'Maintain social distance' Michael noticed on the sign zip-tied to the beach stairs. It was cloudy again as he walked over the freshly combed sand. A couple of early morning bathers were wallowing beyond the sand bank, so he walked further up the beach and dived into a feathering breaker. The water is warming up, he observed.
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The strap of his goggles had snapped as he prepared for his swim, making him question whether he really wanted to do it. Now he felt naked as his eyes struggled for clarity. He knew they would be watering for the rest of the day.
Go early, go hard, he mused on the Prime Minister's advice - the dull arthritic ache in his arms made the second part of this instruction more difficult. The sweep was stronger than it looked from the beach and he should be over the bank and heading for the reef by now. The chop messed with his rhythm. The white caps of the reef did not look any closer.
Over, over, breathe.
Michael thought about Nev, his last surviving uncle and window to the family's past. He'd visited Nev in January in the retirement village. A form had needed signing which provided Michael with a definitive reason to drop in, something he'd intended to do for a while but had kept putting off.
'Through the big glass door, down the hall, third unit on the right,' the crackling voice of the security guard cackled through the speaker. The gate unclicked.
Nev had been busy writing his memoir of childhood years spent with Michael's father. He did have a couple of health issues, but for someone nearly ninety he seemed in pretty good shape. Nev gave him his phone number and Michael had promised to call again soon. Then the lockdown hit and there were no more visits.
The tide must be turning he thought as he felt himself going backwards. He dug in harder. He saw he was still in-line with the same light pole on the break wall behind the beach and silently cursed.
Over, over, breathe.
'Keep going,' he told himself. There was a lull in the sweep and he finally made some progress. Michael headed further out to sea to avoid the swirls around the reef.
He missed a breath when he thought he saw a long dark shape glide underneath. His un-goggled eyes strained to get a clearer picture while his arms instinctively rolled over.
'Nothing.' He still felt alone and vulnerable.
'You won't see the one that gets you,' An old diver once told him.
His heart thumped as he saw it again, his eyes searching the darkness below. A massive splash through the surface only metres away stopped him. He momentarily locked eyes with a dolphin. Then it was gone.
Michael was well past the reef now. He looked towards the white water at the tip of the point and continued swimming. The sweep still proved a battle, but he was further out from shore now and away from the worst of it. He felt the gentle rise and fall as he floated over the swells towards the point.
Over, over, breathe.
The message about the funeral came as a shock. Nev's in-laws had everything arranged.
"We can only have 20 people so if you can't make it that's OK. It will be a graveside service. We've written the eulogy."
The thought of today's two-hour drive into a hot spot made him uneasy. He pictured the sombre gathering around that dark hole in the ground, mourners spaced a couple of arm-lengths apart. Would he recognise his cousins? Their masks would hide some of the wrinkles, but the eyes and hair, or lack of it, would underline the passing years. Will they even turn up? And would they recognise him? He considered the ocean his fountain of youth, but even this could not completely hold back the tide of time - he had old photos to prove it. He stopped to get his bearings and noticed the waves on the point were close now.
Over, over, breathe.
He reached the point and bobbled for a moment. Empty, alone with perfect social distance. The current swirled around the point and he felt himself drifting into the cove on the other side. He should be getting back, so he turned the way he came and started to swim.
Over, over, breathe.
But he could not make any headway. His arms throbbed and dragged through the water while his lungs struggled for more air. He stopped swimming and drifted around the point again towards the cove. In the past he would not have given in. He would have swum further out and around. Now he lacked stamina and accepted this as another sign of the advancing years. He turned back to swim into the cove where he could walk back along the beach. He raised his arms slowly.
Over, over, breathe.
He made it to the shallow water, feeling the security of the sandy bottom under his feet as he stumbled against the backwash near the water's edge. A shore-break dumper picked him up from behind and sent him sprawling face first into the sand.
He pushed himself up and brushed the sand off his face, thankful at least that no one would have seen his fall in this empty part of the beach. He began the walk back and took comfort in the familiar art deco outline of the surf club and World War II naval guns on the headland, a postcard-like image which remained virtually unchanged in the fifty-odd years he'd been swimming the place. A horn blast heralded the arrival of another bulk carrier entering the harbour, its smokestack sliding along the top of the bitou bush behind the beach.
Michael had to stop for a moment, hands on knees. He imagined Nev's last breath and inhaled deeply, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs.
He exhaled slowly and straightened, then continued walking.
