It was 60 bucks with glassed-in fins and my mum gave me half …

There were definite advantages to our Mum being a suburban house cleaner, or cleaning lady. If my siblings or I were ever off sick from school, we might enter those other-worldly houses. Sure, there were plenty of modest ones, too, but even then there might be a pool table, or an adorable cocker spaniel. But mostly, we waited for summer.

In the Christmas holidays, Tuesday was the day. Our Mum worked with an Irishwoman named Stella, whom we loved. She always said, “Top of the mornin’ to ya!” She also smoked like a chimney. She had two kids of her own, and we drove to Mrs Manion’s house, in Monterey. (Important note: Mrs Manion had a pool.) Later we’d be in Caringbah, at the old man’s house, which was hot, with little to do – but the pool at Mrs Manion’s erased every other so-called hardship.

Markus Zusak with his dog, Frost. Credit: Edwina Pickles

As the summers rolled by, our numbers dwindled to just two: Stella’s son, Stuart, and me. Eldest sisters were out doing other things. My older brother had a summer job. I missed him but only slightly. He’d always played affected in some way, too good to be hanging around us losers, though Stuart and he were the same age.

In the summer of ’86-’87, we were all saving money to surf. My brother already had a second-hand board, which I eyed and desperately coveted. Stuart felt exactly the same. Every Tuesday, he approached Stella like a runaway game-show host: “Mum! I’ve got a deal for you! If I give you 50 bucks and you chip in another 80, I can get a used six-foot Jackson with a leg rope – ”

My Mum and I traded smiles.

And then, one day, a surprise.

Not far from the old man’s house, we found ourselves at the Force 9 surfboard factory. Stuart had already secured a deal with Stella when I found a small second-hand Gordon & Smith twin fin, with a swallow tail and a pink column of spray paint down the centre. And only $60!

At Stuart’s urging, I sheepishly asked my Mum if I could lay-by it with my savings – and miracle of miracles, she said yes. And then, as if Stuart’s massaging of Stella had hit Lisa Zusak harder, she said, “Look, how about I just go you halves?”

No need to ask what happened. The following weekend I was beaten, held under, sliced in the ear and fin-chopped in the leg. A hefty amount of sand took up residence in my crotch.

My brother teased me mercilessly – I was pathetic, stupid, and worst of all, totally unco. “God, how bad for you!” he’d say. It was a brutal, salt-ridden learning curve, both physically and mentally. And socially. (In surfing, being crap was death.)

Markus Zusak and his brother at Elouera Beach. Thirty-seven years after Zusak popped up on his first wave here, he continues to surf.

But here, I guess, is the thing. A summer that changes everything doesn’t always happen overnight. Late in April, my Mum drove us down to Elouera, and I was out there alone when a perfect slab of water appeared. Without thinking, I turned and paddled. Without thinking, I was up and riding. I was surfing my first ever proper wave, the beach laid out before me.

You’re up, I thought, don’t stuff it up!

Out of the corner of my eye, quite shockingly, I saw him … It wasn’t a trick of the light, or some optical illusion; for on the shore I could see my brother, arms stretched high in the air, his mouth torn open – cheering me.

Thirty-seven years later, he lives far away from the coast now, but I continue to surf (through the good days and the unco), and it keeps that moment near – and all for just 60 bucks!

That summer was Stella and Stuart. That wave redeems my brother. But mostly I recall my Mum. Strange and silly as it sounds, but I owe her half the ocean.

Markus Zusak is the international bestselling author of six novels, including The Book Thief and The Messenger. His latest book is a memoir, Three Wild Dogs and the Truth.

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