Ghost Writer

Long shadows now appearing across the sand, it was getting close to happy hour on our little island oasis. I closed my eyes once again, relaxing into the sensation of the late sun and sea breeze across my faintly sunburnt skin from bathing on the front beach a few longer than planned.

It had been an idyllic day… with decadent cocktails, a Fijian feast, and hot showers, still yet to be enjoyed.

Not wanting to break my reverie, I rolled over on my towel, pulling my hair into a messy top knot, soaking up the last of the tanning rays of the day. Sighing out loud at the sheer bliss of the warm sun on my face; so grateful for our getaway adventure.

Both of us in need of a recharge; long days, months, even years of sole parenting and working as a journalist, had left my psyche crying out for some respite. An 8-year-old boy, also needing time and reconnection with mum. This holiday was long overdue.

‘Mumma, mumma… look at this! Look what Ben and I found!’ an excited voice said before a little shadow appeared across me.

I sat up bleary-eyed, trying to focus on the large moving shells they were both holding out excitedly to show me.

‘Oh wow, Cash! You found hermit crabs?!’ I said laughing, slightly uneasy we all soon may get a large nip from them in protest. ‘Where did you find them?’

‘These are our racers! Mine’s number 11 and Ben’s is 18! See?’ Cash continued, proudly extending me the hand to show the hand-drawn numbers on the top of their shells. ‘There’s a crab race on now mum, and we’re going to win- these were the biggest ones we could find! Can you watch us?!’

Cash was almost running down the beach now, waving the agitated shell high in the air, cajoling me to follow. Ben took off after him. Grabbing my towel and beach bag hurriedly, I trailed after them through the warm sand.

Tying my sarong loosely on my hips, and watching their little sun-kissed bodies run happily along the shoreline, I stopped to capture the moment quickly on my phone; my beautiful son and his new holiday friend Ben; their joy almost palpable, it almost made my eyes water.

Looking through my screen, their backs to me still and casting long-legged shadows along the sand, I managed to get a succession of photos that any professional photographer would be proud of.

Pinks and burnt oranges, yellows, and a myriad of hazy blues, sitting against the pristine azure waters of the Pacific. Whispers of colorful clouds in long streaks across the sky, as if an artist had lovingly added with a paintbrush.

The location was just like a postcard from our travel brochures plastered to our fridge at home, next to a countdown calendar for months. I stood still for a moment, soaking it all in, being as present as I could be; my heart full of gratitude.

Deciding determinedly then, we would make a holiday photo album together on our return home as a memory, for us to share forever. Another to-do item I thought ruefully.

‘Come on mum!’ Cash’s voice took me away from my moment. ‘The race is starting!’

Smiling, I quickly skipped across the sand toward the gaggle of people laughing excitedly at the activity on the beach to watch the race of the Century.

Over dinner that night, music playing in the background, the beach lit up by bamboo lanterns; the animated table conversations of crab racing, banana boating adventures, and coconut milkshakes by the happy racers continued.

I had met Ben's parents on the River Cat trip from Nadi Harbour on our arrival and we had shared dinner every night; our boys bonding instantly. We exchanged our stories, laughs, and photos of another day in paradise, over the much sought after cocktails and coconut fish curry.

‘Oh, these are great shots Belle!’ said Ben’s mum Tonya, scrolling through my camera roll. ‘Isn’t Fiji just beautiful?! I’m so happy we came back again this year.’ She looked over to her husband Paul, as he reached out his hand for hers to squeeze. She passed him my phone to share my photos.

Smiling, I replied, ‘Yes! It’s just breathtaking here, isn’t it? For Cash and I, it’s our first time here- but hopefully, it won’t be our last!’ I looked over at Cash, seeing the red apples in his cheeks and the widest smile I’d seen on his face in a long time. My heart filled again.

‘Hey, look at this one!’ exclaimed Paul, holding up my phone. ‘What a great photo!'

Looking at it again now, I could see a large hazy blue/ grey image of an unusual shape on the horizon more clearly. It was in the background of the photo of Cash and Ben running along the shoreline earlier in the day.

‘What do yo think that is on the horizon?' I asked. "this may sound a bit strange, but it just seemed to appear out of nowhere,' I said pointing to the image.

Laughing, Paul quipped sarcastically, ‘It’s a sailing ship on the horizon Belle!', before taking the phone back after my insistence. He studied the photo again. "Actually, to be honest, it doesn't look like a modern day sailing boat, does it?' Paul said, sounding surprised. "It reminds me of a story we heard last year about a ghost ship that appears at dusk.'

'What do you mean by "ghost ship" Paul?', I asked, my interest having being piqued now.

Paul replied, 'It's probably just folklore around here Belle, but...' Lowering his voice, adding to the intrigue, he looked over to our boys who had now stopped talking to listen in, he continued cheekily in a Pirate voice, ‘Some have said, a tall ship ran into trouble and sank to the bottom of the ocean full of golden treasures, that was headed to the people of Malolo Island.’ Paul sat back in his chair smiling widely now, enjoying his captive audience, but now clarifying in a more even tone, ‘ Apparently, the shipwreck has become a natural reef now, but a few of the local men know about the story, although no treasure has ever been recovered apparently', he added, winking at the boys.

The table was now quiet. Paul’s eyes were twinkling, Tonya was looking amused. I looked over at Cash, as he and Ben had been listening intently to the story. Cash finally spoke, ‘Oh wow! Was it a real-life Pirate ship Paul?’

Paul laughed, ‘Maybe, little man? Over the years, I think the story has been a bit embellished, to be honest. But who knows, there might be a shipwreck out there somewhere from many years ago.’

Accepting Paul’s explanation, and being 8 years old, the boys quickly resumed their laughs and banter about their crab races earlier.

Paul continued, directing the conversation now to the adults ‘ When we were here last year, our scuba teachers Tui and his cousin, told our group about it. I remember one of them seemed a bit spooked at the time, but I thought it was just a tourist story.’

Back in our bure an hour later, with Cash was sleeping soundly, I poured myself a glass of wine from the mini bar, and sat down on the outdoor chair on the balcony, breathing in the frangipani scented air. Feeling content and relaxed, I watched the moonlight casting a glow over the ocean, causing ripples of light that danced along the surface of the sea. I could hear Cash lightly snoring inside.

I zoomed in on the photo on my phone, studying the distant ship, intrigued and bemused by Paul’s little story earlier. Maybe it was the investigative journalist in me, interested again; after 3 days of restful holidaying my mind was now wandering. I reached for my laptop.

Scouring the internet, I searched for information on a past shipwreck in the area. I fell down a rabbit hole, with countless open tabs of information on trading ships and their routes in the region, ancient Polynesian navigators and their vessels, pages of technical configurations of tall ships and schooners. Frustratingly empty handed, I was determined to find the man called Tui- even if it meant I’d have to learn to scuba dive sometime over the next 9 days.

It was on Day 6 I finally located him, on the beach with the sunrise.

Buoyed by his wide smile greeting me as I strode toward him on the sand, my phone in hand, I said to him loudly ‘Bula!’ Grinning, he replied, ‘Bula to you too! You are up early for a scuba lesson, yes?’ he asked me cheekily. I laughed sheepishly in return, shaking my head furiously, ‘Uh, no; it was you I was looking for actually. Are you Tui?'

After some introductions and small talk about the weather and again declining his invitation for a scuba lesson, I held out my phone, showing him my photo. 'Do you know what this is?' I asked pointing to the sails on the horizon.

Looking at the image of those distant masts and distinctive shaped sails on the horizon I had innocently taken a few days before, he took a breath in sharply, lowering his voice and said almost inaudibly,‘That is the ghost ship!’

Scouring his expression, I searched for a clue. The twinkle in his eyes had diminished. He didn’t look as if he was joking, the playful tone in his voice now gone.

‘I have not seen it again,' I said after an uncomfortable pause. ‘Could you tell me more about it Tui? Would that be ok for you?’ a little concerned by his reaction but intrigued now, more than ever.

He spoke quickly, saying he had to go, but could introduce me to his cousin Ma'afu, after his work shift. It was only him, he explained, who could tell me more.

I spent the day by the pool with Cash. The curiosity was driving me crazy and ‘Fiji Time’ suddenly felt difficult to manage, strangely. 5 o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

Ma’afu and Tui were by the scuba beach bure when I arrived on time. I had brought a notebook in anticipation of my next story. Asking their permission, and scribbling notes frantically as they spoke, they took turns in recounting the stories their fathers had passed down to them as young boys, and which was now part of the fabric of their families.

Their great-great-grandfather had been onboard a drua, also known as a ‘sacred canoe’, a huge double hull sailing boat, called The Warrior Kamisese. It had set sail one unusually overcast day in the Spring of 1847 and had never returned home. Laden with 200 warriors, cattle, and a cargo of maize to trade, the men were to return home in a year, with the promise of overseas treasures and spices from faraway lands to share with their people. There are shallow reefs along the Yasawa Islands, to the North of their island, and the boat may have run aground, interrupting their voyage home. Oars and large timber pieces of the vessel had washed up along the shoreline over 180 years ago, with many locals, and their anscestors, believing it was the lost boat.

In hushed tones, the two men talked about the apparition of the sailing ship that had occasionally appeared on the horizon at dusk in the shape of The Warrior Kamisese.

They had always been told by their family, it was their great grandfather, visiting the world above the shipwreck site again, with a sacred promise and reminder to their family, they were on the correct path.

Tui had said little, leaving Ma’afu to fill in the details. ‘I’ve only ever seen the ghost ship once when I was a young boy' he explained. ‘Ma’afu has seen it a few times, but my father told me he has seen it many, many times.’ His head bowed a little, as he spoke quietly.

Ma’afu picked up quickly again, where Tui had trailed off and added, ‘ Yes, I have seen it maybe 3 or 4 times myself, before your photo. I have no doubt it was our great grandfather Levenei, visiting again.' Ma'afu leaned in closer, 'May I ask, out of curiosity, what were you doing when you took that photo? There may be a deeper reason he returned and has appeared for you?' He looked into my eyes, asking me earnestly.

Surprised and somewhat confused by the directness of his query, I replied, looking down at my phone, saying in a small voice, ‘ Well, when I took that photo, I remember my heart being full of gratitude at that moment for the beauty of your island, for the love I have for my son and watching his joy… um, I was just so grateful… ' my voice trailed off, not sure what else to say.

Ma’afu smiling broadly at me, said excitedly, ‘Yes, ahhhh; exactly! Maybe seeing the ghost ship was meant for you! Your family, your life, your surroundings- it is to be loved and appreciated always. That is all there is, after all, yes? It is just what our family have always taught us, isnt it Tui?’ Ma’afu continued, glancing over at Tui, who was nodding in agreement now, before adding, ‘when his drua returns to the horizon, it is his gift to us, as a reminder to continue with whatever we are doing, that we are on the right path; and that love is all that matters.’