The Ocean at Night - Another Short Story.

Dhara was awake before the sun. She lay in bed unmoving, eyes wide open, and watched as the blackness around her lifted in increments - revealing the contents of her childhood bedroom, romanticized in the inky dawn. Luc, her husband, stirred beside her and she looked at his face painted purple, his mouth slack with sleep. They had come to visit her mother to make the announcement in person. Dhara was not so sentimental, and a cloying sweat began to bead on her forehead at the thought of being with child. She loved Luc - marriage and children just seemed so...permanent. Dhara had never thought she could be confident enough in life to bring someone else into it.

She listened to the tide coming in, ears pricked, and imagined how the ocean would be crawling up the sand at the cove, engulfing the land - mouth open wide, spittle and froth leaping - waging war on the rock face that had barricaded it for so long. The roll of the waves grew into a thundering crescendo as she concentrated on it, until she couldn't hear anything else - distracting herself from her thoughts. As first light touched the bedroom wall opposite her she climbed out of bed slowly, and then as quietly as she could, lifted the heavy wooden windowsill. A cold wind rushed in, sending her hair flying, cooling her hot forehead and filling her nose with the smell of salt and seaweed. Luc rolled over, relatively undisturbed.

It was strange to be back in that house. For a moment Dhara allowed herself to imagine what life would have been like if she had stayed. Maybe she would have slept deeply, alone in her bed before getting up to smell the sea and... her old morning ritual flashed before her and she suddenly realized that she was acting it out already - subconsciously in position at the open window - she waited. She waited trembling for her cue, for the signal that had always confirmed the start of her days. Dhara's mouth spread into the wide, arrogant smile of her childhood and just as it had every morning since she could remember the fish eagle flung back it's head somewhere in the sky, and cried out to her.

In one swift motion she pulled herself up onto the sill and then stood, motionless, save for her nightdress fluttering between her legs like a sail. With the call still ringing in her ears, like a bird taking flight, she threw herself from the window.

Dhara landed with a thud on the grass below, the impact sending electric shocks from her bare feet to her knees. She recovered quickly, paying no attention to the pain that she knew would not last. Then she was running down to the cove, leaving her confusion and her restless night behind her. Her feet scattered the morning dew and she didn't slow much as she picked her way expertly down the rocky path at the end of the garden. Her body remembered. Soon the path under her feet gave way to sand and the crash of the waves reverberated against her eardrums violently, more demanding than their previous echoes had been. The briny air wrapped itself around her in a possessive embrace and she breathed in deeply, drawing salted mist into her lungs.

She had been coming down here since they had moved into the house up the hill, when she was just a child. She hadn't been back since her father had died. After the accident she had moved out, moved on and tried to forget everything, even the good things - especially the good things. She had run away to the city and put herself back together, and then she had met Luc. Lovely, stable Luc. Dhara glanced down at the opal wedding ring sparkling on her finger. Normal girls fell in love. Respectable girls got married. Normal, respectable girls wouldn't feel ill at the thought of starting a family.

"I'm normal now." Dhara said to the cove, walking towards the water, wringing her hands. "I'm normal and everything is fine, I think. But if everything is fine, why can't I BREATHE?"

Tugging anxiously at the material clinging to her body, she felt her grip on reality loosen and her mind start to spiral. The facade of calm that had protected her for the last three years was beginning to slip - but she couldn't unravel. Not now, not ever. Not again.

"Need a plan, just need to talk to Luc, explain, just need to breathe..."she panted, stumbling as a wave broke against her calves. "But how am I supposed to do that when the air is so thick." she choked out.

Without any further hesitation, Dhara sucked in a sharp gasp of air and then dove. Down under the next set of waves, through the whirling foam, down past the sandbank and into cold, clear water. She let out all her air and sank right to the bottom, before opening her eyes and looking up at the morning sun, filtering through the surface. She felt her heartbeat slow, her system trying to preserve oxygen, and she let herself hang, suspended and weightless.

"They say it's sink or swim" she thought, " and that the answer there is obvious. But it has never been that simple. Because although my lungs are burning, and instinct is kicking in...everything seems sweeter, at the bottom of the ocean."

Kicking off the sand forcefully, Dhara shot towards the surface. Her first breath relieved her of the burning in her lungs but not of the clenching in her stomach. She swam back to the shore and then padded across the sand, nightdress slick and heavy against her body. She would have to put this down to an impulsive morning swim. She would avoid the words "unraveling", "panic" and "crazy".

When she padded into the kitchen she was greeted by the hungover and only slightly curious eyes of her younger sister who was drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, two fingers pressed against her temple.

"Well, since you're up and clean already by the looks of things, you better get dressed. Mom wants to go into town and buy ingredients for a picnic." Libby said.

A few hours later they were all four spread out on a blanket on the lawn, surrounded by fruit and cake. As Dhara sat taking in Libby, drunk on champagne and orange juice already, Luc telling animated accounts of his time spent travelling and her mother laughing at every word he said - her feelings of panic seemed far away. So warmed towards the day did she feel that she didn't even mind it when Libby brought up their father and began reminiscing about his obsession with the legends of old fishermen.

"I think you might have developed your sea legs from him Dhara." my mother chimed in, nudging Luc like they were old friends.

"Remember the stories he used to tell us Dhar?" Libby hiccuped. "He would fill our heads with monsters and mermaids before bed!"

"I always loved his story about the girl who could hear the whalesong." I even added quietly, surprising myself.

"I used to chide him after your bedtime - he used to scare you so!" mother exclaimed. "Never swim in the cove at night children - he used to say." Luc laughed and Libby and I rolled our eyes at the memory, and at mother's imitation of his voice.

The afternoon unfolded lazily, and despite the festivities, Dhara found a black mood creeping over her once more. She felt stifled by their laughter. Claustrophobic around her loving mother, beautiful sister and charismatic fiance - out of place and anxious that if she engaged with any one of them for too long they would smell it on her - the fear she was harboring. Or worse, she worried that the grey storm cloud above her head was contagious somehow. As the light faded and their company moved inside, the conversation around her became slurred and intimate. She felt an explosion brewing within her self. Each time that she was drawn in, she would nod and smile where expected before finding an excuse to duck out - the candles needed lighting, the roast needed checking, the dishes were piling up.

On her way to pursue one of those convenient errands, she happened to pass herself in the hallway mirror for the first time that evening. She usually avoided looking at her reflection unless she was particularly in the mood for self-torture. She examined herself. Her hair was thick and hung almost to her waist. Her dress - chosen by Libby earlier in the afternoon - was a striking silver satin that hugged her shape and then flowed around her feet like water. When she looked closely at her own face, she started. Though the rest of her was exactly as it should be - put together and elegant - her face was gaunt in the shadows of the candlelight and her full lips were parted, holding the shape of a silent scream. She turned away before looking at her eyes. With shaking hands, Dhara returned to the table.

Later that night, as she sat brushing the tangles from her hair - Luc already snoring softly and fully dressed on top of the covers - she thought about the conversation that was had about her father. It made her feel empty. She turned deliberately to the dressing table mirror and stared at herself once more, this time braving to look into her own eyes - his eyes - her mother always said. The grandfather clock struck twelve. She fingered the zip at the back of her evening dress but before she could pull it down, she jumped as her father's words rang in her ears.

"Never swim in the cove at night. By the time you see them coming it will be too late."

Tiptoeing across the room, Dhara pulled up the window. The night was cold and still. Suddenly out of the silence the cry of a fish eagle pierced the dark, making her shiver at the strangeness of it. It was a cry that demanded to be heard and obeyed. Entranced and unthinking Dhara clambered onto the window sill and stared out into the darkness. The ground seemed a long way below her, the grass that had cushioned her before now a black hole in the moonlight.

"Dhara, darling - what on earth are you doing?"

She whipped her head around to see Luc sitting up in bed, his eyes blurry and his hair ruffled. Without a word, she calmly turned back around to face the night, and jumped.

By Georgia Rae