The Music from the Sea by Jackie French

Author:Jackie French
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ligature Pty Limited
Published: 2021-11-09T09:55:26+00:00

Chapter 7

The Music From The Sea

Possum sat on the hard sand below the tide-mark of seaweed and shells and listened to the sea. Her skin felt hot and dry with salt. Behind her the clouds shone sunset-pink above the trees. Gulls still shrieked over the waves; froth still whispered over the sand; waves still roared out toward the ocean. But that was all the music they had heard.

They’d been walking along the beach for three days now. Each daylight they’d camped on the sand, trying to find a sheltered spot beneath a cliff or wedged between some rocks, to shade the tent during the worst of the day’s sun. It was hard to sleep with the beating sea so close. It sounded as though it was muttering to itself, or arguing, or simply singing with the wind. Even the sand below them seemed to pulse, like the heartbeat of a giant.

It was hard to get used to the sea. It was so broad after the narrow valley, so flat when you’d been between hills all your life. The air was fresh and wet and clear, not smelling of hot earth and gum trees, like at home. The noise of the sea was always with you, just like the sound of the treetops in the valley, but different. You could feel it vibrating through your feet, or through your back as you slept.

But it was fun. It was as though the waves always wanted to play, as though they beckoned you to chase their foam or crash into them as they crashed into you. It made you want to run with the wind and dance with the waves. Even the seagulls were funny, quarrelling over a dead fish at the edge of the foam.

A crab ran up to her. Possum wriggled her toes at it, and it ran off. She giggled. She ran her fingers through the cool wet sand and let it drip in long tentacles onto her knee.

Then she noticed something was different. Not the sea or the wind or the waves; they sounded the same. This was another noise—a steady beat from somewhere behind her. The beat stopped and a different sound began. It was like a bird wailing after dark; like the wind rushing through a gorge. It was a strange sound—eerie; it sent shivers up your back.

Possum leapt to her feet. Banksia’s music! They had found Banksia’s music! But where was the music coming from? Where was the island, the green island in the sea …?

There was a snigger behind her. The music stopped. Possum swung round. ‘Mopoke!’ she yelled.

Mopoke laughed. ‘Fooled you!’ He held up a giant shell. ‘I was blowing through this,’ he said. ‘I found it while I was searching for driftwood.’

‘You rat!’ yelled Possum. ‘Wombat turd, bandicoot brain, maggot face!’ She tried to grab the shell.

Mopoke danced away from her. ‘Fooled you, fooled you, fooled you,’ he chanted.

Possum lunged and caught him round the knees. They fell onto the wet sand, rolling over and over down the slope.

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