Frutti Di Mare
Cesare Belloni sucked the last piece of spaghetti off his outstretched fork with a theatrical flourish and leaning back in his chair he allowed himself a sigh of contentment. He had enjoyed his meal; it had been well prepared by his young wife. “Primo, primo, my little one. Very good,” he blew a kiss onto his fingers and propelled it into the air to show his appreciation. “I have taught you well, no? Now you cook like an Italian wife. I am just happy you don’t look like one.” He chuckled at his joke and shot out a stubby arm to pull her towards him. She had anticipated his movement and jerked her slim hips away from his grasp, escaping into the kitchen and leaving him with his gold bangles jangling in thin air. “Hey, you fucking come back ere, when I am talking you,” he growled and she slowly, but obediently returned to the table; making sure that she kept out of his reach. It had become a nightly ritual. She would cook him dinner, he would eat it and deliver his verdict. If he was pleased he would try to coerce her upstairs to make love to her; she couldn’t object, it was her duty as his wife. If he were displeased he would scold her and on occasions beat her. “Why you don’t give your husband a kiss huh?” He closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks and made a wet, fishy noise as he pursed his large fleshy lips. Again he tried to catch her between his forearms as she pecked him quickly on the forehead, but again she was too quick for him. Anger and frustration flared behind his small, bright eyes, but before he could act she skipped around the table and sat down opposite him. “We have a problem tomorrow, darling,” she said in English with only the faintest hint of a Thai accent. “Marco is sick and we need an Italian-speaking instructor to complete the written test for the Tardelli family’s open-water course.” “Fuck,” he grunted, “you will ava to do it.” “I cannot instruct in Italian.” It was true, although she could now speak his language quite well, she by no means fluent. He cursed himself silently for not sending her to school to learn Italian properly. “Well, you will ava to. I don’t want to go diving.” But he knew there was no alternative: his only other instructor was English and he did not think any of the other dive schools on Samui Island had any Italian instructors that he could borrow. Moreover the Tardellis were friends of his family in Italy and he had charged them twice the normal amount to complete the course; he did not want them talking to outsiders and finding out that he had cheated them. He stood up and began trying to think of a way around the problem. He padded through the small house, out into the garden and stumbled over a group of elderly Thai men. “Whatadafuk,” he blurted looking down to see his wife’s father and some of his friends sitting on a straw mat drinking whiskey. They moved out of his way and offered their glasses for him to drink from, intimating that he should sit down and join them. “Getadafuk out of my house you fucking freeloaders,” he roared. “Whatadafuk they doing here? Meow!” He yelled his wife’s name but she was already outside trying to calm the situation. He allowed her to drag him back into the house even though he was more than double her weight and as they entered the kitchen she tuned on him, her dark eyes full of tears. “Why you do like that huh? My father come all the way from Cambodia to see me. Why you make trouble for him in front of his friends?” Her slim body was shaking with anger and her hands were bunched into tiny fists. “Why you make me loose face like that? He very important man and you make like this to him.” She gulped for air as she searched for the words. “You humiliate him. I don’t care if you are my husband. I won’t protect you no more.” “Whatadafuk you talking about woman. Protect me. Protect me from what?” Although he was able to find the words to counter her, he was taken aback at the ferocity of her anger. “Your father? Pah! What is he huh? A worthless peasant, nobody, just like you.” He became more forceful as he steered the argument onto familiar ground. “A fucking bar girl that’s what you were when I met you. I have given you everything. A job, a home, money so shut your mouth or…” As his fury reached a crescendo he raised his hand to hit her, but it was frozen in mid-strike. It was caught in a vice like grip and he looked over his shoulder to face his assailant, but to his surprise nobody was there. Bewildered he looked to see Meow’s father squatting in the shadows of the doorway. He was holding a stick and seemed to be drawing patterns on the dusty floor. Eventually he stood up and looked directly at the giant Italian with sneering black eyes. He was a wizened old man, hardly five feet tall and his walnut brown face was as wrinkled as pile of dirty washing. He held Belloni’s gaze for what seemed like an eternity and then shouted something loudly in a strange clicking language before vanishing. “You see? You have big problem now,” Meow said, still breathing heavily. “You are finished this time and I don’t care?” She had her hands on her hips and was thrusting her face forwards. “I have a better man than you. I’m forget you easy and go marry him.” A vitriolic smile was playing across her lips and her eyes shone like black onyx. He realised that she had her father’s eyes and it was they - not the words - that took the fight out of him. “Jesus Christ,” moaned Belloni. “What the fuck you talking about? “You are crazy. You are all fucking crazy, I swear. What the fuck am I living with crazy fucking Thai people for?” He threw his big hammy hands into the air and was about to rise to her bait, when he thought better of it. “You people are driving me out of my mind,” he complained, tapping a stubby finger against the side of his head. “I’m gonna find Crispin and have a drink.” He shoved her roughly aside and bowled out. He would deal with her later, he thought, when she had calmed down. There was nothing new about her threatening to leave him. She will say anything to make me loose my temper, he thought. The only problem I’ve got, is that I’ve got to do some work tomorrow. *** Crispin was Prima Divers longest serving diving instructor and Belloni found him in the heart of Chaweng - the island’s well-developed tourist centre. He was sitting on his usual stool in the Cats Bar, nursing a glass of Thai whiskey. “Hey Crispin, how’s it going?” “Alright Cesar, yourself?” Belloni liked the way that all the English speakers called him Cesar; it made him feel important. It made him feel like Prima divers was a large important organisation and he was its leader. He sat down on a vacant stool, ordered a beer and looked around to see if any of his favourite girls were working, before he replied. “‘Oh man, not so good. I just had a big row with Meow.” “Oh really? She wants a divorce, huh?” “No, her father…” Belloni stopped and looked at the young Englishman. “What do you mean ‘she wants a divorce’? What the fuck do you know?” He watched Crispin’s mouth snap shut and shifted his meaty buttocks around on the small seat as he pointed his face towards the Englishman. He tried to look into his eyes, but overbalanced and toppled off his stool onto the floor. He shook his massive head; a wave of dizziness receded. “Gosh Cesar, what’s the matter?” “I dunno. I dunno.” He let Crispin reach a hand down to him and he picked himself up unsteadily. He placed both hands on the bar and took some deep breaths. He felt odd; he looked sideways at Crispin. “What were we talking about?” Crispin glanced at him nervously. “You said you had a fight with Meow.” “Yeah.” Belloni straightened up and loaded himself onto another stool. “Yeah. That’s right, but not Meow - her fucking father.” Crispin took a long gulp from his drink. “You should be careful what you say to him, Cesar. You know what they say about shamans?” “About what?” “Shamans, sorcerers. It is well known amongst the Thais that the Khmer – the Cambodians - are powerful magicians.” “Fuck off out of here.” “No, its true. They are especially adept at manipulating black magic. The Thais are petrified of them. Did you know that during the Vietnam War Thai mercenaries often refused to go into battle against the Khmer Rouge units fearing that their families would be cursed?” Crispin’s English public school accent had been exhausted by ten years of beach life but it still had an indignant quality that irritated the Italian, especially when he was trying to lecture him. “Shutadafuk up. You talk more shit than my wife.” “You are bloody lucky to have a girl like Meow.” Crispin said curtly. “Lucky? What the fucka do you know? And how come you are so interested in my wife huh? You the one that’s been fucking her, huh?” He leaned belligerently into to the gangling Crispin, forcing him to slide off his stool and take a few paces backwards. “I say Cesar, what has got into you…man.” Belloni looked at the ridiculously tall, skinny man in baggy cotton trousers, cowering in the corner of the bar and realised that he was being stupid. He had known Crispin for several years, he was laid back and unreliable, but honest and although he had attended some of the best educational establishments in England he was notoriously dim-witted. Belloni rubbed at a small spot on his forehead that had begun throbbing; he must’ve hit it when he fell off the stool. “Yeah. Right. Siddown.” He waved Crispin back onto his stool. “It’s just everything is getting on top of me lately; I should not take it out on you. You see how many problems I have? My wife won’t fuck me, business is down AND I gotta take the fucking Tardellis diving tomorrow. Whatsamatta with Marco?” “Marco’s sick man,” Crispin replied sourly. “As bloody usual. I don’t know why you like him so much. He never does any actual work.” He made a contemptuous, snorting sound. “Anyway you won’t have to do much. I’ll be on the boat too.” Belloni shook his head and a wave of depression unfolded itself on top of the layers of frustration and despair. It seemed like only yesterday that he had employed twenty instructors and Prima Divers had been the biggest school on Samui Island. He had been proud to say he was the managing director of Prima Divers. He had made a good living then, but the money had never been important for Belloni, he had only ever striven for Kudos – ‘face’, the Thais called it. He had once been a big man on the island and now he had been reduced to almost nothing. He was broke and his company was on the verge of bankruptcy. “What happened Crispin, huh, what where did it all go wrong?” he said softly. “Well I don’t know man. I suppose….” “Yeah what?” “…The drugs mostly…and the women…” “What the fuck you talking about?” “The women, they have always been my downfall, you see I just love Thai women…” “Not you, you fucking idiot. I was talking about me, us, Prima Divers.” He let out a long sigh and wondered what he had ever done to deserve to suffer such so much. *** The next morning Belloni woke up from a dream that a leopard shark had been nibbling away on the inside of his head. He lay still for a long time hoping that his hangover would cure itself before dragging himself out of bed; he was late. He hastily packed his dive bag, making sure that he did not forget his spear-gun and set off in his car to Bophut harbour. He liked Bophut: it was one of the few places on Samui that retained any semblance of Thailand. He sat down at the small café overlooking the pier and ordered some coffee. Several brightly coloured boats were lashed against the wooden jetty and a group of saffron clad monks were sitting under a tamarind tree chewing betel nut. An old man, wearing a straw conical hat, was talking to the monks. Belloni watched them for a few moments before he recognised the man as Meow’s father. “What the fuck is he doing here?” he said under his breath and winced as his head began to ache again. He shivered involuntarily and wished that he had treated the old man with more respect the previous evening. “I think I am going insane,” he muttered. “Everything is making me paranoid lately.” When the Prima Divers boat came into view he felt a surge of satisfaction. It was a large modern vessel and probably the only tangible evidence that the company had ever been worth anything. “Look at her,” he said to himself. “Still the most beautiful lady on this island.” He waited until the Thai crew unloaded the used air tanks and carried the full ones back on board before swaggering over to the pier, his gold bracelets shining in the mid day sun. “Ciao, ciao everyone, beautiful day huh?” He greeted the Tardelli family and conversed with them briefly before trundling around to the wheelhouse to talk to the crew. “Bueno, bueno boys, great job, now we go huh?” he waved at his clients and shouted: “It’s OK, I control everything now, we will go to the best dive site in the entire Gulf of Thailand.” Returning his attention to the crew he muttered: “OK, we do not go too far huh, we do not want to use to much gasoline, huh?” He turned and gave Mr. Tardelli a wink, sticking a fat thumb in the air. As everyone smiled back at him he slipped into the bunk behind the wheelhouse for a lie down. He was woken by the clipped voice of Crispin: “Come on Cesar, we are all waiting for you.” “You go ahead. I only need to do the written test, you carry on Crispin, don’t mind me.” Belloni waited until they had all entered the water before dragging himself out of the bunk. He quickly unpacked his bag and wriggled into his wetsuit. It took him a few minutes to squeeze into the black lycra, but once he had got it on he puffed his chest out and sucked in a breath of air. I should do this more often, he thought and waddled down to the rear of the boat. He carefully selected a full tank, making sure that the o-rings were all airtight, strapped on his tech-black Mares buoyancy vest and connected his regulator to the valve. Finally he pulled his mask over his head and stepped into his fins. He mentally and physically checked his equipment and when he was satisfied picked up his spear-gun and rolled backwards into the ocean. As he tumbled into the water he felt a familiar, but almost forgotten, rush of excitement. This is why I live here, he thought, not for the women or the weather, but to be free to enjoy the ocean. He deflated his jacket and began to descend towards the reef below him, leaving his anger floating on the surface. He propelled himself forwards with powerful kicks, making sure that he was well away from the other divers, spiralling downwards without even noticing the colourful formations that made up the coral reef. Instead his small, beady eyes flitted around the inside of the mask, scanning the waters for something worth killing. He ignored a shoal of yellow angelfish and perched himself on a large sea fan. A flurry of activity caught his eye and he turned to see a large spotted leopard shark lying on the ocean floor. That will do, he thought. He inserted a steel barb into the gun and was just about to fire at the docile creature when an amazing thing happened: the leopard shark began to change shape. Belloni stared in disbelief as the fish underwent an astonishing metamorphosis. Until, to his horror, it became a human. “Oh my god, it’s Meow’s father,” he spluttered, dropping his gun. “Fucking guy gets everywhere.” The little man had his legs crossed in the lotus position and was smiling serenely, but his eyes burned like coals. “So, not only are you a lazy, slovenly pig, who beats his wife and insults her family, you destroy the marine life that provides you with a living too,” he said calmly. Now I have gone completely crazy, thought Belloni. I am even seeing him under the water. “I am warning you Belloni,” Meow’s father said irritably. “That if you continue along the selfish path that you have chosen you will be forced to suffer the inevitable consequences of your actions.” Jesus, he’s trying to tell me how to behave now, thought the Italian. Well I might be insane, but I’m not going to listen to this shit. He started to swim away, but his body was frozen still. “If you continue to deny that you have done wrong, I will be forced to act now,” he shouted. Get the fuck out of my mind you crazy sonofabitch. “As you wish.” As the old man spoke Belloni felt his whole body being crushed. “Oh my god! What are you doing? What are you doing?” He could feel his bones breaking and crunching and his inner organs being squeezed inside him. He closed his eyes trying to shake himself free from the nightmare. When he opened them again the little man had gone, but the leopard shark was still staring at him with piercing dark eyes. Thank god it was just my imagination, he thought and instinctively tried to cross himself. Which is when, to his horror, he realised that he no longer had any arms. He looked down and was mortified to discover a dark, scaly body trailing away below him instead of his familiar bulk. “Oh Mary, mother of Jesus. Oh father in heaven, what have you done to me? What have you done?” When he regained consciousness, he instinctively tried to regain his bearings. Several fish had begun swimming around him and he noticed a medium sized pufferfish winking furiously at him. He looked down in horror at his flickering front fins, back at the pufferfish and felt a strange sense of kinship. “Be careful,” she seemed to be saying – how did he know she was female? “There is danger close by.” Her voice sounded like a harp, playing a beautiful canzona. “What,” he shouted at her with words that emanated out off his mind rather than his mouth. “Be careful,” she sang. “No,” he screamed, “what has happened to me?” but she had disappeared. He looked around and saw a giant barracuda coming straight at him. Panic seized hold of him when he realised the creature was much bigger than him. As it closed in he felt his whole body inflate like a balloon. The barracuda shot him a look of revulsion and powered away beyond the reef. “Oh Jesus, what has happened?” he cried, not knowing whether to be relieved or distraught. “I have become a pufferfish! Why, oh why have you done this to me? What have I ever done to deserve this?” *** As time went by he reconciled himself to his new form. The sensation of breathing underwater was wildly exhilarating and he felt free from the fear and loathing that had constantly coloured his human experience. He felt a deep loving bond with the female pufferfish that went far beyond anything he had previously known: as if a warm light had been switched on deep inside his soul. He also learned that he had an excellent defence against would be predators. Every time a barracuda came close he would suck water deep into his abdomen and his whole body expanded into a round, ugly ball that sent it swimming away in disgust. He had hardly thought about Meow, the dive shop and life above water when one day he saw two divers fining through the sea ahead of him. “Don’t they look strange my sweet,” he communicated to the female, as they nibbled on some succulent molluscs. “What are they? Are they dangerous?” “Oh no, my darling, they are stupid animals that live in another world. An angry world that is very different to our beautiful ocean.” Through the murky depths he recognised Crispin’s familiar scrawny form, so, with a flick of his tail, he went to take a closer look. He stopped dead in his own slipstream when he realised the other one was Meow. A rush of regret flashed through him as he eyed her tight, firm body packed seductively into her wetsuit. “Coor,” he blubbered and never even saw the spear until after it had exited from his round body. His poisonous guts, glistening on the end of its barbed tip. “Only a pufferfish,” Crispin mouthed. “Come on darling.” He motioned with his thumbs that they should ascend and they both allowed air into their jackets and were lifted slowly upwards. In the murky water and amongst the bubbles they did not notice the large naked Italian lying dead on the seabed, nor the leopard shark scuttling towards him ready to start feeding on his decaying corpse. the end
Copyright © 2000 Hamish J Keith |