… “Spin the cocoon,
Sleep, sleep, you shall be wrapped in me soon.”
The words echoed like a hymn through Joseph’s head as the creatures waved and twisted tirelessly inside, losing themselves forever within their silken tombs.
It was a further week until the last of the silkworms was placed in the remaining compartment. As there was no longer any need for fresh leaves, there was little reason for Joseph to drop in on Tom Leyton so regularly. It was arranged therefore, mainly through Caroline’s initiative, that Joseph should come over the following Saturday, and do some work on her brother’s portrait. ‘The finishing touches to the masterpiece,’ Caroline had suggested optimistically.
Joseph agreed readily to the invitation. In spite of Tom Leyton’s continued aloofness and the emptiness that always threatened to engulf him, Joseph had begun to enjoy their time together. He also had a feeling that Tom Leyton had more to tell – another story, one that could possibly open up the cocoon of gloom and despair that imprisoned him. Yet, as much as Joseph wanted Tom Leyton to be free, he was afraid of what might emerge from the darkness. The man’s own words seemed to toll a bleak warning. ‘There’s always something worse,’ he had said. Joseph hated to think what that might be.
That night in bed Joseph thought of many things – of Tom and Caroline Leyton together for years in their parents’ house, of Mrs Mossop standing guard over the neighbourhood, of his father separated by more than distance, of his mother watching television by herself in the lounge room, and of the Running Man hurrying alone down some empty Street. Eventually his thoughts turned to the silkworms. He tried to imagine them snug inside their cases, their skin moulting for the last time and hardening into a pupa. What would it feel like – the waiting, the changing? Did they have any idea what would happen next? He knew from his talks with Tom Leyton that in around two weeks’ time the moths would emerge from their cocoons and mate. In another seven days or so they would have laid their eggs and would probably have died. Just three more weeks and Joseph knew the cycle would be complete.
What he wasn’t aware of, as he pulled a sheet over his shoulders and curled down into the comfort of his bed, was that by the end of those same few weeks his life would also have changed. In three short weeks Joseph’s old ideas about people and about himself would lie like a discarded skin at his feet, and even though he would still look like the same boy, he would be as different from his present self as a moth is from a caterpillar.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The session with Tom Leyton on the following Saturday was more relaxed than usual. Joseph was no longer as intimidated by the long silences that characterised their meetings and they allowed him, for the first time, to immerse himself in the drawing.
Most of the sporadic exchanges between the two centred around silkworms, with Tom Leyton providing careful and detailed responses to Joseph’s questions. Only once, when Tom Leyton asked whether Mr Davidson would be coming home for Christmas, did the atmosphere in the room take on some of the old tension, but this time it was Joseph who drew the curtains on a secret world.
At the beginning, Joseph made subtle changes and small additions to the sketch that he had been working on. Later, he made separate detailed sketches of Tom Leyton’s hands and facial features, trying to capture the gentle strength of his long fingers, the creases that patterned his forehead, the downward curve of his mouth and the fleshy hang of the earlobes.
Still it was always Tom Leyton’s eyes – small dark spheres surrounded by puffy flesh and hooded by bushy blond eyebrows – that somehow defeated Joseph. He could recreate the separate elements, but there was still something missing. He remembered again his old art teacher, Mr De Groot, and his passionate claim that to draw a hand you must know the muscle and bone that supported it and gave it shape and function. However, Tom Leyton’s eyes remained as inaccessible to Joseph as a room that had been boarded shut.
‘I’ve probably got enough,’ he said eventually, laying down his pencil and glancing back over the sketches.
Tom Leyton stood gingerly.
Joseph put aside his pad and went to take another look at the twelve silkworm cocoons, but something on the bottom shelf of one of the bookcases caught his eye. ‘You’ve brought some of your books up,’ Joseph said, looking around at Tom Leyton in surprise.
‘A few,’ Tom Leyton admitted, as if he had been found out in some deception.
‘Are you bringing the rest up?’
‘No … I’m not sure.’
‘You’ve got heaps of space.’
‘I don’t know … I’d have to sort through them … I …’
‘I can help, if you like.’
Tom Leyton looked from Joseph’s expectant face to the rows of empty shelves. ‘It would be a big job. It could take some time,’ he said doubtfully.
‘That’s OK. I can finish the portrait at home, and there’s nothing to do with the silkworms any more.’
Tom Leyton stared helplessly at the boy in front of him like a soldier asked to commit himself to a battle from which he might not return. ‘I … don’t know …’
‘We wouldn’t have to do it all at once.’
‘I suppose not.’ Tom Leyton wavered.
‘We can do it then?’
A long pause followed before Tom Leyton conceded defeat by closing his eyes and replying softly, ‘All right.’
Joseph looked at the rows of barren shelves. There was one more question he wanted answered. ‘Can we start now?’
‘Where are you two off to?’ Caroline asked as Joseph and Tom Leyton headed down the corridor.
The answer to the question seemed to take her by surprise, and the cheerful upbeat manner that Caroline fought so hard to maintain deserted her momentarily. ‘Your books? You’re bringing up your books?’ she whispered, as her eyes drifted from her brother to Joseph.
‘Yes.’
‘Well … that’s good, Tom,’ Caroline said, regaining her composure. ‘You’ve got the space – you might as well use it. When I sort these bills out, I’ll come and give you a hand.’ Then she frowned a little and added, ‘Just go easy, Tom, OK? There’s no hurry.’
‘I’m fine,’ came her brother’s terse reply.
Joseph followed Tom Leyton into the downstairs room and found that the warmth of the late spring days had made it even more close and stuffy. Tom Leyton switched on the weak overhead light and began moving furniture and other odds and ends of clutter before shifting and rearranging boxes to expose the ones that contained his books. Although Joseph tried to help where he could, by the time Tom Leyton had located what he wanted his breathing was noticeably laboured and a rough inverted pyramid of sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt.
One of the boxes had split open and spilled some of its contents on the floor. Joseph gathered up as many of the books as he could carry and headed back to the room followed by Tom Leyton carrying a full carton. As they were returning for a second load Joseph caught a brief glimpse of Caroline’s worried face through the kitchen door.
Back in the storage room there was more shifting and sliding of cartons before another large box of books was finally exposed. Joseph piled up a teetering armful of novels from the floor and waited for Tom Leyton, whose face was now flushed and damp.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I’m fine. You go ahead. I’ll be up shortly,’ the man replied between deep breaths.
Joseph climbed the stairs and struggled along the corridor to Tom Leyton’s room. As he tried to lower the books to the floor they tumbled from his grasp, collapsing the stacks already there like dominoes. Joseph knelt on the faded carpet to rebuild the towers. He was almost finished when he heard a creak from the staircase and the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Suddenly a muffled thud rumbled across the floorboards and sent Joseph rushing out into the corridor.
Both he and Caroline emerged together to see Tom Leyton standing ashen-faced with his arms extended forward as if he were ca
rrying some invisible package. A cardboard carton lay at his feet.
Caroline moved quickly ahead of Joseph, and without speaking put her hand into her brother’s pocket and pulled out a jar of tablets. She shook one into her hand and placed it in his mouth. ‘Could you get a glass of water, Joseph?’ she said with measured calmness as she supported her brother.
Joseph moved quickly into the kitchen, relieved at last to be able to help. When he returned and handed the glass to Caroline, the colour had already begun to diffuse through Tom Leyton’s face.
‘If you could just put that beside Tom’s bed, Joseph, and then come back and give me a hand, we’ll walk Tom to his room.’
Joseph did as he was asked and slowly, one on each arm, they escorted Tom Leyton to his room and eased him down on to the bed.
‘Have some water, Tommy,’ Caroline said soothingly. ‘Everything’s all right. Just take it slowly.’
Tom Leyton sipped from the glass before he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
Caroline handed the glass to Joseph. ‘Joseph, could you take that to the kitchen? I’ll be in shortly.’
Joseph left the glass in the sink, sat down at the small pine table and waited for Caroline. He knew by the way she had spoken that everything would be all right, but the image of Tom Leyton with glazed eyes and arms outstretched like a stone statue came back into his mind and refused to leave.
It was quite some time before Caroline sat down at the table with Joseph. ‘Are you all right? That must have been a bit of a shock for you, but he’ll be fine,’ she said reassuringly as she patted Joseph’s arm. ‘It’s happened before – not often, thank God. It’s never quite as bad as it looks. It’s his heart. He just needs to be careful and watch what he does, that’s all. Sometimes he forgets and overdoes it. Then he has to have the tablets straightaway. When it settles down, he just needs to rest.’
Caroline shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead in exasperation. ‘Carrying all those bloody books. I don’t know what he was thinking.’
‘I’m sorry. I asked him to bring them up. I said I’d help … I didn’t know …’ Joseph tried to explain.
‘No, no, it’s not your fault, Joseph, not at all. You don’t know how happy I am to see those books coming back. I thought it would never happen. It’s just that he should have done it more sensibly, that’s all.’
Joseph bowed his head, unable to stop feeling more than a little guilty about his role in Tom Leyton’s present condition.
Caroline sensed his anxiety and continued gently. ‘Joseph, you don’t know how good you’ve been for my brother … and for me. I’ve never really thanked you properly. I don’t know if it’s even possible. I do know that it wasn’t easy for you to come here. I understand that. I think you have been very brave and very kind. You may not know it, but you are helping him. I’ve tried … but …’
For a moment, the task of putting her thoughts into words seemed to overwhelm Caroline. ‘My brother has problems, Joseph, but he wasn’t always like he is now. Things … bad things … have happened to him.’
‘In Vietnam?’
Caroline’s eyes flicked up and she couldn’t mask the surprise in her face.
‘He spoke to you about Vietnam?’
‘I saw a photo, when we were getting boxes for the silkworms … of his friend that was killed. He told me about him.’
‘What did he say?’ Caroline asked in a voice that tried too hard to be casual.
‘That his platoon was tricked by a Vietnamese boy and how his friend and the other men were killed.’
Caroline sat still as if afraid to make a sudden movement. ‘Anything else?’ she whispered, avoiding Joseph’s eyes.
‘He told me how he escaped and was taken back to camp and how they thought he was going to kill the chaplain, only he wasn’t really.’
Caroline sat silently until she was sure that the boy had finished. ‘Has he spoken of … other things?’ she asked tentatively.
Joseph cast his mind back over the events of the last few weeks. ‘Yes … about being in hospital … and about trying to be a teacher. Sometimes he talks about when he was young … or about poems and stories … and about silkworms. Sometimes when he becomes sad … or angry, he says things that I don’t really understand …’
Caroline gave Joseph a sympathetic smile. ‘I don’t know if he understands himself sometimes.’ She tossed her head back. ‘He was so different once. So loving … so full of hope. If only you could have known him then, Joseph … I’m sure you would have liked him.’ Caroline’s head fell forward and her straight hair hung like a curtain around her face.
‘I like him now,’ Joseph said simply.
Every muscle in Caroline’s thin face seemed to tense and tighten, as if she was being propelled at an unbearable speed. Joseph sat helpless as her eyes pooled and big tears welled and dropped from her cheeks, splashing in dark patterns on her blouse. With one hand she gripped Joseph’s arm across the table and with the other she wiped the wet smears from her face and eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Joseph. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m a big girl or anything like that.’ Then she paused and breathed out heavily. ‘It’s just that what you said would mean a great deal to my brother … You have no idea how much. And he likes you. I know he finds it hard to show it, but he does. He just can’t … let himself … feel any more. He’s too afraid. I’ve tried to get through to him, for over twenty years I’ve tried, but I can’t help him.’ She stopped and fixed Joseph with a look of pure anguish. ‘He doesn’t believe in anything and he hates himself, Joseph, and I can’t get through to him … I can’t help him.’
Joseph didn’t know what to say, but he knew she was right. Even though over the past weeks Tom Leyton had become less withdrawn, there was always something else, something unspoken, lurking like a phantom in the room. Did Tom Leyton still blame himself for the death of his friend all those years ago? Was that the reason for the menacing pall of gloom that hung about him or, in his own words, was there something worse?
The scraping of Caroline’s chair on the floor interrupted Joseph’s thoughts. He looked up to see her standing and wiping the tears from her cheeks with a handkerchief. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll just check on Tom and then there’s something I want you to have a look at.’
Joseph listened to the dull purring of voices from across the hall. Then Caroline left Tom Leyton’s room and headed down the hallway. When she returned, she brought with her an old scrapbook bulging with yellowing pages.
‘Tom’s fine, just resting,’ she said before placing the scrapbook in front of Joseph and leaning over beside him. ‘This is what I wanted to show you. It was my mother’s. I think she was a frustrated historian, always snipping things out of the paper, collecting articles, programs, bus tickets, anything really. She made dozens of these, some about world events, others on sport and this one was all on the local area. And one day – drum roll please –’ Caroline announced dramatically as she flicked through the pages, ‘Tommy made the news.’
When Caroline spread the page her finger rested on a photo of Tom Leyton dressed in jeans and T-shirt and holding a slouch hat. The headline read In the Anzac Spirit. The article was from the local paper and explained how Tom Leyton had been conscripted to fight in Vietnam and how, although he was apprehensive, he was proud to fight for his country. He was quoted as saying that his grandfather was one of the original Anzacs, and while he could not compare himself to those men, he would try to do his best.
Joseph read through the brief article, but it wasn’t the words that held his interest – it was the open, smiling face of Tom Leyton. Even through the faded grainy texture of the old newspaper photograph, his eyes sparkled with warmth.
‘That’s the brother I grew up with. He’s still in that room somewhere,’ Caroline said, looking out across the hallway to Tom Leyton’s half open door, ‘I know he is. I just can’t seem to find him.’
Caroline straightened a little before c
ontinuing. ‘I just wanted you to see him, just once, like he was. You can borrow the scrapbook if you like. It might help you with your drawing.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Besides, you might learn some history about the neighbourhood – see how things have changed.’
And with that, Caroline began slowly turning the pages. ‘Look, that was the big house that once stood where the supermarket now is … Here’s a picture of a family that used to live across the road – they won the lottery … Here’s one about the first traffic lights going in … That’s St Jude’s Church tower after it was struck by lightning … there’s the old picture theatre being demolished …’ Caroline turned over a few more pages before concluding with a laugh, ‘Yes, this should give you hours of enjoyment. A lot more fun and excitement than computer games, football or going to the movies, I’m sure.’
Joseph smiled back, but Caroline had no idea just how important the scrapbook had become to him or how desperately he wanted to take it home and examine the treasure that it held.
His heart raced as he headed home with the scrapbook clutched to his chest, but it was not because of any of the articles that Caroline had pointed out to him. Nor was it the photo of Tom Leyton with his eyes undimmed by whatever devil was now haunting him. There was only one thing on Joseph’s mind when at last he burst into his room and threw the scrapbook on his desk and began turning the pages, scanning the pictures. He was searching for the image that had appeared for a brief moment when Caroline had flicked the pages casually before his eyes – an image that had carved itself forever in his mind. The unmistakable face of the Running Man.
Since the discovery of the article in the old scrapbook the previous afternoon, Joseph had been keen to share his news with Tom Leyton. When he arrived home from school, he flung his bag on the bed, rushed past his mother with a quick, ‘Hi Mum. Bye Mum – won’t be long,’ and headed straight for next door.
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