Rainfish

by Andrew Paterson

And then, like I’d lost control of my hand, it began to write: And we—it was too late now—took some rosary beads. What do you think I should do? Could you please give me some advice? I finished with love from Aaron, then folded and folded it till it was almost the size of a postage stamp, thinking Throw it away! Tell Gran you made a mistake and need to start again. But when she came back I handed it to her. And, making a point of not looking at them, she put both letters in her handbag, which was one of those ones with gold clamps that give a satisfying snap when they shut. She patted Connor and me on the head and then took the car keys from Pete.

  ‘Bye, Tracey,’ she called. Then she said to Pete, ‘Tell Tracey I’ll be back in a week. And be extra nice to her for a bit. That goes for you boys as well.’

  Run after her and get the letter back, I told myself. But I didn’t. I was in shock. I wondered what the hell stupid thing I was going to do next.

  ‘She seems like a nice lady,’ said Pete when she’d gone.

  After a while Mum came back and began dishing out the bacon and eggs, which were cold by then. She gave Pete a dark look and banged down his plate like Gran coming over was his fault. He kind of smiled and shrugged. Then they started talking about other things, and gradually Mum forgot to be annoyed at him.

  ‘Yeah, I was talking to Robbo last night,’ said Pete. ‘He reckons they need someone to do a spare-parts run to Sydney and back. Could be a regular thing. The first one’s tomorrow.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’ said Mum.

  ‘Yep, no rest days for truckies. It’ll be bloody good if it comes off. It’s been so bloody slow round here.’

  Connor said, ‘Have you been to Sydney before?’

  ‘Yep. Hate it. Too many cars. Don’t mind the harbour though.’

  ‘Does it remind you of when you were a sea captain?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah, I just like the bridge. And the opera house.’

  ‘Have you been to Sydney, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘A hundred thousand horses couldn’t drag me back there, with all the smog and the druggos. Nup, this is the best place in the world,’ she said and she gestured out the window, and we all looked at the orange trees, the chook pen, the clothesline, the overcast sky. I couldn’t work out what she was pointing at.

  I said, ‘Looks pretty boring to me.’

  She gave an irritated sigh. ‘I’m sick of doing the dishes. Connor, you and Aaron do them.’

  ‘I’ll wash,’ said Connor.

  I didn’t argue.

  Connor washed and I wiped. Droplets of rain spotted the window over the sink.

  ‘It’s spitting,’ I said.

  ‘Where were you Friday before last?’ said Connor.

  I coughed. ‘What?’

  Connor was watching me with a sly smile. ‘I said where were you Friday before last? You know. The day the rosary beads got stolen.’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Yeah? So how come you looked so guilty when we were talking about it? You looked like you’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, louder than I meant to, ‘I didn’t take anything.’

  Connor sniffed, ‘Think I don’t know that? As if you’d have the guts to do something as bad as that. I know who it was.’

  I regained my composure. ‘Who?’

  ‘Stevie Harmison, of course. I found the coin thing right near his place. And don’t forget he’s got a big brother. He could have been the other boy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Probably? Definitely. And I’m gunna catch him too.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘For me to know and you to find out,’ he said and he smiled to himself as he rinsed the last plate.

  ‘He’s crazy, you know. You should just dob him in.’

  ‘I don’t want to do that till I’m positive. Anyway, he doesn’t scare me. He’s never scared me,’ he said. Which I knew was true. Which was what made me uneasy.

  After we’d put the dishes away I went downstairs to check on the fish. One was floating upside down on top of the water, but the rest seemed fine—especially the biggest ones, though there were only three of those now, hovering dark grey against the dark grey concrete of the tub. In fact they seemed relaxed, almost smug, and I felt like saying, You know, you’re miles from water, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  It was still spitting. In the long grass by the tank was a fish, one of the big ones, with clouded eyes and flies all over it. Do we really need the grates? I wondered. Now they know that outside the bathtub is only dry land, will they really jump out again? I got my answer when I took a grate off to scoop out the dead fish—another one jumped straight out and flipped and writhed like mad till I grabbed it and put it back.

  The chooks never tried to escape. You could let them out, then put food in their pen and they’d run right back. Must have been something they liked about it. The chook pen’s latch was off, and the wire door hung open. I went inside. Dried chook poo, dried-up orange peel and slivers of curled-up pecked-clean watermelon skin were scattered over the dirt floor. In the corner was a small corrugated-iron shed with wooden boxes and straw for the chooks to sleep in. The smell of chooks was everywhere, though they’d been gone six months. A python had eaten all but two of them, which we’d then given away. Afterwards Mum had sworn she’d never have another chook. I hooked my fingers in the chicken wire and peered out. So this is what it’s like to be in jail. I shook the door, pretending it was locked.

  I heard a noise behind me; something was in the corrugated-iron shed. ‘Of course I’m not a black panther, ya idiot,’ it said in a sort of a hushing, dripping voice. ‘And I’m not an orc. And no I’m not your guilty conscience come to life either.’

  ‘So what are you?’ I said.

  It didn’t answer for a while.

  Then when I thought it had gone it said, ‘Anyway, you’re not even guilty, are ya. You’re just afraid of getting caught, that’s all.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell me what you are?’

  ‘You can try to guess if you want. You’ll never get it.’

  Slowly, ever so slowly, I started to turn around. It was really dark inside the shed. Darker than it should have been. I peered into the darkness, and slowly my eyes started to get used to it, and I began, ever so slowly, to see a shape: the shape of the thing.

  ‘Locked in, mate?’

  I jumped. Pete was hurrying across the yard to let me out.

  ‘Nah,’ I said, embarrassed, and let go of the chicken wire. ‘I was just pretending.’

  Pete snorted. ‘I used to do that sort of thing when I was a pup. You want to give me a hand with the truck?’

  ‘All right,’ I said.

  And so I stood damply by as Pete hauled the truck’s cab forward then stuck his top half into the engine, and tinkered and clinked while little spheres of rain stuck in the hairs on his legs.

  ‘Pass the spanner, Aaron.’

  ‘This one?’

  With some difficulty he peered back at me. ‘Nah, mate, other one.’

  His transistor radio was on but he wasn’t paying it any attention. Every now and then he swore quietly to himself.

  What if I told him: ‘Pete?’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Me and another kid took the rosary beads.’ His eyes would go angry. ‘How could you steal from a church? I’m telling your mum. And Father Lockhart. And I’m calling the police.’

  ‘Aaron, I just remembered, I was gunna tell ya something,’ said Pete.

  Before I could ask him what, I heard the low growl of an approaching engine; I looked up and saw a wide white bonnet, with the word POLICE across it, and two big faces at the windscreen. One of them was Ronny Landers’ dad, perhaps the biggest man in Fingleton. He didn’t look as friendly as when he’d given a Stranger Danger talk to my class.

  ‘Gotta go to the toilet,’ I said, and I hurried away, with my hands in my pockets and my head down.

  I ran to the backyard and climbed into the leafy branches of the avocado tree.
/>   13

  ANOTHER SECRET

  AS I CLIMBED up to my branch in the avocado tree I knocked something off. It was Aboriginal Tales of the Far North. It fell open on the grass below on page fifty-two. Because I’d put a bookmark there—the prayer card we’d taken from the church. Now it was just lying there for Connor or the police or anyone to find.

  Mum’s we’ve-got-guests voice floated from the kitchen, and a man’s voice that could only have been a policeman’s because of how deep it was. And here I was with the biggest clue in the world. I jumped down, grabbed the card and sprinted under the house.

  Mum yelled, ‘Connor!’ just as I was in front of his door. I heard him sigh and throw his book down and yell, ‘Coming!’

  I ran round to the front of the house. The police car was parked in our driveway. And Pete was still working on the truck. I darted up the front stairs, my heart racing a million miles an hour, then crept into my room. Made it! I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I could hear Connor in the kitchen. What was he doing? Wowing them with his ‘Possibles’ and ‘Probables’ lists?

  I looked at the picture on the back of the card again. There was definitely something weird about the angel’s smile. It seemed to say she wasn’t against the idea of the kids in the picture falling down the cliff, that she thought it might be kind of funny if they did.

  ‘Aaron.’

  I jumped.

  Mum was at my door, coffee in hand. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said as I slipped the card into my undies drawer.

  ‘The police are here. They want to talk to you. Come to the kitchen.’

  I followed her, and there, sitting at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea in front of him, was Mr Landers in his police uniform. He was bony faced, with bushy browny-blond eyebrows. He’d taken off his cap and balanced it on his knee. His thin hair was sweaty and flattened and there was a red band across his forehead where the cap had been.

  He said, ‘G’day mate. You’re Connor, right?’

  ‘He’s Aaron. The big one’s Connor,’ said Mum.

  ‘How could I forget? Sorry, Trace.’ He smiled at me briefly, picked up a pad and pen and said, ‘Aaron. You don’t know anything about this church business, do you, Aaron?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Answer, Aaron,’ said Mum.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘It’s okay, mate, nothing to be nervous about.’

  ‘Nope.’

  He looked me in the eyes. He was frowning. I couldn’t say no again, that would be three times which meant you were lying. I’d heard that somewhere.

  He wrote something on his pad and said, ‘Take a seat, mate.’

  I sat down.

  He put the pad in front of me. ‘I want you to write some things down, okay? Ready? Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party.’ He waited while I wrote it down. ‘Now write The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Now write, Every Tom, Dick and Harry in town will be there. Okay, now just write down your name and address and that’s that.’

  When I’d finished he picked up the pad and studied it. He nodded to himself; then he squinted at me and said, ‘And you don’t know anything about it? No one’s said anything to you about it?’

  I shook my head.

  He nodded again, flipped the pad closed. He said ‘Thanks, mate.’ Then he turned to Mum. ‘Routine stuff. But I might just leave my card, Trace, in case anyone remembers anything.’

  ‘So you’re just going door to door, hey?’ said Mum.

  ‘At this stage. Working our way out round the streets around the church, probably just to the end of Shoe Street.’

  ‘You gunna find ’em, you reckon?’ said Mum.

  Mr Landers stood up and took his cup to the sink but didn’t wash it. ‘Got a good chance. You tend to in these types of things. Something gives, you know?’ He glanced at me. ‘Anyway, I’m gunna chip away at it. No rush. See what turns up.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t let the little bastards get away with it.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m quietly confident. Oh, yeah, I forgot.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out mum’s necklace. ‘I found this out the front of your place. Is it yours?’

  Mum took it with a frown. ‘That’s weird,’ she said. ‘Yeah it’s mine all right. Thanks for that.’ She put it on the sideboard in the bowl we kept keys and odds and ends in.

  ‘No worries,’ said Mr Landers. ‘All right, see ya, Trace. See ya, Aaron.’

  Mum said, ‘See ya, Paul.’ She still had her coffee mug in her hand; she hadn’t taken a sip since Mr Landers had come. When he’d left she turned to me and said, ‘Why was my necklace out on the street, Aaron?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Aaron?’ She watched me, waiting for an answer.

  ‘I didn’t put it there.’

  ‘I wonder who it was, then,’ she said and she sighed. ‘And you don’t know anything about this church stuff, right? Right?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well then, why were you being so weird?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  She looked unsatisfied. ‘Well next time someone asks you a question, especially a policeman, bloody answer them, for God’s sake. All right? Policemen are just normal people. There’s nothing to be frightened about.’

  ‘Yes, Mum. Sorry, Mum,’ I said.

  But she wasn’t finished. ‘And there’s nothing you want to tell me? You know you can tell me anything, right?’

  ‘There’s nothing, Mum.’

  She had her back to the sink, leaning on it. ‘Well don’t scare me like that. You’re supposed to be the level-headed one. You’re supposed to be the one I don’t have to worry about.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum.’

  She sighed. ‘All right, off ya go.’

  I ran to my room and lay on my bed with my pillow over my head and stayed there, holding my breath as long as I could, over and over. Lying to the police was a criminal offence, I was pretty sure. And it felt terrible to lie to Mum, but what option did I have? The level-headed one? Was she nuts? That she could think of me that way somehow made me feel even more lonely.

  I stayed in my room till Mum called us for lunch. It was spaghetti on toast.

  ‘Where’d you get off to?’ Pete asked.

  I shrugged.

  ‘What did you say to the policeman?’ I whispered to Connor.

  ‘Nothing. He just got me to write some stuff down, for some reason.’

  ‘Anyway, you two, I’ve got an announcement,’ said Pete, looking at Mum. ‘Your Mum and me have been talking, and she told me that you two can keep a secret. That true?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Connor, ‘I can assure you.’

  ‘I can,’ I said with less conviction.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Well then, after I do this next job tomorrow, I’m going to take you two to me secret fishing spot, but—’

  Connor cheered.

  ‘But, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone where it is. Do you promise?’

  ‘One hundred per cent,’ said Connor, and I promised as well.

  ‘Good. Now, they’ll need a good pair of shoes, Trace, ’cause there’s a bit of walking. And we’ll need sunscreen.’

  ‘I made up some names for the fish,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t get too attached to ’em, mate. That’s our bait.’

  ‘We can keep a few of them, though, can’t we?’

  ‘Course, mate. Now let’s see, youse’ll need your hats…’

  ‘I don’t feel like any more lunch,’ I said.

  ‘You haven’t had any,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ I said. And I wasn’t. ‘Can I leave the table?’

  ‘Go on then.’

  I tipped my toast into the scrap container by the sink, and then went back to my room. I wasn’t sure I could keep a secret. The biggest one I’d ever had felt like it was going to burst out of me at any minute.

  14


  FINGERPRINTS

  WHILE WE ATE dinner the rain bore in from the sea. ‘Here we go,’ said Mum, and we all stopped chewing to listen. First came a single drop—slap—on our metal roof, then a short sharp machine gun ratatatatat, then a roar like being inside a giant shell. We had to yell to hear each other, and after dinner we had to turn the TV right up. It was cosy on the couch with Mum, just the pale blue of the television lighting the room, as outside the storm railed around the house.

  ‘Good rain,’ said Pete from the big chair.

  Mum shrugged. ‘About average,’ she said.

  ‘It’s always like this, hey Mum,’ said Connor.

  ‘Southerners, thinking they know about rain,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’ve been here two years,’ scoffed Pete.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘You just got here.’

  The Cannonball Run was on. Halfway through Pete disappeared out to the back stairs for a cigarette. The smoke drifted into the kitchen; I gave a little cough on my way to the toilet in the ad break, but he didn’t notice me. He just kept staring out at the rain. Mum let us watch the whole movie so I ended up going to bed at eleven. Still the rain kept on, cooling the air, filling my head. I went to sleep feeling like I was wrapped in cottonwool.

  When I woke up I kept my eyes closed. I lay perfectly still with my arms and legs frozen, my breathing slow, because to move even an inch would start the day and restart my rosary-beads nightmare. If I stayed just as I was maybe I could keep everything frozen in the moment. Maybe the whole day even.

  It was still raining. Instinctively I knew it had rained all night. And there was another sound too apart from the rain on the roof. It was a higher-pitched plip-plopping which I decided, after some thought, was the sound of rain falling on water.

  The new sound teased me from bed.

  There was a puddle on the floor outside my room, and I felt a drip on my head, but looking up I couldn’t see the leak through the spiderweb across the shadowy ceiling.

  The dinner things were still on the kitchen table. Ants tracked along the plastic lace tablecloth, circling the edges of smudges of gravy and fat on the plates. Whoever was here, looks like they left in a hurry, a policeman would’ve said. The morning twilight made everything seem unreal. I looked through the back window at our yard. It was underwater: from the back fence, the bases of the orange trees, to the clothesline, and right up to the house.