CHAPTER II: SURF BAY
I walk away from the hostel and, after a long walk through Forest Wood, I come across a dock. Next to an impressive boat clad in wood and gleaming beige upholstery, three young men are holding surfboards and start murmuring when they see me appear.
One of them points at me and I hear him say to another:
—Look, Logan, she's still wearing the white bead necklace!
"Hey, you!" Logan raises his voice. "Were you born yesterday?"
The blonde girl accompanying them laughs at the joke.
Since I don't understand anything, I choose not to answer. I continue on my way, turning a deaf ear. I keep going, and when I look back, I can see the young men grabbing their boards, loading them onto the docked boat, and heading off, presumably to the same place I'm headed: to the surf competition.
After getting lost and taking the long way around, I finally reach the cove where the surfing competition is taking place. A huge crowd fills the beach. Some surfers are already gliding over the waves crashing against the shore. In the distance, I see a surf academy with a giant sign that reads: Surf Bay Academy. Nearby, a group of children are holding banners cheering on their surfing idols. A short boy in bright red swim trunks and a white T-shirt is keeping watch from the lifeguard stand. The crowd, especially the girls, are wearing multi-colored Hawaiian leis. The competition is about to begin, and in the crowd that has formed there, I search for Monica. I finally find her and see her with her group of friends. They have boards, so I deduce they're going to compete. I approach them, and Monica, overjoyed to see me again, hugs me and says:
—Nomad, I'm glad you came! Come, I'll introduce you to my friends!
Monica introduces me to her group of friends. Unlike the young people I saw at the pier, these guys have a more bohemian feel. I notice they're all wearing necklaces similar to mine. The difference is that theirs are blue, black, and white. Before the competition begins, Monica explains the dynamics of the surfing tournament finals to me:
"The final consists of the four best surfers on the island competing to win the trophy. This year, my friends made it to the final and are facing off against the rich guys from Palm Road, who are full of themselves, but I didn't tell you anything," he murmurs. "The TASURF jury is made up of experts from all over the world, who base their judgment on a very demanding evaluation."
I find the competition very exciting. I'm a surfing fan and I'm dying for it to start.
—This is Fabio and Jordan, and the future winner is among them —he says with a laugh.
"That's expected," they tell me in unison, smiling.
The young people shake my hand in a friendly manner. A booming voice from a megaphone calls out the tournament finalists to begin the competition.
—Good luck!—I encourage them.
Everyone in attendance is eagerly awaiting the start of the final. My desire for it to begin grows as well, and as time passes, the cove fills with more people. The tide rises and the sea turns white with the foam that slides over the waves. The surfers prepare to ride the high mountains of water, and the crowd goes wild because the most anticipated surfing final of the year is about to begin. Among the tournament finalists is one of the young men who had criticized me on my way to the cove. However, I don't feel any resentment; I don't usually hold a grudge against anyone. The only thing floating around in my mind is the same thought: why is it that everyone I have direct contact with on the island is either surprised or asks me about my clay bead necklace? Monica's friends had also been surprised to see me, probably because of the necklace. What does it mean to them? After all, it's just a necklace. When I asked my grandfather about what I found in that old box, he didn't know what to say. I'm overcome with doubt about what it means. I want to ask Monica or one of her friends, but they're too focused on the competition. Maybe it's not the right time; maybe later.
Avid surfers take on the gigantic waves that rise above the water, forming enormous mountains of foam over which they glide with their boards, disappearing between the swells of liquid crystal. Others skate over the swells, so quickly that they form enormous cloud trails over the water. The judges watch the competitors' every move and take notes to give a final decision, leaving nothing behind. As the competition drags on, a gale rolls in from the west, completely covering the island, casting a shadow over the beach; however, the surfers illuminate it with the splendor formed by the carpets of lilies on the waves. The competition is very close; no one wants to leave the waves, not so much for the trophy, but rather for the adrenaline rush of the moment. Twenty minutes into the first half, the surfers stop and exit the water to learn of the judges' release. The intrepid finalists await the finale with their hair dripping, their wetsuits soaked, and tremendous exhaustion from the exertion they put into each wave they surf.
The judges deliberate and the presenter asks for silence.
—The jury has decided that the tournament finalists are: Jordan Rizzi and Noah Ross!
Upon learning the result, the crowd shouts with euphoria and congratulates the winners. Fabio and Nathaniel Robert shake hands with the winners. The excitement in the cove grows, and the excitement of who will win the Nomad Coast's most important surfing trophy spreads through the air like a wind that blows through the palm fronds, forming a murmuring concert throughout the cove. Jordan and Noah compete in the final heat of the tournament, and soon after, they jump into the water to begin the grand finale. Jordan catches the first wave and, with great balance, stands up on his board. It's a huge wave, the heat expands with great ease, and Jordan caresses the wall that rises around him under a seemingly endless barrel. As Jordan gallops through the cavern of water, the crest that rises high in the air falls like a waterfall on the intrepid surfer. The gale that has darkened the skies of Nomad Coast continues to spread across the island and Noah Ross, like his opponent, rises from his board and performs acrobatic movements among the wild nomadic waters.
The two finalists battle it out with great intensity, as the final minute approaches. Noah Ross slides along the wall like a gecko crawling along a rock wall trying to catch an insect, and he doesn't stop until he's captured his prey. While skating over the barrel of the wave, Noah tries to ride the pocket to get as much power as he can. However, the lip collapses, and the foamy crest falls on the TASURF finalist. Jordan is able to rise over the pocket, but unfortunately, he loses his balance and knocks it down, causing him to lose his chance to get ahead of his opponent. Noah Ross keeps trying and finally manages to do what he couldn't before, and the judges are amazed by the Palm Road surfer's acumen. Noah climbs the watery walls on his board with spectacular moves. Finally, the storm disperses across the skies of Nomad Coast, and now it can only be seen disappearing from a distance. Jordan, who is very evenly matched with his opponent, misses one of the waves he's caught. He entered the heat late and the crest swallowed him up before he could reach the pocket. The Palm Road surfer manages to glide over the pocket and makes a fast, radical turn. A honk signals the end of the heat. Noah Ross ends up jumping so hard over the wave that he and his board are suspended in the air for a few moments, as if gravity didn't exist. The audience is completely dazzled. Jordan doesn't exit the water in such a magnificent manner; he comes out exhausted, assuming the worst. As he exits the water, the competition's host approaches them, and together they await the jury's final decision amidst the expectation of the audience.
Noah Ross takes the victory. The people of the Palm Road district go wild with joy upon hearing Noah's name come from the announcer's lips. The tournament winner raises his arms to the heavens and, along with his teammates and friends, celebrates the coveted trophy.
The presenter awards the finalists a medal and presents the trophy to Noah Ross. Noah, somewhat conceited, steps onto the podium and, trophy in hand, gives a speech, saying:
"I'm very excited about this award, more than deserved, which wouldn't have been possible without the support I've received from my family and friends since the competition began. Throughout my career, surfing has taught me many things, it's taught me what's truly important in this life, and, above all, that surfing is like life. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes you fall, and other times you manage to stay on your feet. But the important thing is to keep surfing," Noah concluded, raising the trophy to the skies of Nomad Coast, followed by a standing ovation from the crowd.
Noah Ross seems a bit arrogant to me, but I found the last thing he said very interesting.
As the awards ceremony concludes, lively music begins to play in the cove.
"Now it's the celebration party. We're all celebrating the winner's victory," Monica says.
"Are you staying too?" I ask, somewhat puzzled.
—Of course! Jordan is a finalist, you can't always win, he answers.
The atmosphere is friendly and family-friendly. Excited children crowd around the winner, asking for an autograph and chanting Noah's name. It's getting dark, and in the distance, the sky is turning orange. Strings of warm lights strung between the palm trees illuminate the cove. The crowd thins out as the sun disappears over the horizon.
—Well, Monica, I'm going back to the hostel, it's getting late —I tell Monica.
—What are you saying, the party isn't over yet!
"Oh, no?" I say, looking at her with a certain air of surprise.
"After the final, we'll have a drink all night at the old dock in Old Town," he explains. "Are you coming? I won't take no for an answer."
I smile and follow Monica and her group to the party venue. I'm surprised they welcomed me so warmly even though they don't know me at all. This island has something different that I've never seen anywhere else.
We arrive at the old dock. The first thing that catches my eye is an old shelter supported by wooden beams, eroded by the passage of time. On the platform, some young people are enjoying the atmosphere. In the distance, over a hermetic inlet, a huge sailboat is moored, in ruins, and has probably been there for many years.
"Hey, Monica, what's that sailboat?" I ask, extremely curious.
—It's him Golden And it's as old as the island of Nomad Coast itself, he answers.
"I'd like to see it up close," I ask, almost begging him.
—Sure, let's go!
He Golden It's half-sunk, the hull's steel corroded, and the keel is covered in barnacles and seaweed. Most of the sails are tattered or missing; only the mainsail remains in good condition.
"I find it fascinating. Do you know anything else about the ship?" I ask Monica, very intrigued.
—Yes, the Golden It is an emblematic ship for the island; it is said that the founding father of Nomad Coast arrived on it. It was also formerly a temporary school. For many years, the Golden has been abandoned.
Upon returning to the party, we see Fabio and Jordan with two other girls. They're carrying plastic bags of drinks.
—Hey, guys! —Mónica greets the group.
"Here we bring the cargo," says Fabio, lifting the bags with a grin from ear to ear.
—Oh, I forgot! Nomad, this is Summer and Nicki —he introduces them to me.
"A pleasure," I reply laconically.
Suddenly, Noah begins to make his way through the crowd, followed by his group of friends. He's the winner of the tournament, and his presence doesn't go unnoticed. Eyes turn toward him, and people begin to cheer. Noah moves through the crowd, greeting and accepting congratulations. His friends surround him like courtiers in a main entourage. They all wear navy blue sweatshirts with the surf academy logo and the island's name. Watching their triumphant entrance, I quickly realize they're the most popular group on the island.
Music fills the old dock; it's getting dark, and the beach is packed with people. Some dance to the music, others laugh and drink in small groups, while the more reserved escape the revelry and philosophize on rocks far from the cove.
"Nomad, are you having fun?" Monica asks, excited. "Jordan, get him a drink."
"Thank you, but I don't drink. I'm going for a walk," I tell him.
I leave the hustle and bustle behind and walk along the shore. I take the opportunity to approach the old boat again. As I watch it with fascination, I glimpse a faint light barely perceptible through the cracks in the worn wood. Curious, I approach and see that there are people on the deck. On the starboard side, some young people are ready to jump in without any fear. I focus my gaze and realize it's Noah Ross and his group of friends.
"Come on, Nicki, jump in!" Noah encourages her.
"Nicki, Nicki!" the others shout from the water.
Noah insists again with this Nicki, and despite the waves, Nicki, hesitant, jumps and lands in the water. Suddenly, a boy with very blue eyes shouts from the deck:
—Guys, get out of the water, the cops are coming!
Noah and the other two boys, terrified, begin to swim quickly toward the shore and then run away to avoid the police. Nicki stays behind, and suddenly, amidst the darkness that covers the entire sea, a huge wave rises. Nicki doesn't see it coming, and the wave swallows her up. Without a second's hesitation, I jump into the water.
Everything is dark and the waves are more violent. After a fierce fight against the tide, I manage to grab her and take her arm to drag her to the shore. I do this with some difficulty, because the tide is pushing us back to where we started. However, with great effort, I manage to get Nicki and her out of the water. I lay her on the sand and follow the protocol that must be followed in such situations. Blue and red lights begin to illuminate the area. The ambulance has arrived. I look up and see myself surrounded by a large group of doctors, police officers, and the young man who had warned the police were coming, very overwhelmed. I let the medics do their work and approach the boy.
"Hey, calm down, it's going to be okay," I comfort him.
"She's my sister, damn it," she tells me between sobs.
The boy calms down a little, but he's nervous, still not knowing what to do. One of the doctors approaches us and says:
—Justin, son, relax. Your sister is going to be okay.
The doctor is her father. Very concerned, he approaches me and says, handing me a set of keys:
—Could you please take our son home? He's in no condition to drive.
"Of course," I answer politely.
"Thank you so much for getting my daughter out of the water," she says, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Take my number. Call me when you get there."
The ambulance van leaves the beach. We get in the car, and I ask Justin:
-Where do you live?
—Palm Road, number four, —he stammers.
I enter the address into the GPS and we head toward the location indicated on the screen. After a while of driving, we enter a vast avenue guarded by a security guard. The guard immediately recognizes the car and proceeds to clear the way for us. As we drive on, I notice the various luxury developments, nothing like my hostel in Forest Wood. In the darkness of the night, I turn right onto the vast avenue lined with tall palm trees, swaying in the night breeze and murmuring among themselves with their chatty leaves. From there, I continue a few more meters. I turn around a roundabout, where a huge stone statue stands, cold and damp. After a few minutes, the GPS indicates that we have reached our destination.
I park and we get out of the car. A deafening silence reigns on the street. Justin takes out his keys and tries to open the front door. His intoxication makes it impossible, so I decide to help him.
"What are you doing? Move away!" he says angrily.
He manages to open the door and, without saying a word, leaves. Without giving this last bit too much thought, I take out my cell phone and call the doctor to tell him that his son is safe and sound.
"Mr. Basset?" I ask.
—Hi, I'm Anne, his wife, —she answers.
"Your son is home now. Is Nicki okay?" I ask with concern.
—Yes, that's fine. Thank you.
—I'm very glad, have a good night.
—Hey, Charles and I want you to come over for lunch tomorrow. You saved our daughter.
"Well, it'll be a pleasure. Thank you," I reply timidly.
—Perfect. See you at one.
I walk back along the long, quiet avenue. I have a long way to go to the hostel, a good excuse to reflect on the strange night I just experienced.
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