Mantaman

Matiu couldn't watch his parents argue anymore. His mum would complain about his father's drinking, then his father would respond with a raised hand... Like the truth was too knotty and buried. They could only bicker now.

He grabbed his board and minutes later he was paddling furiously out into the surf.

Peace came over him. He understood this place. He understood when a wave hits, when to duck and when to ride it out.

Not like his dad.

Matiu felt something brush his ankle. He looked down and right into the spiral centre of a vast shoal of mantaray.

Thousands of ocean angels. A placid host on their annual migration. He felt the silent electrosensitive communication which allowed them to move and live in harmony.

He let himself slip from the board, and as he descended, their slow wings embraced him.

He panicked for a moment, as the air rose out of him, then he was filled by a strange electricity.

"You were supposed to watch him!"

"He's twelve! He don't need watching!"

Their eyes whipped to the front door, where Matiu stood, his eyes placid.

"Where you bin, boy?" his father snapped. "Your mother's worried sick."

His father stomped over, his calloused hands ready to shake some sense into the boy.

But Matiu felt the sea in his veins. He held his ground. His father froze.

"It's OK, dad," said Matiu. "I know sometimes you're afraid. I know you can't tell us how you feel, but I can feel how you feel."

Matiu raised his arms, slow and wide, and embraced his father.

Matiu's mother watched in amazement as her husband, shaking, untensed and lowered his fist.

"I'm sorry, boy, it... it's the only strength I know."

"It's OK, you can talk to me. Man to man."