When it came, at last, it was one hard push in the centre of his back. For an instant, he doubled over in a deep, elaborate bow. Fittingly Oriental. There was no sound, save a single, thin exhalation, which may have belonged to one of us. His long navy trench coat swaddled him as he drove down, pearl diver tight. A long pennant of dark red scarf, flying like the banner of a minor royal, waved in the air behind him. No arm flailed. Nothing unseemly.
The water received him with a muted splash, pulled him down and away with the sea’s sure hand. There was a moment, only one, when we told ourselves it would be like a burial. ....
© Amanda O'Callaghan 2013
Excerpt from a short story published in Review of Australian Fiction. This story features in my debut collection, This Taste for Silence (UQP, 2019).