‘I can’t read palms’, she frowns as I draw my hand away, ‘anyway that’s your past, this is your future’.
She points to my opposing hand; suddenly I feel a burning pass over me. I hide my hand like a murderer hiding a weapon – did she see the darkness in those veins, did she sense that foul aura – if only I could get rid of my hand – no, not here I couldn’t, I best keep it behind me.
‘I read the cards’, she continues.
‘What, like at the blackjack table’.
She smiles and skips over to a small black bull-terrier leashed to a pillar, with whimpering dark round eyes, she knees down and rubs him gently behind his ear – she’s got no visible underwear, not even a G banger – so fit, round and tight, she must not be wearing anything –what would I find if I peeled back those thin black tights. Would it be bald and juicy, what would it taste like?
‘You coming?’ she calls from the staircase, then darts out of view.
The other two have already left and I rush to catch up. I should never have asked about that book she was reading, what was it again? Damn, I wish I had of read it, or at least remembered the author. She had me look like a fool talking about this natural hallucinogenic stuff.
‘I don’t smoke weed much, but when I was over in Cambodia; yeah we smoked heaps; tore the shit out of my throat; wasn’t very good stuff.’
‘Same, I think I was eighteen when I smoked weed with my sister behind the tin shed back home, that was before I had Sam,’ Rach continues.
‘Which way are we going?’ the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy questions.
‘Oh, over here,’ I point to a raised garden bed and gate, ‘we’ll have to jump it, I don’t know the code.’
We hop the brick wall and drop into an empty car park. Taking Tom’s skate board I push off towards a curb on the far side. I shuffle my feet into position but the board slows and eventually stops. I can hear Tom laughing in the back ground and I turn to see them watching – maybe I’ve drunk too much for this.
‘How far is this spot,’ Tom moans as we pass through the hotel car park and onto the road.
It’s longer than I remember and we walk in an awkward drift. Tom talks about his inexperience’s some more, saying things like, ’I always get so stoned when I smoke – everything spins’, I want to agree with him but I say nothing and focus on the thick tuffs of grass beneath my feet.
‘I thought you said this was close by,’ Rach questions.
‘So did I, you can see it just over there,’ and I point to a pathway leading off into the bushes.
The concrete path navigates down a steep seaward cliff. On either side, tall banyan roots tower above us like walls of a cocoon. The air is dense and Tom sighs with relief as he welcomes the coolness on his face.
‘Nobody is ever down here,’ I start, ‘I used too come down after a shit day at work and just daze beneath the trees.’
‘Yeah, that would be pretty cool,’ Tom replies.
The tide is high and the shore is littered with coppery cream sand stones that are smoothed by the sea. Tall trees with coarse, dark brown bark and large sweeping branches flow out across the shore and above the gently lapping sea. Another couple has taken refuge under one of the giants’ branches, he sits busily concentrating on an easel, she knees beside him watching, her hands resting on the inside of his leg.
Trying not to disturb them we find a spot on the far side of the opening. The Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy sits beside a big bushy branch which shades the bright afternoon sun from her face. I rush to sit beside her – don’t want to look like I’m too keen though, remember not to be a cling on.
‘Here you go Rach, you can sit on this rock,’ I point to the rock beside the Girl with a tattoo of a gypsy; Rach eyes me as though I’m acting strange. I am acting strange I think; I’m drunk, drunk for all sorts of reasons and I’m feeling the red of a fool.
‘Look,’ I say, ‘there are crabs under these rocks.’
I take a rock from its place amongst the litter of leaves, coarse golden sand rushes in to the hole that is left behind. I scratch at the leaves around it, nothing – she’s got her tin out, it’s well worn and the print has faded.
‘I can’t roll,’ I say.
‘Neither dude,’ Tom follows.
‘It’s okay, guys,’ she relaxes the tin onto her lap, ‘I can roll.’
I watch for a bit as she thumbs through her print faded tin and produces some papers, careless and with ease she sets them together and folds in a crooked crease – Crabs, need to find some crabs.
I start searching through the rocks and the large brown leaves that cover the shore. Still I can’t spot any.
‘There are crabs here,’ I mumble again.
It’s not until I stop moving that I see them, in the clearing that I have made, the ground has come to life. Small shells, about the size of a penny, drag themselves through the golden sand leaving light trails as they go.
‘Here, here, look,’ and I pick up two and hold them in my palms for the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy.
The small crabs are scared at first and bundle themselves into the safety of the shell. I watch for a moment untill they pull themselves together, in a burst they come out of the shells and dash across my hands, I fumble trying not to drop them.
‘Look,’ I urge again.
She looks away from the half filled paper in her delicate fingers and smiles.
‘Can I see,’ Tom asks and as I lean in to show him, she goes back to fingering the grass within the paper.
‘Wow, they are pretty cool.’
‘Yeah, they are Crazy crabs,’ I reply to Tom.
I shift back and hold the small crabs out to the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy, ‘Would you like to hold it,’ I plea.
She looks up from the half spun, cone shaped joint – the crooked crease, now it makes sense.
‘Yeah, in a moment,’ she smiles.
‘Crazy crabs?’ Tom mutters.
‘Can I hold them,’ Rach asks.
Oh, yeah, sure,’ and I hand the smaller of the two too her.
‘Lets smoke this joint hey,’ the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy interrupts.
I drop the crab into the leaf litter below and squeeze in between Rach and the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy; Rach eventually moves across to the next rock and I nestle in beside the Girl. We smoke the joint quietly, well, apart from Tom who coughs like granddad used too, ever toke. I feel the weed take my body in a rush, from my head down until my whole body feels heavy, warm and comfortable. I rub my hands against my jeans, then my fingers against each other; I lick my gums and then my lips. It feels weird and the saliva in my mouth tastes good, rich like a spicy dish, earthy and enjoyable.
‘Crazy crabs,’ Tom repeats
‘Well they used to call them Crazy… Hermit crabs, they are Hermit crabs… they used too call them Crazy crabs.’ I mumble and watch the languid sea through the shade of the large green foliage. A bright lustre reflects from the ripple on the water, it burns my eyes but I can’t look away.
‘Can I hold one,’ the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy asks – shit, I’ve dropped it. I start looking around my feet for the penny sized crab, but it’s gone – there, just under the rock and I reach down and pick it up.
When I turn to hand her the crab she’s already holding one. It’s the one I gave to Rach earlier. She holds it in the delicate tips of her two forefingers, slightly above her head, she speaks in a smooth and gentle voice, ‘come, come out little guy, I won’t hurt you’.
Her lips are moving slowly and I watch with such intensity I see nothing but her tongue swirling through her mouth – what it would be to taste her, too kiss her soft and gentle, just the way she talks. I wonder, I wonder what is beneath that bandana wrapped around her perfect head, does she have cropped hair, cropped hair just like that girl, Rhian, yes, Rhian, she was such a beautiful girl – should I make a move, maybe later, yes maybe later.
‘Do you guys ever wonder,’ she, the Girl with a tattoo of a gypsy starts.
I’m staring. I look into her hands, there is no crab anymore, they are folded neatly between her legs, I scan the ground and see the small penny sized crab beside her feet, it lifts itself from the heavy shell on it’s back, tired, it starts towards the closest rock.
What did she just ask? I’ve completely missed it – do you guys ever wonder, do you guys ever wonder, do you guys ever wonder – I have to stop this.
‘Crazy crabs; the shops; to sell them,’ I blurt.
‘Ha-ha, too sell them,’ Rach laughs.
And then silence – what should I say, what should I say…
‘It’s so beautiful; trees; it’s so beautiful; sun… on the water; so beautiful.’
‘Yeah it is really nice isn’t it,’ the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy confirms in that calm and gentle voice.
Yes, this is beautiful.
We sat there for a long time, talking when we could, but more just sitting silently. I thought about a lot of things, foremost I thought about the things I had forgotten to think about all that day, all those things that are wholesome and real, that are important, that make me happy – I know what I need to do, I’m going, I’m going, going and I stood up relieved from the weight that carried me into this drunken stupor, only to drop as a huge rush bends me over like a new born calf.
‘Well we should get going,’ says the Girl with the tattoo of a gypsy, ‘I have some things I need to do before tonight.’