I couldn’t take the blame for something I hadn’t done. Evan Starkey was obviously a nutjob and I had no desire to protect him, but I didn’t want Mum knowing what had really happened, so I said he was a friend playing a practical joke.
‘Sixteen’s a bit old for imaginary friends, Lincoln.’
‘Believe me – he’s very real.’
‘Only a sociopath would text something like that.’
‘I absolutely agree.’
‘Heaven help us all! We send you to a school that attracts some of the best and brightest students in the state, but when it comes to finding friends you still manage to scrape the bottom of the barrel.’ That pretty much ended the conversation.
I should’ve begun reading Frankenstein, my third book on the list for English, but in my agitated state I could almost hear the voice of Edwin Stroud cutting through the mental static, calling me back into the pages of My One Redeeming Affliction. I turned to where I’d left Esther planning to send back the pearl to William after his oyster hoax.
Esther returned to the Ionian during morning-tea service, hoping William would be too busy to engage her in conversation. When he finally appeared at reception he went one better by pretending not to recognise her. ‘The dining room has reached its full capacity,’ he said. ‘May I suggest the fernery? They have a butterfly cake so light it’s been known to fly away.’
‘I’ve no time for any more of your foolish tricks,’ she said. ‘The ruse with the pearl was quite enough, and I’ve come only to return it.’
‘Would your procrastination in doing so betray a degree of reluctance?’
‘No, sir. Only the unpleasant nature of the task.’ The conversation developed into something of a tennis match, Esther returning each of William’s shots with interest until finally he agreed to take the pearl, on the condition she accept his invitation to join him for a stroll the following Saturday. Conscious of the line forming behind her, she capitulated.
Independence, boldness and determination: these three qualities Esther hoped to convey with her choice of dress for the walk. The bodice featured five gold-buttoned navy bands down its centre, from which rose wide diagonal mulberry stripes. William was rendered speechless when they met at the grand staircase of the Emporium. Whether by the militaristic nature of her attire or the presence of her brother Samuel is a contested element of the story. But if my father was disappointed by the prospect of a young chaperone, he disguised it by making the boy feel most welcome, asking if he’d visited the Market Carnival.
‘Never,’ Samuel said.
‘Very well. Our destination has been decided. We shall descend to the lower reaches, where a thousand earthly delights await.’
Esther had earlier imagined they would be listening to a ten-piece German band or promenading through the Botanic Gardens, and was irked that William had not sought her approval to visit the markets. Though she figured at least she’d be less likely to encounter one of her friends there. And, as the trio descended the spiralling stairwell of oxblood-and-duck-egg tiles into the swelling laughter and chatter of the masses, the dreadfully delicious excitement of venturing somewhere slightly dangerous coursed through her being.
Millions of tiny particles from hessian sacks, corn husks and animal hides were made visible by the almost horizontal beams of golden light piercing the western windows. The dying sun, like Midas, anointed the captain and coal lumper, refined lady and sugar-refinery worker, rogue, dandy and dowager without favour, turning them all into gold. Tales of larrikins, pickpockets and gap-toothed prostitutes frequenting the Market Carnival had done little to hinder its success. Leading Esther and Samuel on a snaking route between the fruit and vegetable stalls on a carpet of pulped cabbage leaves, William nodded at two of the Chinese vendors, Ah To and Lin Cheong, the men he’d met a decade earlier on the goldfields.
‘I see you’re acquainted with the stallholders,’ Esther said.
‘Johnny and Mac are my best suppliers. Their tomatoes are without peer.’
Passing through the flower market, Esther’s arm was snapped at by two geese in a wicker cage held aloft by their new owner.
‘Don’t mind me beauties,’ the unravelling woman cackled. ‘They’ll be stuffin’ me pillers soon as I get 'em 'ome.’
Eventually the trio reached the other end of the carnival, where spruikers and hawkers were vying for custom.
‘Sav-a-deloys! Sav-a-deloys! Come try, come buy sav-a-deloys!’
‘Yes, please!’ Samuel said to his sister.
‘It might upset your stomach.’
‘Nonsense,’ William said, laughing. ‘A carnival is hardly a carnival without taking your chance on a mystery bag.’
The sausage man snapped his tongs in the air like a crab with metal pincers then retrieved two savs from the boiler, dropped them in a bun and smeared them with butter and mustard. The man and boy made a race of their consumption, William claiming first place with a gob of yellow mustard still on his moustache.
‘One of the lesser dangers of eating from a stall,’ he said, and removed the offending morsel with his tongue. ‘Now that we’ve been fortified, it’s time to put your marksmanship to the test, young man.’ He steered Samuel to the shooting gallery.
Having never used a real rifle before, the boy was unprepared for the kickback, which near dislocated his shoulder. William showed Samuel the correct way of handling, and on his third shot he managed to hit the corner of a playing card. Selecting a duelling pistol for himself, William shot out the heart, diamond and spade at the centre of three aces. The operator pulled a sovereign from the leather pouch tucked beneath his overhanging belly. ‘Don’t hurry back,’ he said. ‘You’ll send me and the family to the poorhouse.’
Further along, a crowd had gathered around a raised platform where a white-bearded man was promoting the benefits of a shilling shock from Lady Volta. ‘Reanimate torpid limbs!’ he hollered. ‘Improve circulation! What about you, sir?’ He pointed his cane at William.
‘A shilling shock may be just the thing I need,’ he said and started for the stage, but Esther caught his elbow.
‘To think you’d pay to be electrocuted in public,’ she said. ‘You need to have your head read.’
Unwilling to have his prized catch so easily stolen, the spruiker said, ‘Has virility abandoned you in the hour of need, sir?’ The outstretched cane magically lost its rigidity and drooped to the floor, causing the crowd to convulse with laughter.
‘Bawdy scoundrel,’ William said, raising a fist. ‘I’ll knock your block right off!’
‘Please, Mr Stroud,’ Esther said. ‘Not in front of the boy.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’ They walked away from the spruiker’s platform, then William pulled the sovereign from his pocket and asked Samuel, ‘Head or tails?’
The boy called tails and won the coin.
‘Spend it however you choose,’ William said. ‘On the proviso that you stay well away from Lady Volta and any other attraction that may place your soul in mortal danger. Meet us at the main entrance in thirty minutes.’ His wink, like a starter’s pistol, sent the boy dashing.
‘I wish you hadn’t,’ Esther said, trying to see over the crowd. ‘That was an extravagance disproportionate to his sense. He’s only fourteen.’
‘An age when men go to sea.’
‘Others reach thirty and still behave like boys.’
‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’ He smiled, then raised a brow. ‘Did you really mean what you said about my need for cranial examination? Because I’ve been toying with the idea of visiting Dr Eisler for some time.’
‘Who is Dr Eisler?’
‘A professor of phrenology. Apparently he’s very accurate and highly esteemed.’
‘Who says?’
‘Well, he does,’ William said, pointing to the sign.
DR MARTIN EISLER
PROFESSOR OF PHRENOLOGY AND MESMERISM
VERY ACCURATE AND HIGHLY ESTEEMED
DESTRUCTIVE AND HAB
ITUAL BEHAVIOURS INSTANTLY ALLEVIATED
Reminded of my session with Dr Limberg at the end of my first week at Crestfield, I closed the book. Online I calculated that a gold sovereign in the late nineteenth century would’ve been worth about $170 in today’s currency. William sure paid a hefty price to make Samuel scram so that he could crack on to his sister. The kid was obviously destined for serious trouble with that kind of coin in his pocket.
On Tuesday afternoon, Ms Tarasek asked us to write an essay comparing the depiction of the female form in a sculpture (the Venus of Willendorf), a painting (Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus) and a photograph (Madonna Flexing Muscles in Conical Bra by Jean-Paul Gaultier). On completion, we discussed our thoughts with our collaboration partners.
‘Madonna’s photo conveys a provocative duality,’ Isa said. ‘Wearing underwear on the outside, she appears simultaneously vulnerable and powerful. It’s soft and pink but structured and protective, like armour. The pointy bra is weapon-like. She’s flaunting her sexuality, but making sure you know that she’s in control. It was a revolutionary feminist statement that effected a shift in popular culture thirty years ago.’
‘Before we were born.’
‘I’ve been thinking about the project,’ Isa said. ‘I was dismissive of your idea because I’d decided we were doing mine. Now I’ve realised you can’t force your vision on someone.’
‘Exactly.’
‘They’d only sulk and become resentful, and might even sabotage it. There’s no point proceeding if somebody turns into Grouchy McGrouch.’
‘Am I Grouchy McGrouch?’
‘You don’t have to be, because I’m willing to drop my idea and go with yours.’
‘That’s considerate but unnecessary, because I’m fully committed to your idea now.’
‘Typical male strategy. You fight to get your own way and when it happens, you pretend you never wanted it.’
‘Sorry, I don’t remember the fighting part?’
‘You’re so contrary,’ Isa said.
‘Okay, hold that thought.’ I fetched the atomic-orange knitting from my bag and laid it in front of her. ‘It’s not great because I’ve never knitted before. My nana taught me.’
Isa picked it up and wiggled her finger through one of the holes. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said.
‘I know it’s not. I dropped a lot of stitches.’
‘I meant it’s amazing that you learnt to knit from your nana and proved me wrong.’
‘It was just for practice.’ I rolled up the knitting.
‘No way. We’re putting it up tomorrow morning, before there’s anybody around. Let’s meet for a coffee at International Velvet and figure out what to tag.’
‘I don’t drink coffee.’
‘Now’s the time to start. Bring your knitting and I’ll bring everything to attach it. All we need is a name for our crew.’
‘Our crew? There’s only two of us.’
‘Well, think up an alias for yourself.’ Isa shot a smile at me and a light switched on behind her eyes, revealing their colour properly for the first time. They’re not just green – hazel lines radiate from the pupils like trees.
‘What are you staring at?’ she said.
‘It’s like standing in the middle of a forest – your eyes, I mean.’
‘It’s called central heterochromia, according to Tibor. But I prefer your description.’
Wednesday morning at seven, I chained my bike to a pole outside International Velvet. Isa was sitting in a corner booth wearing a black t-shirt and dark sunglasses. She gave me the subtle two-finger wave preferred by secret agents. I slid into the booth beside her.
‘You’re in school uniform,’ she said. ‘I thought we should dress incognito in case we get sprung. Have you got an alias?’
‘Working from the craft angle I came up with Mammoth Woolly, which I think is kind of funny.’ I paused, noticing her frown. ‘But you don’t?’
‘It’s okay.’ Isa was already onto a cappuccino, so I ordered a macchiato because it sounded like the serious shit.
‘What about Clawed Neon?’
‘Aren’t they sign-makers?’
‘Clawed with a “w”.’
‘Clawed Neon. It’s got a punk vibe – I like it. I’m Dawn Sparrowfart.’
‘The Dawn Sparrowfart – Vice President of the Country Women’s Association?’
‘Exactly.’
The waitress delivered a miniature cup of coffee crowned with a tiny pad of froth. ‘Macchiato?’ she said. It was super strong and bitter but I drank it without sugar, hoping to appear hardcore.
‘Coffee moustache,’ Isa said, and handed me a napkin.
We split the bill and went to scope out our first target. Isa found a pole near the back entrance of the teachers’ car park and measured the circumference. ‘Perfect,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t we find somewhere less prominent?’
‘That defeats the purpose. Pass me the knitting.’ She wrapped it around the pole and, starting from the top, began to sew the edges together. ‘This pole has been signless for years. Today we’re reactivating it with a new message for everybody who passes.’
‘What will it say?’
‘Good morning, teachers and pupils of Crestfield Academy. Welcome to a new day of mutual enlightenment. Dare something worthy!’ A Land Rover tooted, kids waving from the back window as it passed. ‘Shit, Lincoln! You’re supposed to be on lookout. Give me some warning next time.’
‘What are you going to do – jump behind the fence?’
‘It’s seven-thirty. Teachers will be arriving soon.’
‘Sew faster.’
‘Would you like to take over?’
‘You’re doing fine.’
‘Go and keep watch on the corner.’
Despite my initial reluctance to go along with Isa’s idea, I was enjoying the slightly subversive nature of the mission. The possibility of being caught was giving me a thrilling tingle not unlike tonguing the terminals of a nine-volt battery. I went down to the corner and called out every car that turned into our street. Isa finished before any teacher arrived.
‘That looks hectic,’ I said, inspecting her work.
‘Well done, you.’ She took a selfie of us in front of the pole with her phone then, while I was taking one with mine, I spotted a car coming up the street.
‘White Econovan at three o’clock!’
‘It’s Maintenance. Act normal!’ The car turned into the entrance and the driver’s window slid down.
‘Early again?’ Jespersen said to me. ‘What’s this?’
I told him it was an art project and asked him to keep our identity secret. He touched the side of his nose then pointed to a security camera mounted beneath the eave of New Block.
‘We’re toast,’ I said as Jespersen drove into the car park.
‘Relax. Tibor told me it doesn’t work.’ Isa waved to the camera then curtsied.
With time to kill, we sat in the seniors’ area planning our next hit. Isa randomly asked if I was scared of Nads.
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘I used to be scared of him.’
‘Why?’
‘Middle of last year he started following me around a lot. He’d come up really close to talk and it made my skin crawl.’
‘He has no concept of personal space.’
‘This was something different. He’d put his hand on me and pat me like I was an animal. It was creepy and intimidating. Has he ever spoken about me?’
‘Not really,’ I lied. ‘Why?’
‘Last year, when Phoenix and Mullows got together, Nads arrogantly assumed I’d be interested and the four of us could hang out. Cosy. I knocked him back three times. Then, one day after school, he caught my train to Erskineville. Thank God I was with Pericles. He lives at Marrickville but got off early to ensure I was safe. Nads followed us all the way to my street without speaking, so Pez turned around and told him to piss off.’
‘Was there
a fight?’
‘Nads started ranting like a maniac, insanely jealous of Pez even though there was nothing between us. He needed a reason to explain my rejection other than his ugly personality. He kept shoving Pez in the chest, but Pez stood his ground. Nads punched him in the stomach then kneed him in the groin. Pez collapsed onto the footpath and Nads walked off laughing.’
That was a completely different version from the one Nads had told. And, after having witnessed his brutal treatment of Starkey with the billiard ball and their violation of the old man’s rose garden, Isa’s story was infinitely more believable. This new development tripled my anxiety about what might happen when they returned from their suspension.
When I got home from school I finally started reading Frankenstein, and though the story within a story was a little confusing at first, I became totally engrossed. Late at night I reached the passage where the monster sees his reflection in a pool of water for the first time. His realisation that he looked a bit worse than grotesque broke my heart. The poor bastard was made up of scraps from the slaughter yards.
After school on Thursday I had my first shift at Give Me the Juice. Pericles’ Uncle Manos was short and barrel-chested, with massive guns from lifting melons. He never stopped smiling. His eldest son, Sam, was tall and serious and bore no resemblance to him. Pericles’ twin sisters, Helena and Christina, weren’t identical but their liberal application of dark eye make-up was. All of them wore a shirt with a different fruit design. I was given the banana shirt, still heavy with the odour of its previous wearer Stavros, whose badge Manos asked me to keep pinned on until I got my own. After my induction he said goodbye, leaving Sam in charge.
The first two hours were hectic. Sam and Pericles made juices and smoothies while the twins worked the counter. I wiped surfaces and rinsed containers with a high-pressure-hose gun. When service slowed, Pericles taught me how to make the drinks. It wasn’t rocket science, but the ingredients had to be measured and added in the correct order. ‘It might be stating the obvious,’ Pericles said, ‘but don’t forget to secure the lid before blending.’ He started untying his apron. ‘I’m taking my break now. Will you be okay on your own?’
The Origin of Me Page 16
