Eyrie

by Tim Winton

  Towards the end of the week he noticed Gemma becoming increasingly fractious. Sent on an errand he bought the wrong brand of paper towels. He cooked with too much garlic and like Kai he left the toilet seat up. She was fed up with their nerdy boy talk, their birdy bullshit – and why was he always here in the flat anyway, taking up space? She didn’t want a wife and besides he wasn’t even paying his way, so why didn’t he stop botting off her and leave them in peace?

  On Thursday he gave Kai a quick game after school but sent him on home alone for dinner. Keely figured he’d make himself scarce a while. But on Friday evening she came by with a takeaway roasted chicken and reminded him of the prison visit next morning. She had the night off, she said girlishly. And for someone just back from the supermarket she seemed a little too carefully put together. She was giving him the willies.

  Gemma left him the chook but he stayed away and jerked off miserably during the SBS movie. Later he thought of calling Harriet – she’d probably be still at work, the number wouldn’t take long to find. He suddenly wanted to hear her voice, tell her about this boy who held his arm, but he wasn’t mad enough yet to do it. She’d think it was either vengeful or pathetic. He’d make her cry and hate himself.

  So as drunks rolled festively through the streets below, he carted himself off to bed. He couldn’t think about tomorrow. Tried to hypnotize himself. Fox his way down step by step, turn by turn, avoiding all thought. And mostly failing.

  * * *

  He dreamt he was swimming, coursing towards the sea on his own, fleeing shadows, making himself tiny with fear.

  It was a long, hot drive out into the valley. They had the drab entirety of Perth to traverse – every grey and khaki suburb, every baking industrial park, car yard and junk-food franchise on the ravaged plain. The Saturday-morning drivers were torpid and maddening. Heat rolled down from the ranges in waves. Although they began the journey with Gemma at the wheel she was so erratic from nervous excitement she had to pull over and surrender the controls to Keely. Almost as jittery as her, he followed her directions, submitting to her liverish commentary until he got to the outlands where droughted horse paddocks gave way to housing estates of heartbreaking ugliness.

  In the back with his sketchpad and pencil case, Kai sat subdued to the point of complete withdrawal. The boy had been to Bandyup before but he would not be drawn into conversation about it. At home whenever Gemma mentioned his mother he rarely engaged. The whole thing gave Keely the yips.

  His eyes hurt. His head pinged and throbbed. Smears of light caught on everything, gave his vision a nasty lag, like old-school video. It was the shits, feeling this bad after a booze-free evening. He hadn’t even gobbed a pill for twelve hours and now he felt worse than if he’d been on a bender. For relief he thought of worthy analgesics: Panadeine Forte, Nurofen Osteo, Mersyndol.

  When the turn-off finally came he missed it. Gemma slapped the dashboard in disgust. He pulled over violently.

  For God’s sake, he said, startled as much as angry. Just calm down, will you?

  Turning around on the highway, he took his indignation out on the car, conscious of how unhelpful the histrionics were.

  The women’s prison was a squat brick campus set well back from the road. Except for the coils of razor wire it looked no nastier than the schools he’d gone to in the sixties and seventies. And yet his mouth went dry just rolling up the drive.

  They were a few minutes early. He found somewhere permissible to park. Left the motor running for the sake of what paltry relief the aircon provided. Gemma opened and closed her handbag repeatedly. She checked her face in the mirror, tried to fold Kai’s hair behind his ears. Other vehicles began to coast in around them.

  I’ll swing back at eleven, said Keely. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll wait here – in case you come out early.

  You’re not comin in? she said with feeling.

  Oh, he exclaimed dishonestly. I didn’t realize.

  Well, Jesus. You don’t have to.

  No, it’s that I didn’t —

  I asked for Kai’s sake.

  Not a problem, he said. Of course.

  Jesus.

  Really, he said, turning off the engine.

  See? she said to Kai, twisting in her seat. Tom’s comin too. You ready to see your mum?

  Kai shrugged.

  Love! she said too brightly. She’ll be that excited.

  The boy packed up his things without expression.

  When they opened the car doors, the heat was withering. Keely felt it shrink his throat and cause flares at the edge of his vision. Gemma took Kai by the arm and Keely followed. All the way to reception she prattled about shade and air-conditioning but once they passed into the industrial chill of the interior there was surprisingly little relief. With its muddle of signage, its antiseptic smell and atmosphere of tamped desperation, the building could have been the annexe of any social service – the dole office, Homeswest, DOCS. This side of the glass attempts had been made to create a sense of normality, but the strain was palpable. The false cheer amongst visitors. The sideways looks. Keely felt a scalding flush in his cheeks.

  He followed Gemma, did what she did, tried to seem relaxed. They joined a queue, exchanged thin smiles with others. But they’d barely begun the process of registration when Gemma turned and seized him by the sleeve.

  Oh Christ, she said. They’ve brought the dogs.

  What’s that mean? he asked.

  Down the line a uniformed officer and his eager mutt capered in and out.

  Non-contact, said Gemma through her teeth. It’s gunna be a strip search – Jesus! Tom, take him.

  What?

  Kai, she said. Take him out.

  But why?

  Just get him in the car, drive him around for a bit.

  Gemma —

  I’m not havin em touch this boy.

  Are you sure?

  Of course I’m bloody sure, just go – now!

  Bewildered but galvanized, he steered the child back towards the entrance.

  Everything alright? said the officer at the door.

  Change of plan, said Keely.

  Imagine so, she murmured a little too knowingly.

  They stepped out of the refrigerated enclosure and into white sun. Keely felt it dig into the pits of his eyes and the pain travelled through his shoulders, elbows, hands.

  He didn’t know what to tell Kai. Then wondered if the boy needed anything explained anyway. Keely got them onto the highway for the sake of being gone, yet the moment he was free, giddy and slightly guilty for the relief of it, he was faced with the immediate problem of where to go and what to do out here in this desolation of overpasses and spiky bush. There was nothing: no shade, no houses, no shops. Enormous signs rose before them touting wildlife parks and tourist-trap wineries.

  After a few minutes Keely pulled in at a semi-rural roadhouse where articulated trucks parked in lines at high-flow diesel pumps. Watermelons sat piled in crates. At the edge of the gravel apron there were trailers for hire and horse manure for sale.

  You must be thirsty, he said to Kai.

  Yes, the boy allowed.

  Inside the place stank of fried bacon and scorched coffee. Homely smells after the prison. And the place was cool but not cold. Keely bought a Coke and a packet of chips for the boy. Scruples be buggered – the kid needed some sort of treat. Got an apple juice for himself. He chugged it before he’d even drawn up a chair. Kai opened his drink and then his chips and set his sketchpad on the table. Keely hadn’t even noticed him bring it in. He watched the boy lay out his pencils.

  Well, he said. That was all a bit awkward, wasn’t it?

  The boy glanced past him.

  I’m sorry you didn’t get to see your mum.

  Kai selected a pencil.

  Your nan will explain everything.

  It’s drugs, said Kai.

  I see, he said haplessly.

  A waitress sloped by on tender feet and informed them that if they wa
nted to sit inside they’d need to buy a meal. Keely couldn’t face the heat just now and he was anxious to avoid any unpleasantness, so he ordered a BLT. Maybe the kid would pick at it.

  Lucky you’ve got your nan, he said.

  The boy chewed his lip.

  What’re you drawing?

  Kai shrugged.

  Can I see?

  Kai rolled a pencil on the Laminex as if weighing up the request. Then he pushed the pad across. Keely took it up and flicked through pictures of magpies, a Pacific gull and several failed attempts at a pelican. After this came a series of simple, almost stylized images that were not at all birdlike. It took Keely a few moments to understand what they were.

  Kai, what’s this?

  Just me, said the boy, considering a salty crinkle-cut chip.

  An outline?

  Kai licked the salt off the chip. Keely looked again at the emphatic line, the splayed limbs. It was the classic pictograph of a dead body, the sort of thing you saw every night on TV.

  What’s it about? What’s it for?

  I draw it when I dream it.

  When you dream it? You mean the same dream you told me about?

  Where I land. I’m there for a while. Then I’m gone and that’s all that’s left.

  This line?

  The boy ate the chip, took a gulp of Coke, and burped quietly.

  Are you sure this is a dream?

  Kai offered a look of studied patience and did not quite meet his gaze.

  Well, that’s pretty interesting, he said, trying to disguise his alarm.

  The boy retrieved the pad and thumbed through the pages.

  Does it make you afraid?

  Kai took up the pencil and commenced to roll it again.

  Kai? Can you say?

  The boy pursed his lips in a manner suggesting assent.

  Keely pressed his thumbs into his temples, tried to think.

  The waitress returned with a colossal sandwich. They looked at it, man and boy, and Keely saw that Kai wanted it but needed coaxing. He passed him a knife and fork.

  Bet you can’t finish that, he said.

  Kai set aside his pad and pencils, drew the plate to him and went to work with his usual finicky precision. Keely could have watched him do it all day. The boy’s fine blond hair fell across his face. He brushed it aside with a forearm and chewed methodically, eyes half closed in concentration.

  Keely got up to buy himself more juice and at the counter he looked back at the kid working his way through another mouthful.

  He’s lovely, said the waitress, clearly mistaking this for a Saturday access visit.

  Yes, said Keely. He is.

  * * *

  As Gemma got into the car she brought with her an acrid smell that suggested an electrical fire, and he saw by the cooked colour of her face that he’d kept her waiting in the sun for some time. For several minutes nobody spoke. The Hyundai’s air-conditioner buzzed impotently. And then at the freeway on-ramp Gemma began to blot her eyes with a tissue.

  Sorry you didn’t see her, Kai, she said.

  Keely wasn’t sure the boy heard. He watched him in the mirror as he gazed out at the traffic, licking his lips without expression.

  Not your fault, Keely murmured.

  No. It’s not.

  She hunched forward suddenly. She beat a fist against her brow in a ghastly, silent sob. Keely did his best to focus on the road and traffic ahead but he monitored the white flash of the tissue clenched in her fingers, the veins rising in her neck, one livid ear. She gave out a small, strangled sigh. And after a few moments she’d mastered herself.

  The dog, she said at last. They bring it out when she’s blown her privileges.

  I don’t follow you, he said, anxious about the boy.

  She wouldn’t say, of course. But I could see it right off.

  I guess you’ve had practice, he said lamely.

  You just know. When it’s suddenly non-contact, when they strip you and put the dogs over you, means she’s not clean. Christ, she coulda said when she rang, to spare the boy. She knows what it means. She doesn’t even care that much. How can she let us go in there and have him felt up like that? Jesus, you’re lucky they didn’t follow you out and do a car search.

  How could it matter? he asked. There’s nothing here.

  Mate, the dogs’d be howlin over this thing. You think this doesn’t stink of what they’re lookin for?

  But we’re not carrying anything, Gem.

  As if that makes any difference. The dog gets a positive, they think you’re supplyin. And suddenly it’s all hands on deck. Big search, more bullshit.

  But they’d see we’re clean.

  Jesus, you haven’t got a clue.

  Keely steered the car. Nauseated. Angry. Fighting blips of phosphorus he could taste now.

  After a moment’s silence she lit a fag and cracked a window.

  This piece of shit, she said.

  On the freeway he threaded through the citybound traffic.

  I was only there ten minutes, she said. You know what she wanted to talk about? The car. She wants me to sell it, wants the money in an account. She wants the computer stuff sold. Can you believe that? She wants money. I’ve been down this road, I don’t need it.

  It’s just the drugs, said Kai.

  Yes, love. That’s what it is. But she’ll get better. We’ll go again another time. When she’s right again.

  The boy said nothing. They rode home in silence.

  He swam out to the pontoon in a languid Mersyndol crawl. Beneath him the white sandy bottom was ribbed and scalloped and the sheen from the surface spangled across the sand in pulsing bursts like brain waves. As he hauled himself onto the ladder squealing kids leapt overhead, spearing out behind him, their bodies sending shocks through the water. He clambered up and sat awhile, bracing himself against every lurch and jerk as the platform yanked on its chains and children launched and chased and goaded each other. He felt self-conscious there amongst the kids, but the water had brought him back off the boil, calmed him enough to enjoy their antic energy. Neither Gemma nor Kai had wanted to come and he was glad. The beach was a relief, a happy rippling mosaic of colour. Umbrellas, balls, Lycra, bodies, hair. The desert breeze carried laughter, shouts and music across the water. He lingered, savouring it while he could. Up on the grass there was no sign of Conan at all. Keely was home free.

  * * *

  Afterwards he rode into the West End, took in an art show at an old Victorian warehouse. Just to feel normal again. But the gallery was hot, its whitewashed walls too bright for him. He moved on to a bookshop but lost his bearings. Found himself standing by a row of fashion tomes beneath the air-conditioning vent.

  Is there anything I can help you with? asked the tattooed young woman striding down from the counter.

  He gave a witless smile and shook his head. There was nothing here he could afford. And he’d been there fifteen minutes, he now realized. Not even browsing. Just there. Like a post, an uncurated installation.

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon Kai came to the door.

  Nan’s got takeaway, said the boy.

  Keely didn’t fancy it; he could have done with a break from them, but he didn’t have the heart to knock the kid back.

  I’ll be up there in a minute, he said.

  Keely washed the salt from his face and looked for a clean shirt. When he got to the door the boy was still there. He wasn’t sure if Kai had something to say to him or if he was simply being escorted. He didn’t want to quiz him. Nothing was said.

  Gemma dished up takeaway Chinese. Kai shoved a disc into the DVD player. They watched Shrek do his thing for the umpteenth time. No one said much. Gemma seemed faded. She bore an air of regret, of unspoken apology. Kai had eyes only for the green ogre and his mad japes; he loved everything about this movie except the musical routines, which bored him. Keely’s mind kept returning to the boy’s most recent drawings. Perhaps he’d seen these body outlines on a cop
show. They bothered him. He should mention them to Gemma. Though maybe not tonight.

  He’s not happy, she said later, quietly at the sink.

  It was a rough day, he murmured.

  Will you stay with him? Just till he’s asleep?

  He nodded. Of course.

  When you weren’t here it didn’t matter. Now you are – well, look at us.

  He shrugged. It was hard to know what she meant.

  Sometimes I wish she wasn’t born.

  Keely set a sudsy plate on the draining board without comment.

  Her father was a shithead. I wish none of it happened.

  Then you wouldn’t have Kai, he said gently.

  She nodded absently, blotting the plate with a towel.

  Gemma?

  I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.

  He woke.

  Gemma’s. The couch. The boy standing over him.

  Oh, he croaked. What’s the matter? What time is it?

  Four and twelve, said Kai. The boy’s face was pale in the yellow light spilling up from the wharves.

  You alright?

  I have a question.

  Ah, he said, cranking himself slowly onto an elbow. Right. Okay. Hang on a sec, just let me wake up a bit.

  What’s it like, getting old?

  Keely hauled himself more or less upright on the couch, let his head fall back a moment to catch up with where he was. The bedroom light was on. Gemma was still at work.

  Did you have a dream?

  The boy said nothing. He was bare-chested in his shorty pyjamas. His breath was bitter, his eyes wide in the gloom.

  Tom?

  Kai, it’s the middle of the night.

  Are you awake?

  Well, I guess I am now, he said. Have you had a fright?

  Can you tell me?

  Getting old? Is that the question? Keely’s back was stiff. He wondered how long the kid had been awake.

  It’s just, I don’t know what it’s like, said the boy.

  Mate, I don’t know what to tell you.

  But you’re old.

  Well. Older than you. And yeah, right now I feel pretty old, that’s the truth.

  Can you say?

  What it’s like, you mean? What it feels like? Keely scratched his stubble, kneaded his cheeks a moment. The thing is, he said. Thing is, you hardly notice. It happens so slowly. You look different in the mirror, but inside you feel pretty much the same. You’re just a kid with an old man’s body, that’s how it feels. Same for everyone, I guess.