I can’t
remember much about the attack. I have been told by spectators who watched in
horror from the shoreline of Cottesloe Beach, while filming on their smart
phones, that, prior to the incident, I had cut a commanding figure, standing
astride the shell of a leatherback turtle, reciting passages from Finnegan’s Wake for the edification of a
circling school of Yellow Fin Tuna. Seconds
later a tremendous blow pitched me into the foaming surf that was already
tinged pink with my blood.
It was 2007.
I had been spear-heading a radical conservation project aimed at educating marine
life on the Western Australian coast. Thousands of miles away on High Streets
up and down the UK, students in green tabards were out fundraising on my behalf, affecting hitherto unseen levels
of twattish behaviour in their attempts to prise personal details from passing
shoppers, who they bombarded with inane factoids, e.g. 90% of sea lions haven’t
read The Glass Bead Game or anything
by Andre Gide.
My day had
begun auspiciously. As I stripped naked before the breaking waves, the shadow
cast on the sand by my massively proportioned genitalia acting as a sundial, I
was approached by an Australian man, who had been barbecuing shrimp and
drinking tins of Fosters nearby. He was in his early 30s and had sandy blonde
hair. His sun-bronzed skin had the texture of leather. The corks, dangling on
short lengths of string from the brim of his hat, danced merrily in the light breeze
as he warned me of the “bonzer” shark that had been sighted at a nearby bar earlier
that morning.
I showed him
the four shark’s head tattoos on my upper left arm, each one indicating the
life of a shark taken with a single punch to the face. He nodded in silent awe of
my bare-handed shark-fighting prowess.
“You are a
true credit to your nation,” I said and then kissed him tenderly on the brow in
the manner that has long been the custom of my people.
The man was
not there when they carried my bleeding body from the indifferent ocean. (While
I was recuperating in hospital I received a get well card from him apologising
for his absence. Immediatley after our meeting, he had gone home to watch the
latest episode of Neighbours and then
listen to some Midnight Oil albums).
I am told that
I was saved that day by the ghost of Rolf Harris. He tenderly gathered me in
his arms and carried me 70 miles on foot to a hospital staffed by former Aussie
soap actors and actresses who had retrained as nurses and doctors . It was Dr
Vanessa Downing - the actress who had originally played Pippa Fletcher in Home and Away who I credit with my
miraculous recovery.
I was later informed
by another doctor that my attacker had infected me with HIV.
“You will never
be able to touch your toes again because both of your legs were wrenched off below
the knee,” he added, as he left the room.
I have since
read that the majority of Great White Sharks living in Australian waters are habitual
heroin users, with many hooked on a potent variant of the drug known as ‘Rottnest
Red.’ There is an enormous problem with
them stealing things off boats to pay for their habits. The Shark who had
attacked me had most likely contracted the retrovirus as a result of sharing
needles with another infected shark.
In the years
that followed I thought about the shark who attacked me many times. I wanted to
ask it why it had infected me with HIV. I also wanted to meet other people who
had contracted the HIV virus as a result of shark attacks.
Jason has
been haunted by the spectre of HIV ever since he was attacked by a Great White
Shark at an indoor public swimming pool in Romford. He seemed keen to talk
about his experiences of living with the disease, however when I began
mentioning sharks he stopped returning my calls. He later emailed me the following
statement:
“I was
infected with HIV as a consequence of years of intravenous drug use. It was a
dark time in my life for which I have paid a heavy price - the end of my first
marriage, my continuing estrangement from my two children who I love more than I
can put into words, not to mention the distress my poor choices caused to my
parents, whose house I burgled on three separate occasions in order to raise
money to fund my drug habit. I have never been attacked by a shark. To my
knowledge Lamniform sharks such as the Great White are incapable of being infected
by the HIV virus or transmitting it to humans. Your thoroughly tactless and ignorant
line of questioning is both absurd and offensive to myself, to anyone living
with HIV and to our brave marine biologists who put their lives on the line time
after time in order to protect the freedom that we take for granted. Please do
not contact me again.”
Reading
between the lines I surmised that Jason was either in denial about his shark
attack, or more likely was being held at gunpoint by a shark and was unable to communicate
freely. I contacted the police voicing my suspicions, phoning it in as a 447
(the police radio code for a man being held at gunpoint by a shark) on the
off-chance that Jason’s kidnapper might be listening in on my calls. The police
in turn pretended not to know what I was talking about and later arrested me
for wasting their time.
I soon found
other victims of shark attacks who like myself had been infected with HIV.
Jane is a 54
year old librarian from Harlow. She was diagnosed HIV positive in 2009, following
a shark attack that occurred as she playfully jumped over a puddle in
Kensington Gardens. It is a little known fact that the majority of shark attacks
take place in no more than 2cms of water, with 40% occurring while the victim
is drinking from a glass of water or fruit cordial.
Jane and I spent
the afternoon leafing through a big pile of library books about sharks,
searching for photographs of her attacker. Like Jason, she remained in denial
about her attack. In The Junior Oceanographer’s
Book of the Sea she pointed out a
picture of a cuttlefish who she claimed to have married to in 1987 and divorced
three years later.
I had almost
given up hope of ever finding my attacker, when out of the blue I received a
call from an AIDS hospice for pelagic sea creatures in Melbourne. I immediately
booked passage on a series of trains boats and buses. Eleven weeks later I
arrived at the hospice. It was here that I met Graham – the shark who had infected
me with HIV - for the second time. As soon as I laid eyes on him any anger I
felt evaporated. I asked him how he was doing and we watched the latter half of
The Truman Show together. He apologised for attacking me:
“ I was troubled
young shark who fell in with a bad crowd. I’m doing everything I can to make amends
for my past transgressions.”
“It’s okay
bro,” I said.
One of the nurses,
taking note of my compassion remarked:
“You are a
wonderful man to forgive Graham after he almost killed you and infected you
with HIV.”
“Yes I am,”
I replied modestly.
Graham died
in my arms the following day. Before his death he carved a poem into the flank
of a manatee. It stands as a fitting epitaph for the life of a shark who went
badly after the rails, but who found redemption at the 11th hour.
My home is in the
Ocean
By Graham
Seal
Seal!
Bloody, toothy, toothy
Blubber, toothy
blubber
Warrrrghhh!
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