Honeybee

by Craig Silvey;

  Praise for Jasper Jones

  ‘If we see a more entertaining, more heartfelt piece of Australian literature in the next twelve months, it will be a rare year indeed … With this singular novel Silvey confirms his place as a young writer to watch. In all important respects Jasper Jones is an Australian To Kill a Mockingbird.’ Michael Williams, The Monthly

  ‘Jasper Jones confronts inhumanity and racism, as the stories of Mark Twain and Harper Lee did. Silvey’s voice is distinctive: astute, witty, angry, understanding and self-assured.’ Weekend Australian

  ‘A finely crafted novel that deals with friendship, racism and social ostracism … Saluting To Kill a Mockingbird and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Silvey movingly explores the stifling secrets that lurk behind the most ordinary of facades.’ Marie Claire

  ‘Impossible to put down … There’s tension, injustice, young love, hypocrisy … and, above all, the certainty that Silvey has planted himself in the landscape as one of our finest storytellers.’ Australian Women’s Weekly

  ‘Terrific … this is an enthralling novel that invites comparison with Mark Twain and isn’t found wanting. Silvey is able to switch the mood from the tragic to the hilarious in an instant.’ Mail on Sunday

  ‘A richly rewarding exploration of truth and lies by a masterful storyteller.’ Kirkus Reviews (starred)

  ‘Jasper Jones is a riveting tale, studded with laugh-out-loud and life-affirming moments yet underpinned by a clear-eyed examination of human weaknesses and misdemeanours.’ Adelaide Advertiser

  ‘Huckleberry Finn meets Atticus Finch in a WA country town in the 60s. It’s genius. In the spirit of a classic, and written from the perspective of thirteen-year-old Charlie Bucktin, Silvey captures perfectly the personal questioning and coming-of-age issues of a boy on the cusp of growing up, and sets them against much bigger ethical and moral issues—racism, war and prejudice.’ West Australian

  ‘An engaging historical portrait of an ambitious, intelligent boy labouring—often amusingly—under the parochialism of an isolated town.’ The Age

  ‘Such is the skill of storytelling—especially the wonderful dialogue—that it quickly hooked me … it’s the way it captures so many new emotions that won me over. There are parts where you’ll laugh out loud, others where you’ll reach for tissues. This is a very special book, and deserves to be read widely.’ Good Reading

  ‘Another beautifully constructed book with a page-turning narrative and outrageously good dialogue … I have no doubt this novel will further cement Craig’s place at the forefront of the next generation of Australian novelists.’ Wendy Were, Artistic Director and Chief Executive, Sydney Writers’ Festival

  ‘An engrossing and immediate page-turner that evokes an influential literary history while producing an original and rewarding narrative in its own right.’ Readings Monthly

  ‘Catcher in the Rye meets To Kill a Mockingbird in a novel that confronts racism, injustice, friendship and the tenderness of first love—as seen by bookish, guileless, thirteen-year-old Charlie Bucktin, led astray by the intriguing, dangerous eponymous outcast, Jasper Jones.’ Easy Living

  Craig Silvey is an author and screenwriter from Fremantle, Western Australia.

  His critically acclaimed debut novel, Rhubarb, was published in 2004. His bestselling second novel, Jasper Jones, was released in 2009 and is considered a modern Australian classic. Published in over a dozen territories, Jasper Jones has won plaudits in three continents, including an International Dublin Literary Award shortlisting, a Michael J. Printz Award Honor, and a Miles Franklin Literary Award shortlisting. Jasper Jones was the Australian Book Industry Awards Book of the Year for 2010.

  Honeybee is his third novel.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First published in 2020

  Copyright © Craig Silvey 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Line on p. 63 from the Looney Tunes cartoon ‘Rabbit of Seville’ (1950) reproduced with permission of Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. Line on p. 350 from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams. Copyright © 1954, 1955, 1982, 1983 by the University of the South. Reprinted with permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc., on behalf of the Tennessee Williams estate.

  Every effort has been made to trace the holders of copyright material. If you have any information concerning copyright material in this book please contact the publishers at the address below.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:info@allenandunwin.com

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76087 722 4

  eISBN 978 1 76106 033 5

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Lisa White

  Cover photography: Daniel Grant

  Cover model: Lee Tiger Halley

  For Them On The Bridge

  Contents

  The End

  Last Meal

  The Black Shadow

  Venus and Mars

  Stories

  Internal Combustion

  Cinderella

  Fracture

  Pressure Cooker

  Jail

  Medicine

  The Soldier

  Tidings of Comfort and Joy

  Willpower

  Chaotic Good

  Brick by Brick

  Brake

  Honeybee

  Acknowledgements

  The End

  I wasn’t cold, but I was shivering when I walked onto the Clayton Road overpass. I wasn’t scared either, even when I climbed over the rail. I didn’t really feel much of anything.

  It was late at night and it was quiet. No cars went past.

  I looked at the road below. It was a long way down. I focused on the spot where I would probably land, between the white line and the brown gravel. I wondered if it would hurt or if I would die straight away. Then I wondered who would find me. Maybe it would be a truck driver or a shift worker. I felt bad for them.

  I must have been thinking about things for a while, because when I looked across to my right, I saw a man down the other end of the overpass.

  He was smoking a cigarette. I could see the orange end glowing in the dark. I got nervous. He was probably walking his dog or something. I didn’t want him to come closer. I closed my eyes and let go of the rail, but then I realised it would be awful if he saw me do it. I decided to wait.

  I looked back at the man from under my hoodie and I noticed something that I hadn’t seen at first. He was on the other side of the rail too.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew I should call out or say something, but I didn’t have the courage. He ashed his cigarette and flicked it. I watched it spin in the air and hit the road below.

  When I looked back up, the man was staring at me. I turned away. I felt like I had been caught out.

  I heard his footsteps walking towards me. He didn’t rush. I shuffled across and kept my head down. I thought about falling then and
there, but my mind got really crowded and I froze.

  I flinched when I heard his voice.

  ‘I’m not here to talk you out of it.’

  I was still looking down.

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ I said.

  ‘Righto.’

  I guessed he was a couple of metres away.

  ‘Just stay there.’

  ‘I understand.’

  He was calm. I sneaked a look at him. He was old. He had a short grey beard and he wore a dark wool jumper and grey pants. He leaned on the rail and looked down at the road. He didn’t say anything else.

  I edged further away from him. He didn’t move, but it felt like he was following me. I couldn’t stop shaking. My teeth were clacking together. My head was still throbbing from before, and there was a high-pitched ringing sound in my ears. I felt so panicked and dizzy that my mind floated outside my body, and I could see myself from above. Everything went still and nothing mattered. It was peaceful and silent up there. I watched myself lean forwards.

  And that’s when I dropped.

  For a moment I had no weight, then suddenly I stopped. The man had caught me by the arm. I wriggled and kicked and pulled.

  ‘Don’t! Let me go! Let me go! Don’t! Let me go!’

  I tried to tear his fingers off me, but his grip was too strong.

  Then I looked down and it all felt real and I got scared. I stopped fighting and I held on.

  ‘Don’t let me go! Don’t let me go!’

  The man grunted and lifted me over the rail. He wrapped his arms tightly around me.

  ‘It’s alright, it’s alright. I got you.’

  He started coughing badly, still holding me. He couldn’t get any air in. He let go and bent over and wheezed. I rubbed his back, but he waved me away.

  Finally, he stopped. He straightened and spat over the edge. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, and we sat down together with our backs against the rail.

  ‘I’m Sam,’ I said.

  ‘Vic.’

  We were quiet for a while.

  ‘How come you’re up here?’ I asked.

  Vic didn’t answer.

  ‘I mean, why were you going to do it?’

  He sighed.

  ‘The dog died.’

  I thought about it.

  ‘You must have really loved your dog.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I hated the little prick.’

  That confused me.

  ‘What kind of dog was it?’

  ‘Small and loud.’

  ‘Did you leave a note?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘How come?’ I asked.

  He shrugged.

  It went quiet again. Then Vic slowly got to his feet, using the rail for support.

  ‘Well, mate, I don’t think it’s our night, do you?’

  Vic held out his hand but I didn’t take it. He looked at me closely. He must have thought I looked strange, with all the make-up and the blood on my face and my patchy hair, but he didn’t show it. He just looked tired. I pulled my hood back over.

  ‘Come on,’ he said.

  I didn’t want to go. I shook my head. Vic leaned down and gently pulled me to my feet.

  ‘You spoiled my last smoke,’ he said. ‘So we’re even.’

  Vic led me to his old Kingswood station wagon. It was brown with racks on the roof. He opened the door. It was unlocked and the keys were still in the ignition.

  ‘Weren’t you worried somebody would steal it?’ I asked.

  ‘Wouldn’t have been much use to me anymore, would it?’

  Vic started the car.

  ‘Get in. I’ll give you a lift home.’

  I hesitated, but Vic looked impatient, so I got in. His car smelled like dust and oil and stale pine air-freshener. I could tell he had looked after it, though. None of the upholstery was ripped or split. It felt cosy.

  ‘Can we drive around for a while first?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean drive around? Where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m not a taxi.’

  Vic put the car in reverse.

  ‘Where am I headed?’

  ‘Can you take me to the city?’

  Vic didn’t seem too happy about that, but he didn’t say no.

  Vic focused on the road while I looked through the window at houses and parks and vacant blocks and industrial buildings with barbed-wire fences around them. Then we turned onto the freeway, and I stared out at the river.

  When we reached the city, I asked Vic to drop me off at the train station.

  He pulled over into an empty bus bay. He looked lost in his own thoughts.

  I wasn’t ready to get out. I wanted to say something meaningful, but I was too shy, so I just thanked him. Vic gave me a nod.

  I got out of the car and Vic drove off. I walked around for a couple of hours. The city was quiet. I passed some boys sitting on milk crates down an alley listening to music on their phones. They called out to me but I ignored them. I walked around Northbridge. All the bars and clubs were shut. I heard reggae music coming from a backpacker hostel. I saw two homeless men yelling and pushing each other.

  I was getting tired, but I wasn’t going to sleep out there on the street.

  After a while, I noticed a car driving slowly behind me. I could see its headlights, but I didn’t want to turn around in case it was the police. I kept walking. The car drove up alongside me. It was a black Audi. The passenger-side window slid down and a man with thinning brown hair ducked his head so he could see me.

  ‘You okay?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘You got somewhere to go?’

  I ignored him and kept walking with my head down.

  He followed me all the way down the block.

  ‘Listen, you need some help? I can get you some money.’

  All I had in my pocket was my phone. I stopped and looked into the car. The man wore a blue button-up shirt and a jacket. He looked really concerned.

  ‘You shouldn’t be out here so late,’ he said.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Why don’t you get in? I can drop you off wherever you need to be.’

  I shook my head and stepped back. He leaned across and pushed the door open.

  ‘It’s smart to be careful. There are some creeps around. Come on. You had a rough night?’

  My feet were so sore and my head was still throbbing and I was really tired. I just wanted to sit down and rest. I got in. The car smelled like cologne. The man looked at me and smiled.

  ‘I’m Neil,’ he said.

  I didn’t say anything.

  He talked a lot while he drove, but I wasn’t listening. The car was so quiet that I fell asleep. When I woke up we were in Kings Park, surrounded by trees. He had stopped at a lookout. I could see the city through the windscreen.

  Neil took his seatbelt off and shifted around in his seat. It was dark, but his face was lit by the dashboard.

  ‘So what’s going on with you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  ‘Why are you out on your own so late?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen.’

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. He was looking at me strangely. He reached across and pulled my hoodie back to see my face. He brushed his hand against the cut on my jaw, but I turned away.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He rubbed my shoulder. He kept looking at me.

  ‘You’re so beautiful, you know that?’

  I stared straight ahead.

  ‘I want to help you out. I’m going to give you two hundred dollars, okay?’

  I nodded. I was so tired.

  He showed me the money in his leather wallet. Two green notes.

  ‘Would you like that?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Do you think you should give me something too?’

  ‘I don’t
have anything.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ he said. He rubbed my shoulder some more, then he slid his hand down my chest and onto my lap. I didn’t move. He started squeezing me. The leather seats creaked as he dipped his head down. He tugged at my pants. I could feel his stubble. Then it felt wet and warm and weird.

  I looked around the car. There was a football club logo on his keyring and a packet of mints in a cup holder. My mind went outside my body again. I wasn’t really anywhere. I could see all the lights in the city buildings. I thought about the people who had to work in those offices at this hour. They were probably the cleaners. The lights went blurry, and I must have fallen asleep again, because I flinched when Neil shifted back suddenly. He was touching himself. His face was red and he was breathing quickly.

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘Not really. Sorry.’

  I buttoned up my jeans and looked out the window. He stopped touching himself.

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get the fuck out of my car. Think I’m paying for this shit?’ He zipped his pants and tucked his shirt in, then he started the car. The radio came on. The song playing was ‘Summer Rain’. He put his wallet back in his pocket.

  ‘Go! Now! Get the fuck out.’

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

  I got out. The second I shut the door, he reversed and then drove away fast.

  I walked down a dark road until I found a lawned area with a view of the city. I sat down on a bench.

  I didn’t feel that bad about the money, because I had stolen a watch from the centre console. I took it out of my pocket. It was heavy and it had a French name that I couldn’t make out. I put it on and it slid down my arm. I had never worn a watch before.

  I fell asleep on the bench and I was woken by sprinklers. I got up quickly and ran. I sat on some concrete steps near the War Memorial and watched the sun rise over the hills. It was pretty nice.

  I decided to give myself one last day.

  I checked the time on the watch because my phone was out of battery. It was six forty-three.

  There was a cafe nearby but it was closed. I found a tap on the side of the building and tried to scrub the make-up off my face. It wasn’t until I ran my wet hands through my hair that I remembered it wasn’t long anymore. The water made the cuts on my scalp sting, and short strands of hair came away in my fingers.