Free Beautiful Lies by Emilie Richards

Wong Fai’s curried fish and rice, and drink countless cups of strong tea fresh from the cooking fire.
    Tom liked to listen to their conversations. He was becoming adept at the clever pidgin that united them despite the variety of their native tongues. He particularly enjoyed conversations with Juan, whose English was far superior to Tom’s Spanish. Juan was an educated man with a taste for poetry and a talent for guitar, which made the long evenings easier to bear.
    Juan joined Tom after dinner on the evening of his first dive, offering his slice of tinned beef, which was an infrequent item on their shipboard menu.
    Tom smiled but shook his head. “I can’t take that. You need every bit of meat. You work hard. I found that out today.”
    â€œToday you work hard, too. Take it.”
    Tom complied with murmured thanks. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Juan. A whole world out of reach to everybody but those lucky enough to go below.”
    â€œHow is your ears?”
    Tom swallowed to test them. The pressure had been fierce, and he had been stunned to discover blood seeping from his ear canals when he surfaced. His nose had bled, too. But both had stopped quickly. He had not gone too deep, and he had not stayed under long. Bernard believed that bringing divers up slowly was safest, and it seemed to Tom that he had spent much more time going down and coming up than exploring.
    But he had found shell.
    â€œEars good?” Juan asked.
    â€œThey seem fine.”
    â€œCrew say it’s good luck, you find shell below. Say you be luck for this lugger.”
    Tom laughed, and the sound rattled oddly in his head. “I’m afraid if we had to count on my finding shell, we’d go home with our hold half empty. There’s a real art to seeing it. I don’t know what led me to the few I picked up.”
    â€œGod of the shell?”
    Tom inclined his head. “Do you believe in such a thing?”
    â€œNo. Nobody believes.”
    Tom laughed again, and Juan smiled. They finished in silence, each enjoying the other’s company. The other men were scattered over the deck. Archer was throwing dice with Toshiharu and Ahmed, the older of the two Malayan boys. Archer never seemed to lose, and the crew members had quickly learned not to play him for anything more than a pinch of tobacco.
    Tom set his plate to one side and leaned back to stare at the stars. When he had decided to accompany Archer on his travels, he had not considered what he might do with all the years ahead of him. Despite his father’s threats, he knew that his old life waited for him back in San Francisco if he wanted to reclaim it. At first he had half planned to go back after Archer was settled. He felt a duty to his parents, even though he had little affection for them.
    But now, with the moon glistening like a celestial pearl on the calm water, the boat rocking gently beneath him, the men’s voices murmuring in the cool evening air, he wondered if what he really wanted was to stay in Broome, acquire a lugger and make his own fortune. He was happier than he could remember. The pearling life suited him. Broome, with its colorful cultures, suited him. Australia, with its frontier values, its infinite and ancient stretches of land, its wondrous animal and plant life, suited him.
    â€œI met a woman in Broome.” He didn’t look at Juan. “She was Chinese. Lian, the daughter of Sing Chung, at the laundry on Dampier Terrace. Could a man marry a woman like that in Broome?”
    â€œColor bar in town. Not so good to mix. White people not approve. They not understand and turn back on you.”
    â€œIs that so?” Tom wasn’t surprised.
    â€œGirl want to marry you?”
    â€œNo, it was only a question. She’s going to China to marry a stranger. She’ll probably be gone by the time I return.”
    â€œNot so. Sing Chung die soon. She be there to care for him meantime. Still