Living on Hope Street

by Demet Divaroren

  ‘Yes! I wish I hit my head on stone and not force you mum.’

  ‘Biliyorum,’ she say. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘You know Türkçe!’

  ‘Not really. I can understand it but can’t speak properly.’

  ‘Can you say to me nene?’ I want hear Türk word, not grandma, this sound cold in my ear, I want to hear nene so it warm my heart.

  ‘Tamam, Nene.’

  I look to sky, thank Allah and Mr Aslan, they bring Ada to me! I pull her to me, hug her on couch, smell her hair. ‘What food you love? I make for you now!’

  She laughed. ‘I’m not hungry, Grand … Nene. I don’t understand. Why did Mum kick you out?’

  My heart hurt and I think it gonna run out of my mouth. That night we fight, Meryem find out husband want divorce. He take his things and go. She blame me. I try make her happy, all years from guilt I do everything she say but she never forget past or love me again. Meryem so upset, so angry, she drunk and she push me to the wall and I hit my head. ‘Never come back,’ she say. ‘May the devil see your face first!’ This hurt me too much. How I explain this to Ada?

  ‘You not worry about this. Why you leave house? Huh? You call you mum crazy but what you do is more crazy!’

  ‘Because Mum’s an idiot.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘She’s strict, you know?’

  I wait for her speak, open her heart.

  ‘She …’ She stopped, her eyes look to me. ‘She saw me kissing a girl.’

  ‘A girl?’ I try understand, to hear what she say, how she feel.

  She nod. ‘I was drunk … anyway, Mum freaked out and we had a fight. Then today she slapped me!’

  ‘You kiss girl? On cheek?’

  Her eyes get big like balloon. ‘Here.’ She touch lips.

  She kiss girl on lips! These words be stone inside me I not understand. I take deep breath, not know how to say right word and I scared because I not sure how Ada think, not know what fire burn inside. ‘Do you … like girl?’

  She put hand up. ‘Would you care if I did?’

  Her eyes so deep, so scared I smile to her, stand up. ‘You hungry, your cheeks go white. Hadi. I show to you your room. Come. We talk later. You stay with me but call you mum, tell her you here. Don’t make her worry. Orayt?’

  She roll eyes.

  ‘Orayt, Ada?’

  She nod and take her bag. She walk behind me and I take her to Meryem room.

  ‘Kane?’

  Sam was a shadow at the doorway.

  ‘Kane?’ he whispered. ‘Are you sleeping?’

  I sat up. ‘Nah, bud, come in.’ The sour smell of piss hit my nose before he reached my bed. ‘Did you have an accident?’ I switched on the side lamp. He wore nothing but a singlet and hugged his undies and pyjama pants to his chest.

  ‘Mum’s at work,’ he said, the words chattering between his teeth. ‘She said if I had an accident I had to change coz I’ll get sick …’ His skinny legs were like crooked twigs.

  ‘It’s okay, bud.’

  ‘I was scared to take my clothes to laundry.’ His eyes shone with tears.

  ‘Nothing to be scared of, bud, not when I’m around. Here, give them to me.’ The clothes were cold and damp and the piss smell burned a hole in my lungs. I put it on the pile on the floor. ‘Let’s get you clean jammies before you freeze.’

  ‘I got none.’

  ‘We need a Mary Poppins around here, hey bud? Doesn’t look like Mum’s ever going to get good at this house stuff.’ It would get worse now that she’d found a night job helping Mrs Aslan clean offices in the city. I didn’t know what she’d be able to clean with a broken hand. I told her I’d find a job, quit school, but she went off her nut about the importance of education, that cash was her problem not mine. I wiped Sam’s legs with a towel and put him in my school jumper. It reached below his knees and the sleeves gobbled his hands. I grabbed a pair of footy socks to keep his legs warm and they rolled up to his thighs. ‘You look like Robin Hood!’ I jumped into bed and leaned my back against the wall.

  He stood there, sleeves flapping, socks rolling down his legs.

  ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ I tapped the spot next to me and he smiled and ran to the middle of the bed, curling like a worm. I covered us with the doona. ‘You need to pee?’

  He shook his head. ‘Kane?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it.’ His voice shook. ‘It was an accident …’

  I didn’t mean it, Dean … I swear it! Mum’s voice shook like that too when Dad started punching. Anger ripped through me. ‘I know, buddy. All good. I used to piss the bed too.’ But not like Sam. His was a condition, another side effect of our dropkick dad. ‘Did something happen at school?’

  He tensed.

  The thought of it made my stomach turn. If Bad Bill had touched Sam again his punishment would be worse than what I had planned for him. I’d break his fingers and then take a piss on his face like he deserved. His time was coming.

  ‘What’s up, Sam? Is it school? You can tell me—’

  A car door slammed nearby and Sam shot up. ‘You alright, buddy?’

  ‘He’s come! … at the door … knock knock …’ mumbled Sam. ‘Dad …’

  ‘Shh.’ I held his face. ‘Sam. Listen. It was a car door, okay? Not Dad. I promise.’

  ‘He wants me to go outside … then he yells …’

  ‘Have you seen him?!’ My heart raced and I tried to keep my voice normal, my thoughts straight. ‘Have you seen Dad?’ Was he hanging around waiting for the right moment? ‘Sam?’ He hugged me and lay his head on my shoulder. ‘He comes in my dreams and I can’t make it stop!’

  Sobs rocked his body and I tapped his back in circles the way Mrs Aslan did to calm him down. ‘He’s never coming back. Okay? Promise I’m going to make the nightmares stop.’ I was going to make him stop. YouTube showed me how to hit where it hurts, to keep my hands up to block and punch faster, nose, neck and stomach in that order. When Dad came back, I was going to smash his face, crack his throat, be the one to teach him the lesson this time, crush his nuts so he never found the balls to come near us again.

  ‘You promise?’ Sam said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of the jumper.

  ‘I swear. Now, let’s catch some sleep. There’s school tomorrow. Mum told me it’s your first day of art therapy with Mrs Fuller. I still got some art supplies hidden for you to practise with but we have to keep it a secret from Mum.’

  ‘I’m not gonna go. Mrs Fuller’s class is for losers,’ he said.

  ‘What are you talking about? It’s going to help you, bud—’

  ‘That’s what you said to Mum about your special school.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  He shook his head and hid under the doona.

  I leaned my head back against the wall and the cold sent chills down my body. My eyes felt heavy. I breathed deep to ease the pressure in my chest like the social worker taught me in primary school. Sometimes I wondered what life would have been like if Dad wasn’t so messed up and all I had to care about was school or girls. Instead, every day weighed more than the one before. I switched off the lamp and tucked Sam in. ‘It’s going to get better,’ I whispered.

  His snores filled the room and I dreamed with my eyes open.

  Mr Bailey sat in the shadows. A dark cloud flooded the house, getting thicker each day. Every minute took Judy further away from him.

  Mrs Bailey was farewelled in a big church service full of their friends from the Vietnam Vets Association. They spilled out onto the church steps, their orange badges flaming in support and solidarity. She had looked like a doll in her mahogany coffin, her cheeks powdered pink in the same shade as the blush he loved so much. He would never make her blush again and the thought sliced his heart. Her smell was fading from her pillow that he hugged at night. Some days he couldn’t recall her voice at all and panic drummed in him.

  Mr Bailey’s world fogged up and he struggled to see a f
ew feet ahead. He bumped into walls, stepped on Sunshine’s paw. He was engulfed in darkness like in Vietnam, when night was his ally. But in its depth was anguish and heat, fire and screaming. He was back in the jungle, smelled the charred bodies, felt the stick of mud, heard the sobs of boys drenched in their own blood. The ghosts gathered in the lounge room, sat in Judy’s favourite chair. She’s a beauty, your Judy. You make sure you’re good to that girl. Who was that? Matthew or John? The voices were so loud Mr Bailey was convinced they were in the house. The bombing started and the explosions shook the room. Sunshine barked and nudged Mr Bailey’s leg and the noise stopped except for the hammering on the front door.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked down the corridor. Katie had gone to pick up the kids. He hesitated. Katie had a key. This was a trap. The jungle was full of them: trip wires, spiked balls, bamboo whips that impaled his mate John. Mr Bailey sobbed out loud, told Matthew to duck for cover! Duck for cover! But they couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe! Branches clawed at Mr Bailey’s legs like tiny needles. He blinked away the sweat that dripped in his eyes. His vision cleared and Sunshine was barking, nudging his legs. Just a nightmare, he thought, just a nightmare.

  Mr Bailey turned the doorknob.

  The refugee woman stood outside in an orange dress. She held a plate covered in foil. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  For a moment Mr Bailey could only gawk at her eyes that stood out like two pearls. She looked younger away from the glass screen of his binoculars. ‘Ah …’

  ‘I have brought you food.’ She held out the plate and Mr Bailey stared at it as if it was as foreign as this woman who smiled at him in the same shy way his wife had. ‘I am sorry about your wife.’

  Mr Bailey took the warm plate and the sweet nutty smell tickled his nose. He wanted to say no thanks, you keep it, the kitchen is full but he could only nod and say, ‘Yes, thank you.’

  She left and Mr Bailey retreated to the lounge where he sat in the shadows, the plate on his lap. Since Judy died, the kitchen was full of international cuisine. Lebanese, Samoan, Indian and now African. He didn’t want their kindness, he didn’t want their food, he wanted his wife. He took the plates anyway, unable to find the strength to voice his protests. The food stayed in containers until Aaron, Katie and the kids visited and devoured the contents.

  Mr Bailey lifted the foil half expecting a fish head but was met with a smell so sweet it lured his fingers into the brown rice. He scooped it up, tentatively at first, one, two, three fingers full, and his mouth exploded with the taste of peanut butter. He ate and ate, rice clinging to his chin and falling on the floor until thoughts of the past scurried away like mice.

  Death come to street.

  It take woman with white hair and round face like peach.

  She live with husband in house close to me but in many years I live here, I not say more than hello to them. They have dog, always come to my garden, piss on letterbox, sometimes he sit on my grass and the man scream from street for dog to come. Once I say, ‘Dog orayt, you don’t worry,’ and man say nothing, he just turn red like tomato then walk away and leave his dog on my grass. Tsk. Now man be alone till death come for him too.

  Today I make a sweet, irmik helva, to take to man with dog. It be one week since his wife die. I put rosewater, cinnamon and nut and say dua to Allah when I cook so woman sleep in peace.

  Rumi, Mr Aslan’s favourite poet, he say death is start not end, that Allah’s love be inside, that coffin is curtain for paradise. I try to believe this, but when death come for someone you love, they go and you stay with pain inside.

  Outside is cold, and I walk quick so I be back before Ada come home. She go coffee with friend. She good girl but she not go to school, she say she sick and I worry every day. She not bring school bag or uniform with her, only telefon and clothes. She stay in room, talk talk talk for many hour on telefon. Who she talk to? Boy? Girl? Friend or maybe this girl she kiss? This too much for my head and I need to speak to Mr Aslan to try understand before I ask Ada to explain. Sometimes she cry and I go to her room, I kiss her but she don’t tell me her problem. I ask if she tell her mum she stay here and she say she send message on telefon but Meryem still not come for daughter. It be three days. When I go work tonight Ada gonna stay home alone. She say to me don’t worry, Nene, nothing scares me and I smile coz she Meryem daughter.

  When I take irmik to man, he say nothing when he open door. His eyes red, hair stand up like feather. He look to my hand and I say, ‘Hello, I sorry.’ This is how Avusturalyali say Allah rahmet eylesin. I learn this from English TV.

  Man nod and I think he gonna fall but his daughter Katie come from inside and she say hi Mrs Aslan and I say, ‘Hello, Katie, I sorry for you mum, this sweet for you, we make when someone die,’ and she say thank you please come inside.

  I go inside, walk down long hall, see family picture on walls. The man, woman, daughter young, then old, but all happy and smile together. I think how lucky this man is to live long with wife next to him, with daughter who help him sit in chair, his grandchildren hug him, kiss him. Dog come too, sit next to man feet, rest head on his shoe. Tsk. Dog bring dirt inside, how people let it in house I still not understand.

  I drink tea from nice cup with rose, and children play on floor, draw in book and they skin beautiful like cinnamon. Katie white, have yellow hair, and in picture on table I see kids’ dad he be dark colour.

  ‘Are you Grandpa’s friend?’ girl with long hair say.

  ‘I … ah, neighbour.’

  ‘Mrs Aslan has brought us a nice sweet.’ Katie put in plates and give to children and her dad. I say no thank you very much.

  ‘It’s similar to how Daddy’s mum makes it,’ Katie say. ‘Sooji halwa.’

  ‘We call this sweet hel-va.’

  Kids smell plate then eat little. The old man he play with helva with fork. He full of pain and there’s no room for food. This how I be when Mr Aslan go, body not want to move, eat. It want to go with Mr Aslan. But time it make body learn to move, mouth eat but it never forget the pain.

  ‘Grandma’s halwa is like diamonds. This is gooey.’

  ‘Shh, Daniel, everyone has a different recipe,’ say Katie.

  ‘Did you know Grandma Judy?’ say the girl.

  ‘I … she very nice woman.’ I see her on street walking with husband, their hands always touch. She smile to him and this make her beautiful.

  ‘She died,’ say boy. ‘Grandpa said she’s in heaven now. With the angels.’

  Man make noise and I see his shoulder shake and helva on lap and he cry looking outside window.

  ‘I … ah … go now.’

  At door, Katie take my hand. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she say and I hug her, say I sorry. Her pain make me walk fast in street and I sit on porch and cry and think of Mr Aslan. I see car parked opposite. The windows they black but someone sit inside. He look like Dean but I not sure. I walk to gate to see but the engine start, car go down street and the tyre they scream so loud it put fear the size of house inside me.

  The last few kids disappeared behind the school gate.

  Sam was in class; he’d walked to school with Gugu. They were laughing when they walked past ten minutes ago. I stood next to the tree, waiting for Bad Bill. He was late, like most mornings.

  Bad Bill’s mum pulled up in a dark green Commodore with a dented bumper bar. She slammed the brake, and the car screeched. Bad Bill rolled out of the passenger side, nearly tripping over his bag. He slammed the car door and crossed the road to the school gate. His stomach bulged against his white shirt. The kid was made of jelly.

  I hid behind the tree. My hand curled into a tight fist, itching to smash his head to pieces. How many times had his fat hands punched Sam? How many times did he spit on my brother’s face? Enough to deserve the belting coming his way.

  Bad Bill’s mum sped down the street before he reached the gate.

  Her bad.

  He walked past me and I reached over and tapped his shoulde
r.

  ‘Huh?’ He half jumped, his eyes bigger than his open mouth.

  ‘Hi, Bill.’

  ‘H … hi …’ He inched backwards.

  ‘Let’s have a chat.’

  The street was empty now except for two girls who giggled as they ran to school.

  ‘I don’t know you,’ Bad Bill said. ‘I gotta go class—’

  ‘But I know you.’ I inched closer. His face was red as if blood had collected in his cheeks. ‘I know what you do to my brother, Sam.’ I grabbed his collar, pinned him against the tree. The bark stung my knuckles, drew blood but I didn’t let go. ‘Remember him? The one you call stinky.’

  He shook his head and his bottom lip trembled. ‘I didn’t do nothing!’ Spit dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Yeah, let’s see who’s the bad boy now, you little prick!’ He tried to get away and I held his head against the bark. ‘Too late for that. Where did you punch him, huh? Here?’ I poked a finger into his fat gut and his eyes squirted tears. ‘Or here?’ I said, poking two fingers into his chest.

  ‘Help!’ He tried to scream but his words choked.

  ‘Shut your mouth!’

  Shut your mouth!

  Shut your mouth!

  Did you hear me, Kane? Shut your mouth!

  ‘Shut up, you little prick!’ Bad Bill was sobbing and I hadn’t even touched the coward yet. That’s my boy, you’re teaching this prick a lesson. I shook my head to get rid of Dad’s voice.

  Snot and tears dribbled down Bad Bill’s face. ‘Lemme go, I’m sorry, please lemme go!’

  Lemme go! I held onto the clothes in the wardrobe, wouldn’t let go. Mum was crying outside and spoons and knives were making music in the kitchen.

  My heart raced and my breath was short. The kid trembled in my hands like Mrs Aslan’s bird. You no be stupid, Kane! Sam need you …

  You’re not like him, Kane!

  ‘I’m sorry! I’m sss … sorryyy …’ Bill’s head bobbed up and down like a rag doll. He pissed himself and it pooled at his feet, mixing with the dirt. He looked up and Sam’s eyes stared back at me, full of shame.