The Beach Tent

We sat on the beach all afternoon under the blue-and-white-striped beach tent. The air was absolutely still, the heat dense. The clouds covered the sky so completely that the light was a murky grey colour, like twilight.
My daughters, both on the cusp of adolescence, gangled about awkwardly in the becalmed water, pulling at their bathing suits.
Robert, who was eight, asked, "Do you think it will rain?"
I looked at the sky and noticed for the first time a long angry-looking cloud stretching the entire length of the horizon.
"Maybe," I said.
Just then the girls appeared and begged to be taken along the jetty to the reef. I groaned inwardly; the problem with taking the kids to the beach was that they always wanted you to do things with them.
"Please," Robert pleaded.
I felt like saying, `I'm tired; I want to finish my book.' But I knew that after they'd grown up they wouldn't remember that I was exhausted and overworked and had looked forward to lying on the beach and forgetting everything for a few hours. Begrudgingly I closed my book and climbed to my feet.
"Let's take the boogie boards," Robert said, and I nodded.
As we were readying ourselves the tip of Robert's board caught Lillian on the calf.
"Moron!" she yelled, and to me, "Why did we have to bring him?"
"Leave him alone," I snapped, and Lillian pulled a face.
"He did it on purpose," Joanne accused. "I saw him."
"It was an accident," I said, and thought, Great!
We carried our boards to the jetty and struck out into the water, kicking and scooping ourselves from one salt-encrusted column to the next. At the steps where boats sometimes moored we paused to watch the teenagers jumping in the water, making huge splashes as they hit.
Finally at the reef we climbed out of the water, hauling our boards up behind us and leaving them in the lee of a large rock. We stepped gingerly, the barnacles stinging our feet, towards the far side. Robert almost stumbled and reaching out he caught hold of Joanne's arm to steady himself. "Don't touch me!" she screeched. "Freak!"
"That's enough," I shouted, and we all sulked. My book seemed even more inviting.
"What's that?" Lillian pointed at the sky.
Looking up I saw that the line of cloud was now much closer and even more angry-looking. A deep malicious purple, it turned over and over like a steamroller, and wisps of dark mist were gathered into it as it moved towards us.
"It looks like rain," I said, then added, "If the wind starts up we'd better head back."
We sat on the edge of the reef dangling our feet in the water. Black-and-yellow striped fish swam in and out of the rocks and seaweed, and further out sleeker-looking silver-coloured fish meandered lazily.
When I looked up again something like alarm rose in me. With its heart black and malignant, the cloud was almost upon us; it opened out like a malevolent claw, and phantom-like fingers reached over our heads.
"Let's go," I said, and all at once the wind rose, a fierce blast of cold air that engulfed the entire coast. The sea was whipped into a broiling rage, the air thick with spray thrown furiously.
We grabbed our boards and vaulted into the foaming water, heading for the jetty. A knot of people were huddled against the ladder and some men were passing the children through, letting them up first.
"Lie down when you get to the top," I yelled, and up they went - Lillian, Joanne, and Robert.
With the spindrift whipping against my back I climbed up the ladder and over the railing. There was Lillian, Joanne - but Robert? I screamed at the girls, but they thought Robert had stayed behind with me. I thought He can't swim; I never taught him! and looking over the railing I felt sick. The sea was a boiling mass, heaving and smashing against the jetty in wave after terrible wave. I knew that if he'd gone over there would be no way of finding him.
A lifeguard grabbed my arm and pointed towards the beach.
"I can't leave him!" I yelled, but then it occurred to me that Robert couldn't have gone over. It wasn't possible. He was too young to die. Terrified, he must have fled to the beach.
The girls and I ran crouched over, using our boards to shelter us from the gale. Joanne was crying and holding my hand; Lillian was pressed against me.
We reached the Esplanade in a mad rush and ran to the nearest shelter. Some teenagers moved aside and made room for us. Usually brash and over-confident, now they were frightened and vulnerable. I left the girls, stunned and shivering, and charged down onto the beach with the sand flying about me. "Robert!" I shrieked, knowing he must be there somewhere.
The wind died as suddenly as it had begun and the girls hurried to me and we went to the spot where our tent had been. There was no sign of Robert.
A little way along the beach people were standing about in a group looking down at something on the sand. "It's a boy," someone shouted. "A boy's been washed up."
My heart cracked; it didn't seem possible that Robert was gone. I couldn't control myself; I broke down and wept.
A group of men were carrying the boy's body towards the club house when I felt something tug at my leg.
"Don't cry, Dad. I tried to save the tent, but the wind was too strong."
I looked at my son, who was safe, and at my girls who, with tears in their eyes, were both grinning.
"Your book's gone, too," Robert said sadly.
I knelt before him. "It doesn't matter."