Shallow Breath

8

Jackson




It is five in the morning, barely light outside. Jackson is woken by someone walking in the corridor, ringing a handbell to get everybody up. His head is groggy – he has been kept awake most of the night by the noise of the engine as they travelled, a loud, chugging soundtrack to his mixed-up thoughts. Only as dawn was breaking had they stopped, leaving him dozing to the soothing slosh and gurgle of seawater against the boat.

He splashes cold water on his face and hurries upstairs to find that, impossibly, everyone has got there before him. The team are delving into platters of food – omelettes, vegetable rice, fruit and toast. The galley is the size of a toilet cubicle, and Jackson has no idea how they do it, but the food on this boat is amazing.

‘Ready?’ asks Ian.

‘Oh yeah,’ Jackson replies, wishing he could convey how grateful he is to be given this chance. Ian had begun involving Jackson in his research a couple of years ago, on his regular trips to Ningaloo, but Jackson had never believed he’d be handed an opportunity like this. However, since Ian had damaged his leg in a car accident, he couldn’t do much swimming, and Jackson had become his trusted assistant in the water.

There is a small briefing while they eat, although most of the drill was outlined to them last night. They need to be kitted up and ready to jump in as soon as the first shark is sighted. When the captain comes to say the spotter plane is on its way, everyone gets up, people grabbing food off the platters and cramming it into their mouths as they leave. Out on deck, the focus is on getting ready, pulling on wetsuits, wetting masks and gathering fins. Two of the researchers have chosen to dive so they can film underneath the shark, while the rest, including Jackson, are snorkelling. As he moves to the stern of the boat, he hears a few whooshes of air as scuba tanks are turned on.

They stand on the dive platform in a line, waiting for the signal. Jackson’s adrenaline is pumping. The captain begins to shout ‘Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay!’, and Jackson looks up to see him shooing them impatiently. Someone else shouts ‘Rapido, rapido!’ and, as soon as one goes, they all fall in turn like dominos, leaving one world and entering another.

Jackson is so psyched that he hardly registers the cold as he hits the water. He loves this moment, the thrill of coming face to face with a living monolith. For the first couple of days he is here to learn about the new satellite tagging and retrieval techniques, but later on in the week, as long as they keep finding whale sharks, he should get a chance to try them for himself. When the time comes, he wants to be ready. The boat is full of people with letters after their names, and, although they are all remarkably kind and helpful, Jackson still wants to prove he is worthy of his place.

Jumping in with a whale shark is not an exact science. The boat is moving, the animal is moving, and the first priority of a swimmer is to orientate themselves in relation to the whale shark and, if necessary, get swiftly out of the way. A whale shark can be slow to change its trajectory, and while collisions are almost unknown they are unlikely to be pleasant. But when Jackson sees the silhouette of this one, she is already beginning to glide away from them in the gloom. He swims quickly, finning hard to catch up, and draws level with her streamlined body, its unique markings charting unknown galaxies within constellations of vivid white spots and stripes. A squadron of pilot fish cruise in the slipstream beneath the shark, and the ever-present remoras are lined up under its chin, sucking on hard, hitching a ride while feeding on parasites. Jackson is in the perfect position to take an identification photo, but he has no camera. A scientist swims past him with a camera held out in front, and Jackson quickly moves away. He finds himself close to the whale shark’s head, sees her tiny eye swivel. She knows they are there but doesn’t divert from her course.

To Jackson’s disappointment, this one is already tagged, with a satellite transmitter designed to detach and pop up to the surface when it has finished retrieving data. Jackson hangs back a little as another researcher, armed with a spear to collect a skin biopsy, swims close to the shark and releases the instrument, which shoots into the polka-dot skin near its dorsal fin. It is designed to be a gentle nick, just enough to draw cells for vital research work, and the shark gives no indication of feeling anything, and keeps on gliding, pectoral fins as rigid as aeroplane wings, her tail waving with the grace of a dancer and the power of a submarine. She is gradually disappearing into the distant blue fog.

As soon as she is gone, the scientists return to the boat. The whole thing is over so quickly, and they have been so shallow, that the divers don’t need safety stops. Jackson unbuckles his fins, hands them over and pulls himself up onto the splash deck. People get busy checking cameras and equipment, and Ian comes across to him.

‘How was it?’

‘Awesome.’

They all sit on the rear deck as the engine roars and the boat picks up speed, until they have caught up with the whale shark again. They repeat the same process until they are satisfied, then the search begins for another shark they can sample.

By mid-afternoon they have called it a day. Three individual whale sharks have been found, and Jackson has witnessed two of them being tagged. The morning has been a resounding success. While the boat picks up speed, returning to Darwin Island to find a sheltered spot for the night, Jackson goes to his tiny room and falls asleep for a few hours, not waking until they ring the bell for dinner. Upstairs, he finds more platters of rice, meat, fish and fruit, and everyone eats heartily. The talk is loud and heavily scientific. There are five international researchers on the boat, two of whom are based part of the year in the Galapagos, and two local guides. One of the local men, Sebastian, gets out a picture showing three happy children with dark hair and dark skin, their arms around each other. ‘My loves,’ he says, kissing the photo. ‘Do you have any children?’ he asks Jackson.

‘No,’ he laughs. ‘I’m a free man.’

Sebastian shakes his head. ‘You should have some soon. They are the greatest thing. Do you have a woman?’

Jackson hesitates, and the man slaps his arm. ‘You do! Well, have some babies with her. Don’t wait too long!’ he says, spearing another forkful of food.

Jackson doesn’t know how to respond to that. He and Kate are light years away from those kinds of conversations. So he collects another plateful of food, and, as he begins to eat again, he finds himself unexpectedly thinking of Carla.

He barely thought of her any more. They had gone out together in high school and, for a little while, even though they had been so young, he had sometimes imagined that kind of future with her – not right away, obviously, but he could at least envisage it. And then she went on holiday with a group of friends to Bali, and everything changed. After an evening out, a few of them had gone on to the Sari Club, the others to bed. The bomb went off, and two of the revellers never came home.

Jackson had recently lost his own mother, and was busy trying to cope. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the extent of Carla’s grief. When she had ended their relationship, he had been so grateful. By the time he had got into his ute to head north he could hardly drive fast enough.

He still felt like a bit of a bastard. He hadn’t let her down, he told himself again and again. They were young. It wouldn’t have lasted. She was better off with someone who could understand what she had been through. And that’s where she had ended up – she had married Travis, one of his mates at school. They had two or three kids now, and when he saw her there didn’t seem to be any hard feelings. They had just taken different paths, that’s all, but not until Kate had he speculated whether the end of that relationship had left him with a reluctance to commit to another. He wasn’t any good at the emotionally heavy stuff. He was a man of action, not words, and women always wanted the words. It was exhausting, trying and failing to figure out the right ones. While Kate didn’t seem like that at all, they hadn’t known each other for long. It would come at some point, he was certain of it, and when it did he would probably let her down, just like Carla, by not knowing the right thing to say.

Sebastian sits next to him again, holding out a beer. Jackson takes it gratefully, tries not to swig it all down in one go.

‘Tomorrow,’ Sebastian says, ‘after we have finished research, if there is time, we will do a hammerhead dive. Then you’ll see another wonder of the Galapagos.’

Jackson cheers up immediately at the thought of it. Soon, they have half a dozen empty bottles beside them and are chatting like old friends. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson sees that Ian is glancing at him regularly while talking to the other researchers. He jumps up quickly and begins to clear the debris. Then he decides to check his email, telling himself he only wants to make sure that Desi is all right, but hoping there might be something from Kate.