Sharkey's Son (school edition)

By Gillian D’achada

This award-winning novel is a story of friendship, adventure and a journey of trust. When thirteen-year-old Grant’s dad disappears, the only clue to his whereabouts is R50 000 in a cell phone FLASH account. Rather than going to his uncle in Cape Town, Grant decides to run away to find his fisherman father. But before long he finds himself hurt and alone on a secluded West Coast beach. Desperate to remain hidden from the authorities, Grant seeks the help of Smiler and Ally; but can they be trusted?
Winner of the Gold Sanlam Prize for Youth Literature (2007).

This school edition of Sharkey’s Son is included in the Department of Basic Education’s National Catalogue for Senior Phase learners. It has been revised and updated with activities for pre-reading and post-reading, questions according to cognitive levels, glossaries and notes on the genre of the novel. Memoranda available online at www.tafelberg.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tafelberg
• Release date: Sep 1, 2008
• ISBN: 9780624065920

Gillian D’achada

Gillian D’achada was born in Cape Town, South Africa, in 1962 – and began writing as soon as she knew how. After matriculating from Fish Hoek High School she attended the University of Cape Town where she studied history and English. Thereafter she pursued a career in copywriting and scriptwriting. She also later obtained a BA Theology degree and spent a number of years on the mission field. She has travelled extensively in Africa, the Middle East, Australia and India as a scriptwriter and lecturer in a Biblical approach to creativity. She has three daughters – Lissa, Candice and Claire-lyn – and is married to John, her ‘manuscript doctor’. They live in Cape Town.

Book preview

Sharkey’s Son

School Edition

Gillian D’achada

Tafelberg

Before reading

1. A man who only knows fishing

By the time the sun was low enough for Grant to stare unblinkingly at it, he knew that something bad had happened to Sharkey.

For three days he’d been looking out. On the first day he’d thought, Oh well, he had a bit of a party at the Paternoster Hotel last night. He’ll be home.

On the second day he’d thought, He must have gone out with the Saldanha skippers. He’ll be home. But by the evening of the third day he had run out of thoughts that made any sense.

Down at the lagoon, boats were bobbing gently at the edge of the sandy shoreline and Tant Lisbeth would soon be locking up the Beach Café. All of Langebaan seemed just as it had always been. Except that tiny hermit crabs of fear were scrabbling around inside Grant and he knew that something was terribly wrong.

The sky was darkening rapidly, but he was loath to leave the lagoon’s edge, reluctant to return to the low, thick-walled house he’d lived in all his life. It had been strange and still without Sharkey the last two nights.

So he stayed and watched the gulls gliding high overhead on their way to Schaapen Island. They rested there, with all the other sea-birds, every night. Grant loved the gulls. They were the big, black, cold, fierce Atlantic gulls. Their cry was wild and free.

The best flyers you can get, Grant thought. Sharkey loved them too, as long as they stayed away from his fish.

Where was Sharkey? What had happened to him? An accident – while he worked after dark – or smokkeled, as some people put it.

Naand, boytjie. Evening, son.

Grant looked around.

Dis ’n weer wat inkom, Oom Daan pointed to the hedge of clouds gathered on the horizon. Ons ga’ mis kry.

Any Langebaner with eyes to see knew those clouds meant a thick fog was coming. Grant wondered why Oom Daan was speaking to him as though he was a visitor.

Is dit nie al te laat om nog so langs die lagoon te sit nie?

No, Uncle, it’s not too late to sit here.

Oh. Oom Daan smoothed his hair. I’ve just come from your house. When I didn’t find you home, I thought I would look down here. Are you catching crabs?

No, Oom, just sitting.

Oom Daan eased himself slowly onto the sand beside Grant. Grant knew then that Oom Daan had come to talk about Sharkey.

You’re a real Weskus boytjie, aren’t you?

What Oom says is true, Grant replied.

Ja, boytjie. You know, here on the West Coast we haven’t got much, so what we do have we don’t give up easily. Now look at Sharkey. You know, Sharkey wasn’t always like he is now. Once he was a fine man.

He’s still a fine man! Grant addressed his thoughts to the largest and most handsome of the gulls because he didn’t dare speak them out loud.

And strong! Sjoe! He was the best kind of skipper you could get. It was hard on him when the netting was banned.

Grant let a handful of sand trickle through his fingers. The finest, most beautiful sand in the world, he was sure. He hoped his impatience wasn’t showing. Nothing offended a Lagooner more than that.

Sharkey used to stand leaning on the kitchen door all day, Oom Daan continued the story that Grant had heard so many times before, waiting for those ministers in Pretoria to make up their minds.

He hasn’t looked at me once since he sat down, Grant thought. He knows what’s happened to Sharkey.

Sharkey didn’t get a permit. I don’t know why, Oom Daan continued. We couldn’t find out. Sometimes a minister can be more slippery than a harder. They only gave twelve permits and those that didn’t get permits either joined the army or they left. But Sharkey, he refused to go. ‘The day a Boer tells me, a visserman, where I can and can’t fish is the day you bury me, Daan.’ That’s what he said. That’s all he knew, fishing. He wasn’t a learned man. Oom Daan turned at last and looked at Grant. So, how does a man who only knows fishing get money to bring up his son if he’s not allowed to fish?

Grant returned his gaze. He knew the answer to that question. Hadn’t he mended the nets every week with Sharkey?

I’ll tell you, boytjie. He fishes. But skelm-skelm,on the sly. And that’s no good for a man.

Grant could no longer contain his anxiety. What’s happened to my father, Oom? He’s been gone for days now. Where is he?

Oom Daan heaved an enormous sigh and looked down at the sand before he answered Grant. Sharkey’s gone to Lüderitz.

That was the last thing Grant had expected to hear. For how long?

He couldn’t keep on struggling, boytjie. He’s gone to work, for a year.

A year! But … Is he gone? Already?

Oom Daan nodded.

No, no, Oom. You must be wrong. Sharkey wouldn’t go away without telling me.

"But he has gone, boytjie. He asked me to tell you."

Grant stared down at the sand and tried to take in what Oom Daan was telling him.

"Boytjie, I have to take you through to your Uncle Roy in Cape Town