by J A Mawter
‘Sticky rice, green bean paste, pork meat…’
Clem and Darcy shot a look to each other. Pork was not allowed in their diet.
‘Sounds good,’ said Bryce.
‘…with skin and fat…’
Mio kept a straight face but blanched inside.
‘…and banana leaf.’
‘B-banana leaves,’ said Bryce. ‘Um, yum. My favourite.’
‘Banana leaf turn rice green,’ said Tong with a note of triumph in his voice.
Clem hoped her own face wasn’t green as Tong passed a parcel to each of his friends. Tong dived back into the bag and removed another small container which he prised open.
‘What’s that?’ asked Bryce.
‘Salted sour onion.’
Bryce kept his face perfectly neutral as he said, ‘Sour onion. My favourite.’
The kids sat around the TV staring at their packages, unsure what to do with them and reluctant to find out. ‘You said this is for Tet,’ said Darcy. ‘Clem and I have honey cake for Rosh Hashana, our Jewish New Year. The honey stands for a good and sweet year. Why do you have rice cakes?’
Tong smiled. ‘Long story but I make it short. This king tell his son, many son, bring me food for Tet. Best food, you win, and be new king. Young son dream. Genie tell him to cook sticky rice for the earth and mung bean paste for the sun. Cook all day. Big sons go far away. Bring special food, different. King no like. King like rice best. Young son now king.’ Tong’s smile grew even wider. ‘Please, eat.’
Darcy glanced at Clem and she shook her head, warning him to say nothing. Honouring Tong’s gift was more important than breaking one of their religious rules. The kids tentatively pulled on the string and opened their parcels. Bryce was the first to dip in. Using his fingers he picked up a morsel and plopped it in his mouth. The others watched with bated breath.
Bryce swirled the green rice around, enjoying the growing anticipation on everyone’s faces.
‘Well?’ asked Clem.
‘Yummo!!!’ said Bryce, and he dug in again with gusto.
Clem, Darcy and Mio followed suit.
Tong looked around The Van. He was with friends, he was safe, and they were feasting and sharing. He was reminded of a wise Buddhist saying, Happiness never decreases by being shared, and knew it was right.
Just when the kids felt they couldn’t eat another thing, Tong brought out a plate of sweets. ‘Deep-fried sesame date, sugar coconut, sugar lotus seed, sweet-sour Vietnamese tamarind,’ he said, pointing to each as he named them.
‘Don’t want to seem rude, so I’ll have to try them all,’ said Bryce and he dived in, licking his fingers between sweets. ‘That aunt of yours is a fantastic cook.’
‘We should keep some for Mr Lark,’ said Clem. ‘He’d love them.’
‘Sure would,’ agreed Darcy. ‘Why don’t we take some to him now? Then go practise.’
Clem grabbed Darcy’s sleeve. Her eyes widened into pools of fear. ‘Practise where?’
‘The Peak, of course.’
‘After yesterday?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘No.’
Clem slammed her hand on the TV shouting, ‘But it’s too dangerous!’ Her hand knocked Tong’s container, sending the rice cakes and sweets flying. She snatched at the container as it flew, but missed. Her eyes slammed shut, unable to witness the carnage to come, but then she crinkled one open to take a peek, and to her relief, the cakes had stayed bound in one piece. ‘Look what you made me do!’ Clem yelled at her brother.
‘Me? You’re the one playing windmills. This’s got nothing to do with me.’
‘But I don’t want to go back to The Peak.’
‘We have to go back. How are we going to win those trials if we don’t practise?’
Mio listened to Clem and Darcy slug it out. Secretly she was on Clem’s side. Bryce would’ve preferred to be on Clem’s side but he had to agree with Darcy. No good chickening out. Tong retrieved the last sweet from the floor and secured the lid. He said nothing, preferring to go along with the rest of the group, but if anyone had asked him his opinion, he would have said, ‘Go back to The Peak.’ From his experiences in Vietnam, he knew that the more you let a gang take over a territory the more power you gave that gang and the weaker you became. Tong never wanted to do ‘weak’ again.
‘The trials are in nine days,’ Darcy said, looking around the group. ‘We need all the practice at The Peak we can get. Those who agree raise their hands.’
Clem folded her arms, and Mio took an intense interest in her fingernails. Darcy, Bryce and Tong all raised their hands.
‘Three against two,’ crowed Darcy.
‘Bella votes no,’ said Clem. ‘Even if she’s not here.’
‘Bella doesn’t count.’ Then Darcy put a question to Clem: ‘What d’you think Mr Lark would say?’
Clem thought of Mr Lark and how he never backed away from a fight. She thought of how he’d fought in a war, fought for what he thought was right. Clem sighed, then turned to her brother and said, ‘Mr Lark would say it’s important not to let those bullies win, but…’ she stuck out her jaw, ‘…he’d also say to be very, very careful and not to do anything foolish.’ She glanced at Mio, feeling like a traitor, but raised her eyebrows in question. Mio gave the slightest nod. It was settled then. They’d go back to The Peak.
Clem wasn’t in the mood for any fancy manoeuvres as they rode along. She wanted to put her head down and cycle, cycle, cycle, till all there was was herself, the bike and the road. Sensing how she felt, the others kept their distance. It was a sober group that arrived at The Peak. They went through the huge stone entranceway and started to ride to the tower, alert for the other riders. It was far too steep to climb straight up, so they zig-zagged in ever widening loops till eventually they made it. This time, it wasn’t as bad as the first, and although they laboured for breath, they didn’t experience that dreaded feeling of pushing their body so hard that they wanted to be sick.
Clem looked up at the tower. Her nose crinkled as she said, ‘Climbed that yesterday. Not doing it today.’
‘Well, someone better go up and have a scout around,’ said Darcy and he unclipped his helmet and threw it on some grass. ‘Guess it’ll be me.’ Then he lay his bike down with as much care as he’d give little Drew, his brother, and stepped up to the ladder. Placing his foot on the first rung, he began to climb.
‘Me too,’ said Mio, unable to resist the challenge.
‘Me five,’ said Tong, scampering behind her.
‘You three,’ corrected Mio. ‘One, two, three…’
Tong shook his shoulders and gestured impatiently for Mio to start. ‘Whatever.’
Mio smiled to herself, thinking how quickly Tong was learning English.
They started their ascent, climbing slowly but steadily to the platform at the top. The flying-fox was as they left it, the drop-rope wound round a hook, ready for action.
Halfway up Darcy stopped and looked down. ‘You coming, Bryce?’
‘I’m not too good with heights,’ Bryce called back.
‘You’ll be fine.’
But Bryce didn’t feel fine. He felt dizzy just looking up. He felt as if his body had been taken over by a steam train—his head was full of clattering and cranking and clamouring. ‘Think I’ll give it a miss.’
‘Bwwarrr, bwk, bwk.’ Darcy was so cocky he’d let go and was flapping his hands, using only one leg wound around the ladder post to secure himself.
Let him flap, said a voice inside Bryce’s head.
‘Bwwarrr, bwk, bwk.’
Ignore him.
‘Bwwarrr…’
Get him! snapped the voice.
So get him Bryce did.
Chapter Eleven
When Darcy reached the top of the tower he unwound the loose rope, grabbed the handle of the flying-fox and launched himself. Quick as a flash Bryce threw his balled-up jacket, so when Darcy had travelled only a metre
or two, he copped the jacket in his face. His hands slipped. He managed to hang on for a few seconds, then lost his grip and hurtled down, snatching at the air like a baby bird learning to fly.
‘Bwarrrk, bwk, bwk,’ said Bryce, grinning.
Darcy kerplunked into the soft inner tubes below.
Clem scurried over to her brother, calling, ‘You okay, Darce?’
From their vantage point on top of the tower, all Tong and Mio could see was a pile of tyres with a gaping hole through the middle of them. Of Darcy there was no sign. There was no sound either.
‘Darcy!!!’ Clem hovered at the base of the pile of tyres, reluctant to climb up in case they toppled inwards.
Still there was no sound.
Mio and Tong backed down the ladder, their hands and feet working overtime as they slithered down.
‘Dar-rrr-cyyy!’ Clem was on her hands and knees trying to peer through the gaps in the tyres when Tong and Mio reached her. ‘Dar-r-cy-y!’ Bryce was on his hands and knees on the other side.
Silence.
A tidal wave of panic hit Clem. Pictures of her brother, lying dead, filled her head. She scrambled up the tyres, her feet slipping on the smooth surfaces. When she reached the summit, what she saw made her shudder. She saw red wavy hair, sticking up like a sea urchin. She saw Darcy’s pale face, his freckles standing out like sentinels. And she saw the famous Darcy grin. ‘You’re alive!’ she screeched, laughing and crying with relief.
Darcy’s head popped out the top of the tyres shouting, ‘Guess what I found?!’
‘Is it safe to climb up?’ asked Mio.
‘Maybe not.’ Darcy’s grin faded. ‘Hang on a sec.’ He dived back down and, finding what he was looking for, wriggled through a cardboard-lined tunnel and out of the pile. ‘Here I am,’ he announced to four anxious backs. The kids whirled around. They fell on Darcy, slapping his shoulders and hugging him as though trying to convince themselves that he wasn’t some sort of apparition.
‘Guess what I found?’ said Darcy again. ‘Better still, I’ll show you.’ He flopped to the ground and wriggled forward commando-style.
‘Is it safe?’ asked Clem.
‘Sure.’
Clem, Tong, Mio and Bryce all wriggled like seals into the tunnel. It was dark, so they followed the grunts and shuffles of the person in front. In seconds they came to a wide open area, tall enough to sit up with ease but not to stand. Someone had fashioned a primitive sleeping space to one side. The sheets were flattened, grimy, almost slimy. When Clem got close enough to inspect them they smelt musty and dank, nothing like her sheets at home with their lemony scratchy freshness. Her nose wrinkled. ‘Gross!’
On another side, strips of muddied cardboard were littered with yellowed newspaper, cigarette butts, blackened matches, grit and grime. There were half-opened cans of spaghetti, empty cola bottles, and shredded chip wrappers.
‘Someone’s been living here,’ said Darcy. He kicked at an empty cigarette packet. ‘And not so long ago.’
‘Hobo.’
‘Tramp.’
‘Most likely.’
‘Not.’ Mio’s voice cut through the murky darkness. ‘Check this out.’
In her hands she held a rubber ball.
‘Maybe they play fetch with their dog,’ said Clem, who’d been working hard on getting Bella to give the ball back after she’d retrieved it. Bella usually refused, preferring the tug-of-war, much to Clem’s frustration.
‘Doubt it. It’s too big.’ It was huge, the type you’d take to the pool or a beach.
‘Maybe they’ve got one of those giant breeds of dog. Like a Great Dane or a bull mastiff?’
Bryce had picked something up. He joined Mio. ‘Bull mastiffs don’t use these.’ He offered his find to the others. It was a baby’s pacifier.
‘Or this,’ said Mio, spying a baby’s bottle.
‘I know what’s happened!’ said Clem. ‘I read a story about this. There was this dog, see. A kleptomaniac dog…’
‘Please?’ interrupted Tong.
‘A dog who stole stuff. Like a bower bird. It would sneak things from people’s houses, off their back steps, out of shopping baskets, whatever. And it had this hiding place which no-one found for ages. And everyone in the neighbourhood was getting spooked by this thief. It stole handbags and wallets so it looked like a full pro of a thief. Until someone stumbled on its hiding place. A bit like us. And the mystery of the stolen goods was solved.’
Mio shook her head, saying, ‘I hate to be a spoilsport, but a dog can’t open cans of spaghetti.’
‘No!’ snapped Clem. ‘But it could steal them out of rubbish bins.’
Mio didn’t look convinced. ‘I guess.’
The stillness inside the hideaway was broken by a sound outside. It was soft, muted.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked Bryce.
The kids sat like statues, straining to hear.
‘Nothing,’ said Darcy.
Then, squeak, squeak, it came again.
Before anyone had a chance to speak Tong flung himself on the ground and wriggled through the tunnel. He’d know that squeak anywhere. When Mr Lark gave him his bike, it was old and rusty and hadn’t been ridden for many years. The kids and he had lovingly restored it, getting new tyres and a chain, replacing the cracked handlebar protectors and the worn saddle, painting it, till it looked like new. But despite the cleaning and the oiling, then more oiling, there remained one persistent squeak. ‘My bike!’ called Tong.
The others dived after him.
As Tong wriggled to the tunnel entrance he caught a glimpse of a bike wheel rounding the corner of a wooden frame. Then it disappeared. He scanned the bikes left lying around the base of the flying-fox tower. There was Darcy’s trusty Bullet, and Clem’s old bike and Mio’s shiny new one and Bryce’s. But his bike was gone. Tong cried out, a cry so despairing that the rest of the kids surged forwards and came tumbling out of the hideaway in a mangle of legs and arms.
‘Không! [No!]’
Tong gave chase as the thief jumped on the bike and sped off. Tong tried to run and keep up with him but feet are no match for a bike and the thief got away.
Tong felt a vast, gaping hollowness, a feeling he knew only too well. All his life the people he loved, the things he valued, had been taken away. He felt gutted and knew that all you have in life is the shell you walk in and, if you are lucky, the clothes on your back.
Darcy was the first to reach Tong. He found him sitting on an overturned crate, his head in his hands. ‘You okay?’ asked Darcy.
Clem and Mio came running up. ‘What happened?’ asked Clem.
‘Where’s your bike?’
In a flat voice Tong answered, ‘Bike gone.’
‘Gone?’
By now Bryce had arrived and in between pants he asked, ‘Who took it? Did you get a good look?’
Tong shook his head.
‘Was it a boy or a girl?’
Tong shrugged.
‘What did they look like?’
Another shrug.
‘Did you see their face?’
This time there was a definite shake to the head.
‘This is useless,’ cried Clem. ‘We need details.’
Bryce clambered up one of the wooden spools to see if he could see anything. ‘Not high enough,’ he told the others.
‘I’ll try the tower,’ said Darcy, and for the second time that day he hit the ladder flying and raced up. Taking one section of The Peak at a time, he studied the landscape for clues. The obstacle course stretched out, the size of a small city block. Darcy could see nothing out of the ordinary, so he looked further. There were houses and buildings and cars. No-one was riding a bike.
But wait. What was that? There in the distance was a moving figure, zooming down the hill. From the back all Darcy could see was a hunched back in a black sweatshirt. Grey trackie daks and a black beanie completed the look.
‘I see him!’ yelled Darcy.
Tong scaled the ladder in l
ightning time and joined Darcy at the railing, straining to get a glimpse of his bike.
‘There,’ said Darcy.
Tong followed the path of Darcy’s finger and could just make out the person on a bike, his bike. The rider rode dangerously, against the flow of traffic, swerving all over the place, not caring about the havoc he was causing as cars braked to miss him.
The boys watched the figure getting smaller and smaller till it disappeared from sight.
Tong’s face screwed up with anguish and his shoulders slumped. How could he tell Mr Lark that he had lost his bike? Such a priceless gift. Shame stung him.
When Tong came down the ladder he was moving so slowly Clem said he looked like a ninety-year-old man. But she soon stopped with her jokes. His face was ashen, his eyes staring, unblinking. ‘It’ll be alright,’ she said. ‘You’ll see.’
Tong didn’t answer. His mind had shut down to a pinprick of thought. How would he explain to Auntie Kim-Ly and Uncle Hai?
‘We’ll report it to the police on our way home,’ said Mio. ‘Come on.’
Bryce scowled, saying, ‘I’m not going to the police.’
Mio’s nostrils flared. ‘You might not, but we will.’ Bryce looked uncomfortable when she added, ‘That bike means everything to Tong. That’s really selfish, Bryce.’
‘It’s called self-preservation,’ mumbled Bryce.
It was a very subdued group that rode down from The Peak. Tong doubled with Darcy, chafing at the fact that he had to ride on the top tube bar like a little kid.
‘We’ll let Mr Lark know tomorrow,’ said Clem, sensing how hard it would be for Tong to confess his loss. ‘The sooner the better.’
The kids stopped at Greenhorryn Police Station to report their stolen bike.
‘Not another one,’ said the policeman at the counter. ‘That’s the third one in this area this afternoon.’ He pushed a form and pen towards Tong. ‘Fill this out and we’ll see what we can do.’
Tong looked at the white piece of paper. The lines looked like scratches, not letters, and he couldn’t make out the words.
‘Come on, fill out the form,’ said the policeman.
