Barracuda

by Christos Tsiolkas

  Shut up shut up shut up. He didn�t want to hear those rich kids babble, he didn�t give a toss what they thought. The whole time Mr Gilbert was going on about music and art and suicide and death and the importance of talking to someone and not bottling up your feelings and remembering where he was when John Lennon was shot, and all Danny wanted was for the teacher, for the boys, for all of them to shut up shut up shut up, until Mr Gilbert turned to him and asked, �Danny, how do you feel?�

  Mr Gilbert always used their first names, but today he wished Mr Gilbert would call him Kelly�he didn�t want to like Mr Gilbert today, he wanted to hate him�and so when he sullenly looked up and saw all the boys waiting, even Luke who didn�t know shit about music but looked sad because he knew that Danny loved Nirvana, Danny shrugged and said flatly, �I don�t really care.�

  Behind him Taylor was laughing. Danny didn�t turn around.

  �He�s a homie, sir,� he heard Taylor say, and though he couldn�t see it he knew Taylor would have thrown a mocking, deliberately clumsy gangsta move. �You only listen to rap and doof-doof, don�t you, Dino? Do you even know who Kurt Cobain was?�

  �Doof doof doof doof doof doof.� Tsitsas started the chant.

  �Doof doof doof doof doof doof.� The rest of the boys picked it up.

  Until Mr Gilbert snapped, �Quiet!� And because this was not Danny�s real school, because of the kind of school it was, all the boys fell instantly silent. Mr Gilbert was looking straight at him�Mr Gilbert was kind, he was a good man�and he said, �Of course you know who Kurt Cobain is, don�t you, Danny?�

  And Danny answered, �Yeah, he was a whingeing white cunt.�

  He could feel the shock of it, the word had power and velocity, a gust hurtling across the room. The teacher just looked at him, and Danny knew that he had wounded him, knew that the singer had meant something to him, just as he did to Demet, just as he did to Danny himself, but he didn�t know how to let the man know and still keep it from the other boys. So he didn�t say a thing, he didn�t let on, couldn�t let on. This was how he was better than them, how he was harder than them, how he was stronger.

  �If I ever hear you use that word again, you will never be allowed back in my class.� Mr Gilbert�s eyes narrowed, his face pinched. His voice was hoarse from reining in his fury. �That is a foul and hateful word. That is a word that only foul and hateful people use.�

  No one made a sound.

  �Do you understand, Kelly?�

  �Yes, sir.�

  �You could be suspended for using such a word. Worse!� Mr Gilbert bellowed and it made Danny jump. It made them all jump.

  �But these are unusual circumstances.� The man�s voice softened. �Tonight you�re back here, after final period. You have detention.�

  Taylor couldn�t help himself, he let out a gleeful whoop.

  �And you, quiet!�

  No one made a sound.

  �OK, Mr Kelly here thinks Kurt Cobain was a whinger. Does anyone else agree?�

  More noise. He would not listen, he would not care, he would not give them anything. Instead he imagined himself back at the river, with the sounds of the birds, the green of the foliage. He thought of water and found the stillness, and their noise dropped away so it was a shock when the bell rang. He slammed back his chair and was the first out the door.

  During the afternoon recess he had to find Frank Torma and tell him he had detention, that he wouldn�t be able to train that afternoon. The Coach was supervising a footy game being played by the Year Sevens.

  �What did you do?�

  �I swore.�

  �To who?�

  �Mr Gilbert.�

  Torma glared at him. �You�re an idiot.� The man turned away, ignoring him, watching a small but fearless kid steal the ball and run away from the pack, bouncing it once, twice, three times, kicking it off the left foot. The ball climbed, curved, and just hit the goalpost.

  �Why are you still standing here?�

  �I know I can�t train with the others tonight, but I�m going to the pool near home, I�ll go straight after�� �Go away.� The Coach dismissed him with an abrupt gesture. �With me, you are training, on your own you are just paddling like a puppy.�

  And Danny knew the truth of that: without Torma, without his training, he was stuck in the in-between.

  The class straight after the break was phys ed. And Danny knew that the boys were out to get him, he could sense it. The air was thick, it carried sound and heat, an electric current transmitted from boy to boy, a living, writhing energy. It was there in the smirk on Sullivan�s face, in the slow and careful way Taylor undressed next to him, as if preparing for combat: neatly hanging up his shirt, his tie, folding his trousers. Danny didn�t dare look at the other boys as he slipped quickly into his sports gear. The challenge was not only in the air: the crowing magpies announced that Danny Kelly was going to get it; the threat was there in the slow measured tread of the boys around him.

  Mr Oldfield ordered them to run around the oval three times, and as Danny set off he found that Sullivan and Tsitsas were keeping pace with him, all the while chanting, making it a beat: �Doof. Doof. Doof. Doof.�

  When the last boy had finished, Mr Oldfield chose Taylor to captain one team, and Sullivan the other. The two captains began to alternately choose from the crowd of boys and Danny knew exactly what was coming. He looked straight ahead, straight at Taylor, who even while calling out names kept his cool grey eyes focused on Danny. The crowd thinned until it was just Danny and Luke left.

  It was Taylor�s turn to choose. His eyes, unwavering, were still locked on Danny. �Kelly, get over here.�

  Danny walked to the group. His heart was winter. He had been steeling himself, from the change rooms to the run, to the picking of the teams. But he was not prepared for this. Now he knew what the air around him was whispering.

  They were going to get Luke.

  At a certain moment, as a group of boys were battling in a scrum and all attention was on who would emerge with the ball, Taylor let out a cry and fell to the ground. Mr Oldfield blew his whistle, the boys stopped their game, and the teacher ran over to Taylor. The smiles exchanged between Tsitsas and Sullivan said it had all been prearranged. The teacher massaged Taylor�s right calf, asked the boy if he was alright, and Taylor answered, �I think I�ve twisted it, sir.�

  The teacher got to his feet and called out to the boys, �I�m going to take Taylor to the sickbay. The rest of you get on with the game.�

  �Right,� Tsitsas ordered, �I�m captain now.� Tsitsas stood a head taller than any other boy, and his frame was muscular and bullish. No one was going to challenge his claim to the captaincy.

  Danny didn�t care about the game, didn�t give a shit about winning. But whatever the play, he wasn�t going to move away from Luke.

  Sullivan from midfield had the ball, and though it made sense to go forward, to run or kick it to the forward line, he sent the ball straight to the outer, straight to Luke. And the smaller boy, his eyes half closed, ran full pelt towards the ball, afraid of catching it and even more afraid of missing it. Danny followed but the boy was fast, desperate to claim the mark and prove himself to all of them. The call from Tsitsas sounded like a shriek from one of the magpies circling above them, and just as the ball landed in Luke�s open arms, four boys were leaping, slamming into him, dropping on him. Danny ran into the tangle of bodies, trying to get to his friend, but all he could see was the boys crushing Luke; he could see that Tsitsas was lying flat over the smaller boy and was pushing down on the back of Luke�s head, forcing his face into the damp earth, one elbow anchoring the nape of Luke�s neck. Danny was biting and kicking and shoving and scratching, boys were yelling at him, he thought it was Sullivan screaming, �You don�t bite, you don�t bite, that isn�t fair�, but Danny was kicking and shoving, biting and scratching, until it was just him and Luke and Tsitsas. He threw himself at Tsitsas,
wrenched him off the ground in a headlock with the thought that he could snap his neck, and he could hear Luke coughing and retching, and he raised a fist to smash Tsitsas when he felt arms tight around him and then it was him being lifted off the ground and him in a headlock and Tsitsas had got to his feet and his hands had formed fists and he started pummelling Danny, punching him again and again in his stomach, his flank. Danny convulsed with the pain, unable to breathe, but his first thought was, Please don�t let him crack a rib, please don�t let him do anything that will stop me swimming, and his second thought was that whatever happened, no matter how much it hurt, he would not cry, he would never let himself cry in front of them again, and so every punch took away his breath but he didn�t look down, he looked straight at Tsitsas, he would not cry.

  Tsitsas�s arms dropped to his side. His breathing was ragged. Whoever was holding him let go of Danny. He staggered but stayed on his feet.

  Tsitsas pointed down at Luke, his face caked in dirt, his tears two white rivulets on his cheeks. �Right, faggot,� he said, �why don�t you look after your boyfriend?�

  Danny watched Tsitsas walk away, flexing his muscles, lifting his arms in a champion�s pose. And that was when Danny started running, running so hard he didn�t think his feet were touching the ground, and Sullivan yelled, �Tsitsas, watch out!� Tsitsas turned, a bemused sneer on his handsome chubby face, and he put up his hands as if to indicate he was untouchable, and that was when Danny crashed in and headbutted him. There was the sound of bone against bone. And Danny felt no pain, there were no stars or dizziness.

  Then Mr Oldfield came running from the other side of the ground, bearing down on Danny.

  �Kelly,� Mr Oldfield called out, �what happened?�

  But it was Sullivan who answered. �They were contesting a mark, sir, and Kelly accidentally headbutted Tsitsas.�

  The frowning teacher squatted and carefully examined Tsitsas�s bleeding nose. �Is that what happened, son?�

  The boy�s ashamed assent was muffled.

  The teacher helped him to his feet and ordered everyone to the change rooms. Danny waited for Luke, who was still distressed, rubbing the dirt off his face and neck and asking anxiously if Danny was OK.

  Luke�s mouth fell open in shock when his friend started laughing, a rich, crazy cackle as he watched the other boys trudge away, their heads down. Taylor kept turning back to look at him, and Danny wiped his mouth; his fingers were stained with Tsitsas�s blood. He couldn�t stop laughing, because at his old school he would have been beaten to a pulp by then, he�d have been on the ground, teacher or no teacher, he would have been belted, but this wasn�t his old school, this was Cunts College, and he was the strongest and the fastest and the best. The magpies were wheeling above him and he felt as if he was one of them, among the silver gums, gliding over water.

  �I�m OK,� he said, slapping Luke on the back, forcing his own breathing to slow, wiping more blood from his chin. �I�m not hurt at all.�

  In the change rooms, no one would look at him. But no one dared to mock him, no one dared say anything to him. He could just hear the murmurings behind him and around him, sensed the whisper first taking shape in Luke�s astonished and admiring stare. He could hear the words: �Jesus, that Danny Kelly,� they whispered, �that Danny Kelly. He�s a psycho.�

  The day that Kurt Cobain died, that was the day Danny Kelly became a psycho.

  �Where are you?�

  �I just got home.�

  �Come over.�

  �I have to go swimming first.�

  Demet groaned, then there was fury and pain in her voice. �Fuck your swimming, I need you now.�

  But he had to be in water, he needed to be in water. �I�ll come straight after training, promise.�

  Silence. He waited. She would understand, she had to understand.

  �Nine-thirty, you arsehole, and don�t you dare be late.� She slammed down the phone.

  It rang again and he grabbed the receiver. �Dem?�

  It was his mum. She had taken Regan and Theo to the pub for fish and chips; he could hear orders being called out in the background.

  �I�m sorry, Danny,� she said over the noise. �You know, about Kurt Cobain.�

  �Yeah, I know.�

  �We�ll be home in an hour.�

  �I have to train at Coburg tonight.�

  �Why?�

  He should have lied. But she would catch him out in a lie.

  She always did.

  �I got detention.�

  She swore in Greek. �You have to be more careful, Danny. There are rules you have to obey to stay on the scholarship.�

  �It was nothing, I forgot about some maths homework I was meant to hand in.�

  �What time will you be home? I was going to pick up some Chinese for you.�

  �I�m going over to Dem�s.�

  �That�s good, I�m sure Seda will feed you well.�

  �OK.�

  But his mum wouldn�t hang up, his mum wouldn�t let him go. �Danny?�

  �What?�

  �I�m really sorry,� she said once more.

  He was unsettled by how strange it felt to climb the concrete steps to the entrance of the Coburg pool. He had swum there for four years, knew all the staff, had won competitions in that pool. But he had not returned since that first day at Cunts College, and it felt like going back to school after the long summer holidays. The guy at the front counter was new and Danny was pathetically glad about that, didn�t want to talk to anyone, just wanted to get in the water. The after-school training squads had finished and it was just him and the older, serious swimmers.

  The first dive into the water made his heart leap. Stroke, kick, stroke, breathe, kick, stroke, kick, stroke, breathe, kick. He slammed down the pool, the water slipping past him, cradling him, holding him. Stroke, kick, stroke, breathe, kick. He touched the tiles and effortlessly propelled himself back down the lane. There was a man in front of him and Danny had to slow his pace. He needed a lane to himself. Stroke, kick, stroke, breathe, kick. There was a slight pull on his side every time he raised his left arm, a dull tension, and he guessed that one of Tsitsas�s punches must have bruised his ribs. It wasn�t painful but he couldn�t shake his awareness of it; it kept pace with him and the water, and he wished he was at training�the Coach would know exactly what he should do. He lessened the force of his stroke, maintaining the power of his kick and slowing his breathing, and, minutely, reduced his pace. The man in front was resting against the tiles, allowing Danny to cut in front.

  Giving the man a nod as he entered his turn, Danny kicked off, but in overcompensating for his injury he rolled to his right side and reeled clumsily, rising for breath off-kilter, all his weight on his left; stroke, kick, he balanced himself, felt the water holding him. Stroke, kick, stroke, breathe, kick. He slowed his pace, for one lap, for two, then turned and belted through the water, thrashing it, and he would not think about the soreness in his side, and then it came, the sense that he was no longer conscious of the individual parts of his body, not his arms or legs or the muscles on his left side, the muscles on his right, and there it was, that moment: it came, the stillness came, and he was the water. His thoughts were suspended, floating free, and then he was thinking of the musician�s widow, seeing her face. One day he would be a famous swimmer and he would meet her at a party and he would tell her how much it meant to him, the music she wrote and the music she sang, her music and her husband�s, the pain he sang. Stroke, kick, stroke, breathe, kick; the thoughts were no longer separate from the movements of his body. All denial. All denial. I�ve made my bed I�ll lie in it, I�ve made my bed, I�ll die in it. She would ask him to sit with her, tell him how she�d watched him win his gold medals at the Sydney Olympics, when all of Australia and all of the world was watching him and cheering him and he won the four hundred metre freestyle and then took the fifteen hundred metre freest
yle and the cheering was so loud that it flooded the arena, flooded the country, flooded the world. And there would be a national holiday and he would ride through Melbourne with the prime minister and everyone would be cheering him, except Taylor and Scooter and Wilco and Morello and Fraser, except Tsitsas and Sullivan�they wouldn�t be there, they wouldn�t have dared show their faces, because they knew he was better and harder and stronger and braver and faster.

  Danny�s hand touched tile and he set down his feet, came to, looking over the water. There was no one else in the lane, there was only one other lonely swimmer in the pool, a woman whose dogged strokes hardly unsettled the surface. There was a tightness in Danny�s belly, a hole there, a monstrous hunger that he needed to feed. He was red all over, his upper body free of the water; he was shaking uncontrollably, feverishly.

  He looked up at the clock. It was eight-forty: he had not stopped for an hour and a half. Nine-thirty, you arsehole, and don�t you dare be late. He jumped out of the pool, the cold now painful, grabbed his towel and rushed to the showers. He was the only one in there and allowed himself just enough water to rinse off the chlorine, enough soap to try to mask the smell of it. His skin was still damp as he pulled on his clothes and grabbed his bag and ran.

  It was nearly nine o�clock. He pounded the hard cold ground, he needed to ride the air as he rode the water, and he braved the steady stream of traffic on Sydney Road, weaving through the cars, ignoring the horns. He was out of breath and in pain, now he could feel the ache where the punches had landed; tomorrow he would have to ask the Coach what to do about it. He tried not to hit the asphalt so hard; he couldn�t trip, he couldn�t twist or strain a muscle or tendon, but even more importantly he couldn�t be late, he must not be late for Demet. The wind whipped around him and behind him but he was ahead of the wind, he had outrun the wind, and he pounded down Murray Street and he was at the Celikoglus� house and he was pressing the buzzer, and when Mr Celikoglu opened the door Danny couldn�t even speak, the sweat was pouring off him, he was wet and in pain. But he was on time. The world was spinning but he was on time.