By Lisa Fransson

The octopus had washed up on the shore over where the five-hundred-year-old olive tree grew.  Its arms lay wrapped around the roots as if the tree and the sea creature were kin. Only the roots were rough and sturdy, firmly anchored into the ground, while the octopus, out of its element, was a formless blob in the still cool early-morning sun.

‘Come on, Keith,’ cried Elin from up ahead. ‘We’ve got a tide to catch.’

Keith looked away from the octopus towards Elin, because she was right. The dive boat would be waiting for them in the natural harbour a bit further along the path, and no matter how experienced a diver he was, it still took time to get kitted up. But that was also why they’d left the hostel earlier than they’d needed to, because the centre simply couldn’t afford to miss a single one of these funded dives. He looked back down at the octopus. Its skin was moist and shiny as if it was just this minute fresh out of water, but how had it got here? Because even with the rising tide the sea was a fair few strides away, and apart from a gentle lapping against the sand the surface of the sea was an innocent turquoise.

‘Come on, Keith.’

Elin was sounding annoyed now, but how could he leave the octopus here? How could he go looking for marvels below the surface knowing all the while this creature was here? Dead for sure, and decomposing as the heat of the day would soon descend, but even so alone in an alien world. At the very least he needed to return it to the sea, and look for signs as to how it had come to its final resting place among the roots of this gnarled old tree.

Just then the mantle cavity shifted, clearly in an attempt to draw breath.

‘Elin,’ cried Keith as he waved for her to come over. ‘Hurry!’

‘What is it this time?’ said Elin, managing to sound frustrated even in spite of being all puffed out from running over.

Keith had already pulled off his T-shirt and was holding it out for her. ‘Soak this in the sea. Quick as you can.’

‘Since when do you give me orders?’

‘It’s alive,’ said Keith. ‘We can still save it.’

Another second passed before her legs moved, but then she was down to the sea and back with Keith’s T-shirt soaking wet and her water bottle filled with seawater in seconds. She handed the T-shirt to Keith. ‘You lift, I dribble.’

Keith wet his hands before placing the T-shirt on the ground and gently lifting the octopus onto it. This creature, so graceful in the water, felt soft and ungainly his hands.

‘Please live,’ he whispered as he carried it in his arms, with the T-shirt as a shield between his human skin and its, because he didn’t know if this was a species that could hurt him, or indeed if he could hurt it.

Beside him walked Elin, pouring water over the head of the octopus. One of its arms dangled loose in the air, but that didn’t mean it was dead. Another dribble of water onto the octopus, down onto the T-shirt, dripping off Keith’s arm as they walked. Now they were by the sea. Elin stopped, but Keith kept walking into the water until the sea lifted the octopus out of his arms.

The octopus hung limp in the water, and yet Keith waited.

‘Come now, Keith,’ shouted Elin from the shore. ‘There’s nothing more we can do.’

‘There could be prey about,’ said Keith.

‘What does it matter?’ said Elin.

‘Let me just watch it for a minute.’

So he stood there, making gentle waves with his hands towards the octopus, as if in an inept attempt at CPR. But nothing happened. Keith reached a hand out to touch the octopus in a gentle farewell, when it opened its eyes to look at him.

‘Ha,’ said Keith ‘I knew it. You’re alive.’

The octopus undulated an arm towards him and nudged him gently before it swam off towards the deep.

‘Stay well away from shore now,’ whispered Keith, and he felt something tug at his heart before he turned to run to the beach where he gave Elin a hug.

‘Eugh,’ she said as she shook the water off herself, but nonetheless his happiness made her smile. ‘These creatures you find, it’s like they know you’re coming.’

‘I see them, that’s all,’ said Keith.

‘And I don’t?’ said Elin, and now she sounded annoyed again.

‘Well,’ said Keith. ‘You did walk past that tree five seconds before me.’

A silence one beat too long before Elin said, ‘Fair point. But maybe I focus more on the bigger picture?’

‘You do,’ said Keith. ‘But don’t you think that we also ought to remember that the bigger picture is made up of many smaller ones?’

‘Your point being?’

That the resolution of the bigger picture is decreasing into a blur as ever more creatures pass unnoticed out of this world, thought Keith. But what he said was, ‘I had no idea how much the eye of an octopus looks like a sheep’s eye.’

‘Weirdo,’ said Elin, laughing again as she nudged him without any of the tact of the octopus.

*

The journey out to the shipwreck took only a few minutes. When Keith turned to look back towards land the beach looked deceptively near, as if it was no further than a leisurely swim away. Only the five-hundred-year-old olive tree off to the east, now the size of a piece of broccoli, spoke the truth.

Elin sat at the bow, gazing out to sea, her wetsuit half on to avoid overheating before they could get in the water. As the boat slowed, Keith trailed his hand in the water. It felt soft and cool against his finger, somehow comforting. Soon he’d be down there, floating and weightless.

‘Right, Keith,’ said Elin. ‘Ready?’

‘I am.’

‘Do you want to rehearse the signals one last time?’

‘I know them.’

At the research centre he was their dogsbody, slotting into whatever role was needed on any particular day: skipper, driver, secretary, equipment maintenance man, research assistant, even nightwatchman for a free place to kip, but most of all he was there for the world under water.

Today he was Elin’s camera man, going down to capture images of what might be a new species of limpet which lived on this wreck. The shells were apparently a darker shade of pink, almost purple. Burgundy? The same shade as the octopus. He could still feel the weight of it in his arms, then the nudge on his elbow before it had swum off, and the joy after watching the transformation from shapeless heap to an eight-limbed dance of muscles. How could any picture be bigger than that?

‘This could be a big deal, Keith,’ said Elin.

‘Pardon?’

‘The limpet.’ Elin gave him a hard stare. ‘So no fuck-ups.’

Kitting up was unpleasant. The BCD with the weights and the tanks strapped on the back made him feel the opposite of weightless, the knife strapped around their ankles a sharp threat in a world into which they were trespassing, the regulators a testament to their human frailty, and the backup regulator, the octopus… Keith held the octopus in his hand.

‘Why are you holding it like that?’ said Elin with a frown. ‘Is there something wrong with it? Because you were supposed to check the equipment last night.’

Keith said nothing, just pressed the purge button on the octopus to show her all was well. Elin closed her eyes and took a deep breath in before visibly relaxing and opening her eyes again to meet his.

‘This placement decides my future, Keith, and finding a new species would be beyond anything I’d hoped to achieve.’

‘I know,’ said Keith, because he did know what this expedition meant to her. Just like he knew that this was Elin’s way of apologising for being impatient with him. What he felt less sure about was how the limpets clinging to the wreck beneath them would benefit from being discovered by Elin. For their sake, he hoped they were nothing special.

The water was warm, the visibility clear, and there were no swells or currents. The wreck lay at twenty-four meters, an easy-ish depth for them. It was nothing spectacular, just a small wooden fishing boat that sprung a leak some sixty years ago. Keith looked up towards the surface. It rippled gently, a viscous portal between worlds on which even the rays of the sun fractured. He pointed the camera upwards, because you never knew what would come swimming along next. But all was quiet, the life here still wary of their intrusion.

Elin was ahead of him, always ahead of him, expending air too fast with her eager kicking, always shortening the time they could spend in this magic kingdom. She hovered over the wreck, waving for him to swim over with the camera, making signals for him to film close-ups and sweeps of the population. He caught the odd limpet gliding around on its one muscular foot, probably off to better pastures. While it travelled no more than an arm’s length, the distance must make this specimen a globetrotter compared to the rest of the colony. Elin pointed to unusual patterns, to the deeper reds and the brighter pinks. The limpets were many, and they were beautiful. Keith would gladly have watched them all day, but Elin had already taken water samples and now she was bringing out her knife, waving for him to come closer with the camera. It pained him to keep filming as she prised those peaceful limpets loose from their habitat on the wreck.

Yes, because of the work of the centre, the bay was protected, biodiversity had increased, with a rejuvenated ecosystem which had led to species of fish not seen for decades returning. But what of the limpets Elin was gathering inside her sampling bottle? How did they feel about the greater good?

Elin signalled that she was done and made a sign to start the ascent. Keith would always choose to stay longer, to watch life here, to memorise every inch of it, for the sake of keeping the wonder of this hidden world tucked inside him for the days he would spend staring out over the surface of the sea, and for the nights he would dream of the depths. They still had air left in their tanks after all, but as always, time was of the essence, for Elin.

He turned to look towards the depths, to where he could never reach in his waking life. And there, there he saw something moving. Elin tapped him on the shoulder, her impatience evident even down here where language was muted. He met her eyes and pointed. Her eyes grew wide behind her dive mask. Fearful or astounded, it was hard to tell.

The octopus was swimming towards them, projectile-like, its arms neatly tucked in, its eyes open, the cavity mantle expanding and contracting. It settled on the wreck and billowed its arms outwards like a skirt. Its eyes were on Keith. Keith handed the camera to Elin and reached his arms out towards the octopus. He felt Elin’s hand on his shoulder cautioning him, but ignored it. The octopus edged closer and swelled towards him, expanding beyond what ought to be possible, and soon all of its eight arms were wrapped around him, one of its eyes staring through his dive mask and right inside the depths of his soul.

He sensed Elin off to his side. With his uncovered eye he saw her reach for the knife. But he lifted his index finger towards her and she paused. The octopus clung to him, for seconds, perhaps for an eternity, and if he were to run out of air, he wouldn’t care. Let him die here inside its arms, let his body be absorbed into the ecosystem, for the bigger picture, for the greater good.

But the octopus released him, and Keith couldn’t bear it. He took hold of an arm gently, and the octopus circled another around his wrist, before they both let go and the octopus left him for the depths.

He watched it swim away, until Elin held the computer up right in front of Keith’s eyes. He was using up too much air, and so they began the ascent.

He was expecting to be told off for endangering the dive, even to be ordered to leave the centre for his recklessness. But what did he care when he was landlocked and clumsy, while the most beautiful of creatures swam free in a veiled world.

But Elin said nothing in the boat, only trailed her hand in the water, her samples safely tucked away. They reached land and Keith wished they didn’t have to walk back together. His feet shuffled ungracefully through the sand, so he walked faster. There was the five-hundred-year-old olive tree, its branches hard and arthritic.

‘Keith,’ came Elin’s voice from behind him. ‘Let’s sit for a bit.’

He wanted to be alone, to sleep, to dream of the depths, but the air felt harsh inside his lungs as he struggled to breathe and she was indicating towards a bench under the tree. They sat in silence while the pain inside Keith’s heart swelled to beyond what ought to be possible, unfurling eight balletic arms to choke him with. His breath came short, the tears hot and fast.

‘I know there’s a lot at stake for you,’ he said in the end. ’I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ she said as she took his hand and held it between hers. ‘Because today I remembered why I’m here.’

About the Author

Lisa is a bilingual writer living on the south coast of England. In her native Swedish, Lisa is an award-winning children’s author, while in her adopted English she’s a writer of short fiction and novels. Her first novel, The Shape of Guilt, is a piece of literary fiction with streaks of magical realism published by époque press in October 2023. She also works as a literary translator and a mentor to young writers.

Lisa always wanted to be a writer, but she only started investing in her writing after her youngest child started school. She enrolled in The Creative Writing Programme in 2014 and since then she’s had six children’s books published in her native Swedish with two more on the way, one of which has gone on to win prizes. In English, as well as her debut novel The Shape of Guilt, her short fiction and poetry have been long listed, short listed, and widely published.

Find her website here.