Forget the Fucking Swans
By Sam Jordison.
At last, Ben’s father spoke.
“I wanted to show you the swans. It was round here we saw them wasn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“You know that their Dad has gone now?”
“No.”
“The little ones just follow their Mum now. She’s all they need really. We might have seen them if it wasn’t for this fog.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No?”
They fell silent again. The fog had come in quickly. They’d first seen swirls five minutes ago, rolling towards them from the sea. Now they were enveloped. All Ben could make out was a few metres of dark water, the shadows of the reed-banks and the back of his father’s canoe. But he didn’t mind. He didn’t give a stuff for the swans. He liked this world under a blanket.
“I wanted to tell you something about those swans.”
“I don’t mind, Dad.”
“Well, still.”
“There will always be more swans. You’ll be able to show them to me again.”
“Well, that’s the thing…”
Ben heard a fish jump somewhere ahead of them.
“Did you see it?” Ben asked, but his father was still stuck on the swans.
“Those swans, you see. There comes a time when they have to grow up…”
“Dad I’m not that mad on swans, you know.”
“Well, I’m trying to tell you something. Forget it. What are you mad on?”
The boy thought for a while.
“Bras,” he said.
“Jesus Christ, Ben. I’m your father. Don’t talk to me about bras.”
“Well Paul says you’re a freak if you don’t like bras.”
“Paul’s not so right in himself, himself though is he?”
“His parents split up and he got dirty.”
“Oh.”
Somewhere in the hidden distance, a goose started honking. Somewhere else, another replied.
“Fog horns,” said Ben. “They’re like fog horns.”
“They always spook me,” said his father. “Don’t you think it’s eerie when it’s like this?”
“What’s eerie?”
“Well, fog and ghosts and shadows and haunting little noises.”
Another fish shot out of the water — right next to Ben’s canoe. He jumped in surprise and swore: “Shit!”
His father laughed.
“You see?”
“I guess.”
They paddled on, side to side now. After a while, his father said:
“I don’t think we’re going to find them. Why don’t we turn back?”
“Okay.”
“Listen son.” He didn’t call Ben son, not usually. “Listen. You remember I told you about when my Dad died.”
“Yes.”
“And how I acted?”
“You said you went funny for a while.”
“That’s right. I was a bit older than you. About 15. I got into some trouble. I stopped working so much at school. And took up with a bad crowd. You remember?”
“I remember. But you turned out okay, didn’t you?”
Ben’s father dug his oar into the water and kept on paddling for a long time. Eventually, he said: “Thanks. Thank you. Did I?”
“You did. You’re you, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. But thank you. Thank you, anyway. But, it took too long to become the me I am now. I missed a lot. I could have gone to university, you know. They always said I was bright enough… But by the time I wanted to, it was already too late. I had a job. I had your Mum. You were on the way…”
“Hey.”
“I’m not saying I’m not glad. It just held me in. Look. What I mean is, I don’t want you to be limited like I was. I don’t want you to limit yourself. You could do whatever you like, and I want you to do it.”
“I will Dad.”
His father turned to look at him. Drops of mist glistened on his red beard and around his eyebrows. Like fairy glitter. But Ben didn’t laugh. There was something in his father’s expression that made his stomach twist inside him.
“I want you to do it even if I’m not there,” his father, still looking at him too hard.
“But you’ll always be here. You’re the healthiest man I know. Don’t worry about that Dad. You’re fine. Aren’t you? Dad?”
“Of course I’m fine.”
“Well then.”
Ben’s father turned back around and carried on paddling. Soon they emerged from the channel onto the main river. The water looked still, but the current was powerful and they sped down towards the lock, his father taking such long strokes that Ben had to put all his strength into keeping up, and he fell behind, and his arms began to ache.
They got out just before the lock and started back to the car.
“I don’t think you understood me,” said Ben’s father. “I wish I could have showed you those swans.”
“You don’t even know that about the swans,” said Ben, all in a rush. “How do you know their Dad has gone? You don’t know anything about the swans. You’re making it up. But you’re wrong. Their Dad is still with them, I bet. You’re just making it up and I hate you.”
“The swans aren’t the important thing,” said his father. “Forget the fucking swans.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sam Jordison is a regular contributor to The Guardian. He is the author and editor of several books including Sod That: 103 Things Not to Do Before You Die and Crap Towns. He still hasn’t written a novel.
First published in 3:AM Magazine: Saturday, July 10th, 2010.
