda, and those other people all got down in one piece...! So reluctantly, and mumbling oaths and blasting Christ, he took the rope tightly in hand, and began backing down over the edge, and then down the acute slope....
He noticed a series of footholds had been cut into the side of the cliff, which he could use. Slowly, shaking – ignoring the dangling rods – he reached the bulge, he could now see over it to where, it did indeed, become an almost sheer drop of about three metres, before the forty-five degree slope continued down.
He began edging his way over it, trying to keep his body – as near as possible, at a balanced angle to the cliff. Then suddenly both his feet slipped, which caused his hands to begin to slide down the rope. His reflexes made him grip the rope tighter, which managed to stop the sliding, and a fall. He crashed painfully against the cliff! But hung on for dear life! The rope-burn to his hands was excruciating.
With a blistering racing heart, and his raw hands he gingerly managed to lower himself down the rope to the next slope, then finally down to the beach.
Falling to his knees, he struggled out of his rucksack, and rolled onto his back exhausted, sweating and panting!
The next thing he did, which is always the case in these circumstances, was to look around to see if anyone had been watching his undignified decent. Luckily it seemed no one had.
He sat in the shade of the cliff inspecting his chaffed raw hands, and eyeing Amanda, who was now only around fifty metres away.
When he had recovered a little, he picked up his rucksack and strolled over to her, trying to look as casual as possible, although his hands were afire, and he was still shaken, and sweating. His only worry now was about getting naked in front of her! He had put his swimming trunks on under his shorts, because he didn't want her to see him in white y-fronts – 'uncool!'
Amanda was lying on her front again, head in a thick paperback, wearing nothing but her wrap-around shades. He stopped a few paces to her right and said 'Hi!' Her head turned towards him, but said nothing, for a moment – she didn't seem to recognize him. She took off the shades and said 'Oh hi!' She half turned her body, propping herself up on her arm, exposing her truly amazing breasts to his stare. They seemed to have a life of their own!
'You came!' she said.
'Yeah,' he said looking away, 'the cliff was a bit of a surprise....'
'Mmm, you have to be a bit of a mountain goat, don't you!' she smiled. 'But, you found it, alright?'
'Yeah, it's not very far. Have you been here long?'
'No, about an hour or so.'
Thomas wanted to lay down on that towel at her side, but felt too self conscious to ask or just do it. He wanted her to invite him, but she didn't!
He put down his rucksack, and took out his own towel and spread it about a foot or so from hers. He took off his shirt, and slipped off his sandals, then slowly took off his denim cut-down shorts. He sat down on his towel about to take off his trunks, when a large shadow fell on him! He looked up to see a very large! No! a giant naked man standing over him! Thomas gave a little jump. The guy had massive muscles, and looked like the Hulk. Not green, but dark-brown from a heavy tan. His face was large with wooden-like features, like one of those American-tobacco-store Indians, and his sheer bulk and bearing reminded him of a ships figurehead!
'Hi!' The Hulk said, then, 'Bom dia!'
Amanda introduced them. She said his name, but Thomas didn't even try to remember it; it didn't register, he was too taken-aback by this presence.
'He doesn't speak English,' she said.
The Hulk smiled at Thomas, then sat down on that towel on the other side of Amanda, and began stroking her shoulders.
'Jesus!' Thomas thought. He was completely gutted! He felt the blood rising to his face. It burned like his sore hands!
Amanda, spoke in Portuguese with the Hulk, while glancing around at Thomas, who sat looking like a very peeved gargolean hare. She was obviously explaining to the Hulk Thomas' sudden, and it seemed, unexpected appearance!
He felt as if he had been pole-axed! He felt ridiculous, like some worthless discarded toy. He didn't want to be there. He got up, still in his trunks, and said he was going down to the water to freshen up. His emotions came soaring up to the surface, his eyes filled with tears. 'You bloody fool!'
He drifted slowly down to the water's edge, it was as if he were walking through the very wreckage, of what earlier had been images of his burning desire for this woman!
'Why,? Why? Why?' He halted mechanically. Stood dazed before the large ferocious waves as they crashed nosily onto the beach. Echoing the blood thundering in his ears, brought on by the waves of his turmoil and despair dashing against his slowly crumbling stunned consciousness.
He bent and bathed his stinging hands in the salt water, then cupped them to his tear-wet face – salt to salt!
What he did next, and why, he would later reflect on, and be unable to work out! Was it the anger, the humiliation, or just the desire to disappear from sight as he looked around and realized people were staring at the only person on the beach who wasn't naked?
He felt something twist inside his straining brain, it suddenly snapped like a metal ribbon with the vibrations that follow – vibrations like a tuning fork that ran the length of his torso and out along his limbs!
He wasn't a strong swimmer (not seaworthy), and the height of those bloody waves would normally have scared the hell out of him. He remembered he heard the cry of a gull like a siren, just before he ran for the surf. He dived over the top of a metre and a half breaking wave, and disappeared into its curl! It whirled him like a dead fish in a washing-machine, scraping his back along the rough stony bottom. He was unable to struggle against its strong, sweeping undertow. The stiff powerful curl held him, as the procedure was repeated again and again. The light was strange and glassy as it swirled him around as if in a bottle!
Then there was a lull, as between two breaths, a slow rocking motion, and his mind suddenly clicked into survival mode, and he began fighting upward towards the source of the light to find the surface.
He managed to brake the surface with a desperate gasp as he was swept forward and taken up by next wave. And he saw, to his dismay, he was now about fifty meters from the shore, and yet another next great wave loomed up behind him.
It hit him, but he managed to keep his prone position. And ride it. He felt its great push, as it covered him, but was quickly followed by an even greater drag! He pressed and kicked with all his strength against it.... Alas, when he surfaced, he saw he had made little gain. The next wave also ploughed him forward, then sucked him back like a coke. His limbs felt numb – the kick of his legs pathetically ineffective.
The following wave like a moving ridge swamped him, and again turning him head over heels! He felt his remaining energy and will, give out; he couldn't fight – he had nothing left! He thought he was about to die; he saw the sharp face of death! The thought took away all sound and breath, and he took water into his aching lungs.
Then suddenly, something griped him around the chest – something stronger than the undertow! Up he went to the surface. He spluttered and coughed and took air. He realized the force was human, he saw black hair, pulling him. Then there was a face talking to him. What was it saying? He couldn't understand, but he clung with his last strength to the shape that held him!
He was coughing and sucking air, his senses were beginning to return. The face…he knew...yes....It was the large face of the Hulk. In a few moments he was being carried like a wet rag-doll out of the surf and onto the beach in the large powerful arms of the Hulk.
Ironically, like a large fish out of water, Thomas lay prone coughing, and fighting for breath on the beach, with the Hulk kneeing over him talking in Portuguese, and gently pressing his back to help him breath. Amanda, and a crowd of on-lookers were standing over him. Her eyes glared at him like brown crystals – her face disgusted, as if he were a damp patch on one of her pictures. She shouted hysterically! 'Why did you do that, you idiot, didn't you see the red flag?' Her tongue was a little red flame in her mouth.
After about twenty minutes his breathing had normalised, and Thomas had recovered enough to thank the Hulk, and apologize to Amanda for giving her such a scare. He felt so tired, he made his way over to the dark honey-shade of the cliff, and fell into a strange jelly sleep.
When he awoke he felt alien, and not at all himself.... he went over to where Amanda and the Hulk were laying. The Hulk, through Amanda, offered Thomas a ride home in his car, which Thomas declined, saying he wanted to walk to clear his mind. Then he thanked the Hulk again, and to Amanda's obvious disgusted – she speaking only his name, curtly and coldly – he took out his wallet and offered him some money.... Which produced, from the Hulk, only a grimace, a tut, and a look to the heavens! In the end it was settled with a handshake and a simple goodbye.
Thomas looked again at the sea's hungry tongue still licking at the shore! He knew he would now always be afraid of the sea!
He began climbing the cliff, which he was surprised and relieved to find, was much easier going up than it had been coming down!
Upon reaching the top he set-off back to town; he needed to think, and his mind was like an electrified spider's web connected to his tortured nerves. He lit a cigarette that made him cough. His lungs ached and seemed too big for his chest. He could feel every part of his body moving separately as if it had been taken apart, then badly put together again. And his ears hissed like a snake-pit.
He'd had a near death experience, and now a pale vision of death fractured his being. He pictured his white, lifeless body lying down there on the beach. A picture of absence! His mind was still weighted by the fear of his compulsive actions, that had come from a dark-side, which he hadn't seen in himself before!
'I just can't understand why I did that!.... Such an idiot!' he spoke out load.
To drown so – the utter panic – the senselessness – his come-to-naught-life and death! He imagined the sad face of his mother getting the news! It was horrible! His skin felt uncomfortably too tight for his body. He thought how burlesque in death he would have been! A clown making a theatrical exit! And after all, he had jumped; he wasn't pushed.
How the day had started with so much temperament! And how a few hours later it hung like callus metal to his flesh. But he was alive, and so grateful not to be buried in the deep bosom of the sea.
Being still alive seemed to put all life's problems into a new perspective.... life has no security – when one can simply in the next moment act in such a reckless, mindless manner – go bananas! He had surely experienced his own naked spirit – felt it down there! But by sheer luck he had cheated the jaws of the sea, and he would get another throw of the dice.
And he just couldn't comprehend how, and why he had walked so blindly into the situation with Amanda?
'How can I face her again?'
He had somehow let himself be blinded by obsessive desire. It was as if he had been hypnotized. And Carl had tried to warn him!
Yes, sure she had led him on.... Didn't she? 'But still.... my whole life has been a kind of sleepwalking.... with Julie.... I was like one of those nodding dogs – obeying!' His words were metallic tasting in his mouth.
And Julie had left him like a fly strung up in a web – a spider's dinner! She had tied up all the loose ends before she left!
But he knew he and Julie had never had anything in common! Not at all! And it occurred to him, Julie wasn't his loss – his hurt pride was his loss – his dignity. Julie was just a symbol of that loss. She had not loved him and he had not loved her. Many was the time he had wanted to shout 'No! No Julie!, No!' But he had been too weak, and she had always been stronger, and always the organiser. It pleased him now to think that Carl had metaphorically spit in her face! Carl had seen through her....
But what had happened to him over all those years? How bottled his life had become; hackneyed by sameness – desensitized to the richness all around him. A long list loomed up before him – a list of the undone, the left-out, passed-over, missed, dismissed, unnoticed, unrealized, over-looked, the many unuttered possibilities of being alive – the myriad details of a life! He had lived as though the entire world was in one place – even losing the pleasure of his beloved books, and writing!
Thomas thought about the time his dad had died.... For that ten year old boy it was if a door had closed on him! As if a part of his life had just fallen away. He felt there must be something that lay in this.... had this made him timid?
He stopped walking a moment to collect his thoughts.... to try to remember.... Nothing came, the tracks of his memory disappeared into the mist of the past. If it hadn't been clear then, why should it be now?
And when he came out here, what had he expected? To live the life of a Lotus Eater; to just forget everything? What is it he wanted, what had he been doing, where had he been heading? Had he only been drifting – following in Carl's wake? He had been eating himself slowly since he got here. If it was for adventure he'd come looking .... well, he had got the full thrill-menace of an adventure.... but it was far more than he'd expected!
And there had been nothing back home! Nothing he wanted – no life there – no direction! He had only been marking time! Denying life! 'A jumbled man in life's loop!' He suddenly felt like a stranger to himself! Only his name was familiar.
He walked on, his mind turning over, his thoughts jarring against the hard stone of logic. Then a little awakening voice spoke to him, and it came to him all at once with an electric-bite! He froze like a machine!
Carl and Amanda....'yes!' of course, they were, in fact, an item!
'Yes....! Yes ….!' he knew it! And he knew it in his bones..... 'Sure! Maybe it was a kind of loose or open relationship.... two artists.... ''She's a free agent!'' – And Carl thought I would complicate things for him! And that's why she'd took a sudden interest in me! -- Carl's oldest friend... and now, they are both planning to go to London… was that it? Why hadn't he got that sooner?'
He thought of them as a couple. They were well suited.... He knew he had never been for her.... He felt again a sudden crush of his feelings! A hard wail sprang from his chest! Tears welled up again in his eyes and he sobbed loudly!
He walked on, wiping the tears from his eyes with his still fiery hands, trying to control himself.
'But now! 'What now? Back to England like a whipped-dog?'
He imagined being back in England, living with his mother again, and Sally Owing, the girl from the library with her knowing remarks!
'But I just can't stay....!' He imagined what it would be like when the story got out here! Imagined the endless ragging, the sallies of non-stop wit from Greg and Kent! And he must, as yet, still face Carl!
'No, I can't stay... Humiliating!'
'I'll give notice to the school tomorrow – make some excuse-- maybe something with mother.... write Carl a letter, take the next plane home.'
This decided, he dried his eyes on his t-shirt.
'But why go home!' it suddenly occurred to him. 'I have my redundancy money.... I could go where I want.... Rome!.... or even Paris; not too hot there! He needed a chance to make a new start, and see with a new perception! He was resolved to try!
It suddenly occurred to him that all this; the all strange baffling trip, the people, everything, could be a story! And for the first time, he could really feel how life and stories were linked. Sure, he had always known all this, but there was knowing and knowing!
Life is a story – and a writer just adds and mixes, and enquires. And it always has a meaning beneath it, and he knew he would be able to figure it all out! Yes, he could write it! And he knew just how it must be written. He could imagine it. He saw it ready for his simple reach....
Coming so close to his own death had suddenly opened his eyes – made him understand just how precious life was! He would never forget! If there were such a thing in life as duty, it is to live; not just to exist – he had been doing just that – but to accept life as a challenge, and to embed oneself in the full richness of its possibility. He had been living a linear life, and now he wanted a parallel one! The life-bell was now ringing loud and clear in his head!
He stopped again to think, and looked out, with an over-the-rainbow-stare, at the full-fire-sun-licked sea!
That's what he should do, he suddenly thought. Go to Paris and write his story! Fiery images now filled his brain, and an urgency seized his sinews! He now had an egg in him -- a surprise he could not predict, but he could imagine its content! And at that moment he also realized it would be his first real piece of writing, and his unfinished book would remain just that – it was dead! He thought about all the stories his father, and later his mother, over the years, had told him about his father's war, and he was now convinced it wasn't his story to tell! The writing had no colour – Carl had been right! Writing had to be about real things to the writer, even if the plots were imagined.
He walked on.... Lagos now came into view.

Part one
http://www.abctales.com/story/chris-whitley/watermark-part-1-3

Part Two
http://www.abctales.com/story/chris-whitley/watermark-part-2-3