Into the River

by Mark Brandi

  ‘You like a drink?’ Mrs Morressi touched Ben’s shoulder and it was like a lightning bolt straight through him.

  ‘Ah... nah. I mean, no thank you. I’ll just go out back and...’

  ‘Yes, yes, Fabri. He is out back.’ She smiled and walked into the kitchen. ‘You go play the crickets, yes. I make you both nice lunch after.’

  Ben stopped at the back door and watched again the way her skirt brushed against her legs. She had light brown skin, smooth and lovely. He wondered what underwear she might have on. And if she had a matching bra. Maybe a lacy one. Definitely a lacy one and—

  ‘Ben? Are you all right?’ She frowned, her lips pursed. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink? You look a little pale.’

  ‘No, thanks. I... um... I better go outside and see Fab.’

  She nodded and smiled, all big shining eyes and white teeth and bright red lips like a movie star.

  Jesus.

  If Fab’s dad – or his father, or whatever – if he knew what Ben was thinking, he’d slice his throat right open with that huge hunting knife. Just the thought of him sent a chill through Ben’s bones.

  He hoped like hell that Fab was out the back on his own, that his father wasn’t there too. He hoped he’d gone into work and wasn’t home, even though he normally did the night shift. Maybe he wouldn’t be home all day. It would just be him, Fab and Mrs Morressi. Fab and his mum. Fab and Eva.

  Eva.

  He suddenly realised he didn’t even know Fab’s father’s name. Truth was, he didn’t really want to. But he imagined it would be something scary. Like Victor or Ivan. Or maybe Boris.

  * * *

  From the back door, there was a winding, half-rotten, timber ramp that led down to the yard. A wide driveway snaked down the right side of the house and through the yard, leading to a large, open-walled garage.

  From the doorway, Ben could see there was no Kingswood parked inside, just the Pacer, which meant Fab’s dad probably wasn’t home. He moved quickly down the ramp to a small patch of dry grass. Fab was sitting there, with their dog, Sofia.

  ‘Hey!’

  Fab looked up. ‘Didn’t think you were coming.’

  ‘I told ya I was.’

  ‘Yeah, but last time...’

  ‘I had to help Dad last time, remember?’

  That was bullshit. Though it hurt him to do it, he usually made up an excuse if Fab asked him over.

  Ben gave Sofia a pat. She was an old, black labrador. She was a pretty boring dog, just sat around most of the time. And she stank. They used to have a super-smart kelpie called Tippy, but Fab’s dad shot him when he got a bit sick once. Fab said his father didn’t believe in vets. They had a cocky too, Niccolo, but he was round the back of the garage and you never saw him, though you’d hear him scream out like a mental case sometimes.

  ‘What do ya wanna do?’ Fab said.

  ‘Dunno. Cricket?’

  Fab was up on his feet as soon as Ben said it. He already had it all set up.

  The rules were pretty simple.

  At the bottom end of the driveway was an upturned trampoline – that was the automatic wicketkeeper. An old steel rubbish bin, in front of the trampoline, was the stumps.

  If you nicked the ball and it hit the trampoline, you were out (even down the leg-side, which was a new rule). Over the fence on the full was out, and you had to go get it. If you hit the house on the full, you were out too. One-hand-one-bounce was out, but there was no LBW – it caused too many arguments.

  Hitting the house along the ground was four runs. The garage on the full was out. Garage along the ground was two runs. Hitting the side fence was a single.

  And you couldn’t get out first ball.

  Ben picked up a tennis ball. ‘You gonna bat?’

  Fab smiled. ‘Course.’ Home team always batted first. Fab was usually the West Indies, while Ben was Australia. Fab reckoned the Australian team was full of wankers and Ben kind of agreed with him about that. He liked Merv Hughes, but.

  Ben walked back up the driveway to mark out his run-up. Sofia followed him, slobbering and wagging her fat, smelly tail.

  ‘Where’s ya dad?’ he said.

  Fab picked up his bat, an old Duncan Fearnley, and marked out the crease with his foot. ‘He’s gone to Sid’s.’

  Ben’s chest relaxed a little. He nodded, pretending not to care. ‘Fair enough.’

  Thing was, he was hardly ever invited around if Fab’s dad was there anyway. He didn’t know if it was because Fab’s dad didn’t like him, or if Fab was embarrassed. Either way, Ben preferred it. It was better with just Mrs Morressi. Even more so lately. Much better just with her. With Eva. Eva. Such a nice name.

  Fab made it to thirty-two before Ben got him. Caught behind, down the leg-side. Ben was happy to get him for less than fifty and he could tell Fab was pissed off, especially for getting out with the new rule.

  ‘Well-batted,’ Ben said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Fab handed over the bat, but didn’t look at him, which confirmed he was angry.

  The handle felt sweaty. The rubber had worn through ages ago and Fab had patched it with electrical tape. Ben marked out his own crease, a little further out than Fab’s, because Fab always bowled a bit too short.

  ‘Have you seen Jimmy Shine around?’ Ben said.

  ‘You mean since...’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Nah. Probably got his fill that night. Good wanking material.’

  Ben laughed. ‘Probably.’

  He only got to face five balls before Fab’s mum called out that lunch was ready. He was on eleven not out.

  * * *

  It was like nothing Ben had ever tasted before. The sauce was rich and thick and it was just unbelievable. Fab’s mum grated some weird hard cheese to go on top – she didn’t just use the bag stuff like Ben’s mum did. His dad called the bag cheese ‘the sawdust’ and thought it was pretty funny.

  Fab’s mum said the cheese was ‘Parmigiano’ that she got in Ballarat. She even drank some red wine in a normal glass, not like the tall dusty ones his mum kept in the special room. She drank wine in the middle of the day, just with him and Fab, like they were all adults or something.

  Fab’s mum was from another planet. A much better planet.

  ‘This is really nice, Mrs Morressi.’ He couldn’t bring himself to say Eva, especially in front of Fab, but he snuck a look at her chest as he said it. She had a grey t-shirt on, with a couple of buttons that were open near the collar. Her boobs weren’t huge or anything, but they were a nice round shape. Much rounder than his mum’s ones, not that he looked at them. But he’d noticed that his mum’s were a bit pointy, a bit like Miss Feely’s. He saw them once, just in a bra, and they were bigger than he expected.

  ‘Grazie... I mean, thank you, Ben.’ She smiled with those big red lips. ‘I cook the sauce for three hours, you know? Does your mum make the bolognese?’ She didn’t even say it like his mum did, it was more like ‘bolo-nezzy’, and her tongue rolled a bit at the end.

  ‘Yeah, but nothing like this. She just fries a packet of mince in a pan and puts a jar of something in it. Dolmio, I think it’s called.’

  Mrs Morressi clicked her tongue. ‘That is not my way,’ she said. ‘But,’ she shrugged, ‘everyone can do things differently, no?’

  Ben smiled. She had this way of saying no when she meant yes. Of saying things like they were questions, even when they weren’t. And Ben decided right then that she was just about the nicest lady in the world.

  Then the front door squeaked open. And it was like all the air got sucked right out of the room.

  They all stopped eating. Ben shot a look at Fab, who placed his fork down slowly.

  Fab’s mum was up like a shot. She got a big bowl from the cupboard and started piling it with spaghetti. There were heavy footsteps down the hallway. Really heavy. Fab stared straight down into his bowl and Ben could tell he was gritting his teeth by the way his cheeks shook a bit.

  ‘Buongiorno!’ Fab
’s mum called out really loud. ‘I cook you pasta! You eat?’

  The footsteps stopped. Ben turned around and there he was, standing in the lounge room like a mountain. He was swaying a bit and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He was holding a bottle in a brown paper bag. He coughed. His eyes were wild and bright, but rolling around a bit like he was crazy. He didn’t even look at Ben. Or Fab.

  ‘Buonanotte!’ he said, then he laughed loudly and staggered into a bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Mrs Morressi didn’t answer him, but picked up Fab and Ben’s plates, even though they hadn’t finished.

  ‘You boys go outside and keep playing the crickets, yes?’ She smiled at Ben, but it was different this time. Thinner and smaller. Like it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  * * *

  Fab was batting again before long. Ben was out for seventeen. One-hand-one-bounce. ‘Second innings then,’ he said.

  Ben was getting tired. The pasta was delicious. He just needed some more of it. He took a breather, sitting on the grass with Sofia.

  ‘So, has Pokey given you any more trouble?’ he said.

  Fab smiled. ‘Don’t worry about Pokey.’ He leaned the bat against the rubbish bin. ‘I’ve got a plan.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Jesus, Fab. You and your plans. Why don’t you just tell your parents or something?’

  He glanced up to the house. ‘What are they gonna do?’

  Ben shrugged.

  ‘Nah, I got it all sorted. You know how he rides his bike up the hill to school?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well...’ he grinned like a cat. ‘Never mind.’

  Ben stood up. ‘C’mon, tell me.’

  ‘Nah, you’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t tell me, don’t expect me to jump in when it all goes to shit.’

  Fab nodded, but they both knew Ben didn’t mean it. He picked up the bat. ‘C’mon, go bowl, will ya.’

  ‘Why don’t ya just keep a low profile. Avoid him.’

  ‘It’s all right for you to say that. You don’t know what it’s like.’

  ‘I do know what it’s—’

  ‘Nah, it’s all right for you.’ Fab shook his head. ‘You’re one of them. I mean, you’re not like them... you’re my friend. But I’m a wog.’ He winced a little at the word. ‘It’s always gonna be like that.’

  ‘I’m not one of them, though. And it won’t always be like this.’ He had no idea if the second bit was true.

  Fab took his stance, whacking the bat three times on the crease. ‘I’m sick of talking about it. Just go bowl, will ya.’

  Ben went back to his run-up. He wasn’t the quickest of bowlers. Steven Troeth at school had that crown. But he was accurate, just short of a good length and pitched outside off-stump. Predictable and dependable.

  To a fault, as it turned out.

  On the first ball of the third over after lunch, Fab danced forward and clipped it crisply from his toes, sending it over Ben’s head and straight through a large sash window. They both watched in silent horror as the glass collapsed and jagged shards crashed to the ground. Sofia, who was asleep on the grass, yelped and ran up the driveway as quickly as Ben had ever seen.

  It all happened so fast after that.

  Fab stood still, wide-eyed and stunned. Ben ran down the driveway and wrenched the bat from his hands.

  Mrs Morressi came out first, her big Italian eyes like shiny saucers. She rushed down the timber ramp, her hands slapping at her cheeks, her mouth going for air like a goldfish.

  ‘I did it, Mrs Morressi. I did it!’ Ben said. ‘I’m sorry!’

  But it didn’t make any difference.

  There was a side door that opened out onto the driveway. Ben had never known about it until then, until Fab’s father came running out.

  He was wearing white underpants and was yelling something in Italian as he ran down the driveway. He was enormous and hairy and he was swinging a thick leather belt with a big brass buckle. Fab was already crying.

  ‘I did it, Mr Morressi.’ Ben said. ‘I did it!’

  Mr Morressi didn’t look like he heard what Ben said and he grabbed Fab by the arm. Mrs Morressi wasn’t Eva anymore and she was yelling in Italian, but he didn’t hear her either.

  He started to whip Fab with the leather belt, with the buckle and everything. Mrs Morressi grabbed his arm, but he turned and started whipping her too.

  And that’s when Ben found out Fab’s father’s name, even though he never wanted to know.

  ‘Gustavo! No, please! Gustavo!’

  Ben dropped the bat and ran up the driveway. He ran up the driveway as fast as he could, and out into the street.

  All the way home he ran, and all the way he could feel his heart pounding and hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  And even when he got home, ran inside his room and buried his head under his pillow, he was sure he could still hear Fab screaming.

  Eight

  The first time Ben went to Ronnie’s house was to cut the grass. It was Saturday and he played cricket in the morning at Great Western and they won. He’d given up playing tennis on Saturdays; it clashed with cricket and he liked cricket better because Fab and him were on the same team.

  He’d liked looking at the girls at tennis too, so it wasn’t an easy choice. His mum wasn’t happy about him choosing cricket – she said tennis was a nicer sport and there was more money in it.

  Fab reckoned tennis was for ‘toffs’. When Ben asked him what that meant, he said it was for rich kids. Ben reckoned the real reason Fab didn’t like tennis was because it was the one sport he was really shithouse at. But he didn’t say anything about it.

  When Ben got home after cricket, his mum told him Ronnie had come by and he’d have to go over there after lunch. Ben didn’t want to go, but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like he could get out of it. If he tried, he knew his dad would be furious.

  Still, if he got it done quick he might get some time in the arvo, maybe see what Fab was doing. Plus, the ten bucks would be handy. Sportspower had just got the new Nike Air Max.

  * * *

  When he got there, Ronnie was in the driveway, bent over the mower with a toolbox on the concrete beside him. He was wearing long grey pants, the ones with pockets about halfway down. He had the green mining shirt on and big black leather boots that looked like they had steel caps.

  Ben hoped the mower might be broken. Ronnie turned his head as the gate squeaked open, his face red and sweaty, eyes squinting into the sun.

  ‘G’day Ben.’

  ‘Hi...’ He cleared his throat. ‘G’day.’

  ‘Just changin the spark plug over for ya.’ Ronnie stood up, his hands on his hips.

  Ben didn’t know what a spark plug was. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  Ronnie pulled out a smoke from his shirt pocket and lit it with a big silver lighter, which he clipped shut with a thwack. Ben wondered what happened to the other lighter, or if maybe Ronnie had a collection of them. Maybe different girls in bikinis.

  He looked at the lawn; it was about half a foot long in parts, but had longer bits where tall, skinny yellow flowers had shot up. He didn’t think it would take him very long. He looked back at Ronnie, who was watching his eyes.

  ‘Ya gotta do here and out the back. Just a couple of hours, I reckon.’ He drew back hard on his cigarette. He looked almost shiny in the sun, like marble, his forearms mapped with thick veins. ‘I’ll finish this,’ he nodded at his smoke, ‘and I’ll start it up for ya.’ A smile started at the corner of his mouth, but stayed there.

  Ben didn’t know there was grass out back. He’d always thought the clothesline would be set in concrete and that’s as far as his imagination got before Daisy took over. He shuddered at the thought of mowing the grass out there, with the clothesline spinning behind him. He might look around and there she’d be, swinging with her rotting white face and dead eyes.

  Ronnie flicked his cigarette onto the driveway, rea
ched down to the starter cord and tore the machine to life.

  * * *

  Ben was about halfway through mowing out front when Fab skidded up the driveway on his bike.

  ‘Whatcha doin?’

  ‘What?’ Ben yelled over the mower.

  ‘Whatcha doin?’

  ‘What? I can’t hear ya!’

  ‘Turn it off!’

  ‘What?’

  Fab pointed at the throttle. ‘Turn it off!’ He leaned over and pulled at the lever. The mower spluttered to a stop.

  ‘Started your new job?’ he said. ‘Ya mum just told me.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Ben lifted his t-shirt and wiped the sweat from his face.

  ‘Where’s ya boss?’

  ‘Dunno. In the house I think.’ Ben nodded at Fab’s bike. ‘You fix the buckled wheel?’

  Fab shrugged. ‘You did well today. How many wickets was it?’

  ‘Three,’ Ben said. ‘You did well too. Took that catch.’

  ‘Yeah, Halls Gap are shit though. We’ve got Swifts next week, they’re top of the ladder.’

  ‘Did ya mum pick ya up after?’

  Fab adjusted the grip on his handlebars. ‘Yep.’

  It was the first time Ben had mentioned anything about Fab’s parents since last weekend. Fab hadn’t said anything about it at school. And neither had Ben. Not to each other or anyone else. It was a silent agreement to pretend nothing happened. Same as last time.

  It was just easier that way. Ben could tell that Fab never wanted to talk about it, not directly. And neither did he.

  Some of the other kids asked Fab why he wore trousers all week, even though it was hot. So Ben wore trousers on Thursday and Friday too, just so they would shut up about it.

  ‘Gonna go yabbying later,’ Fab said. ‘Reckon you can come?’

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Gotta do the back too.’

  ‘Really?’ Fab raised his eyebrows. ‘You better watch out for you-know-who then.’

  ‘Get stuffed, will ya?’ Ben reached down for the starter cord.

  ‘Might see you later then, if you make it out alive. Near the Leviathan again, all right?’