Cameron of the Seas

2: Bugs and Ducky-4

DUCK WALKED SLOWLY, crippled not by the absence of a leg but by the searing phantom pain that wouldn’t let up, testing his resolve and his capacity to absorb debilitating agony.

He’d read enough to know that phantom pain was a sensory phenomenon when amputees continued to experience painful sensations from an absent or partially absent limb. According to medical books, at least eighty per cent of amputees experienced phantom sensations; some lived with it their whole lives.

He paused and rested his hand against a wall to steady himself, hoping to God he would be spared a life-long curse. Both his legs shook with the pain. It felt as though ants were climbing up and down his spine. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to it.

Impatient with himself, he rubbed the tears from his eyes, tears caused by the piercing ache in his heart. He closed his eyes tightly to prevent more of the salty flow pouring out.

It was for the best, he reminded himself. She deserves better than a useless man like me.

He looked longingly back in the direction he’d come, fighting the urge to turn back, but he stuck to his decision. He turned to the opposite direction, hobbled farther away from the little terrace he had called home for much of twelve months.

Punishing himself with unrelenting pain, he walked for over a mile until he reached The Rocks, a popular tourist destination near Sydney Harbour Bridge. He called a diver mate and requested for a lift to the Navy’s Pittwater Annex, the Clearance Divers’ workplace and home near the Sydney foreshore.

Ryan, his Navy best mate, grunted down the phone. It was his usual response to questions requiring a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Mates knew, from experience, whether it was an affirmative or a negative reply just by his vocal intonation.

‘I’ll wait at Pancakes on the Rocks.’

Duck heard another friendly sounding grunt, thanked his mate before he closed his phone down. Pity the pubs are still closed, I could do with a stiff drink, he thought as he hobbled towards the only twenty-four-hour diner in the immediate vicinity.

Duck sat by his lonesome in a corner, a half-eaten pancake on the table waiting to be cleared. His appetite was shot, but thus far he’d had four cups of coffee.

A young Australasian couple walked in and were led to sit directly opposite him, triggering a flood of memories. It couldn’t be helped. In Sydney, mixed couples abounded. If he didn’t want to be reminded, he had to move to an island, isolated and desolate.

*