Barracuda

by Christos Tsiolkas

  Dan crossed over the railway track, his chest tight. Given a thought to your future, Dan?

  He flexed his right hand, opening and closing it, stretching his fingers till he could feel them tingle, then clenching them in tight. Sometimes in the garden he came across dried-up plum kernels from fallen fruit that had been buried all winter and then resurfaced. He�d pick up a kernel, it would be shrivelled, the colour of the soil, and it would disintegrate into dust in his hand. That was the future, that�s what had become of it.

  His hand opened and closed.

  He�d had a future. It had been as hard and as strong as the stony heart of an unripened plum, so strong it would have taken a hammer blow to crack it. He�d had that future for years but it too had crumbled into dust. His theory was that you only got one future to dream. He�d fucked it up. He�d failed and now it was gone.

  He was walking through the suburbs. The sun had almost disappeared and the purple and grey half-light made everything seem colder. He concentrated on slowing his steps. He was nearly home.

  Theo had a friend over from school, Joel, a sweet-faced shy boy, all elbows and legs, whom Regan called Spider behind his back; the boys were sitting on the couch, watching the television.

  Theo was jumpy. �An hour to go,� he said, the excitement making his voice rise. �You�re gonna watch, aren�t ya?�

  The TV commentary was already hysterical: would the ceremony be any good, would the world like it, would the world give it their approval? One of the commentators couldn�t stop talking about Sydney, saying the word over and over with the subtlety of a racecaller, making it three syllables. And underneath that sound he could hear that chant, that ugly stupid chant from the crowd: Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi.

  Let it be a failure. Please let it be a disaster.

  He shook his head at Theo. �Nah, mate, I�m going out.�

  Theo drew his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees and looking deliberately in the opposite direction.

  His mum appeared in the doorway. �I�ll heat up dinner for you, honey. How was work?�

  He followed her into the kitchen, where she put a laden plate into the microwave, the aromatic sourness of chillies and ginger hanging in the air.

  Dan got out his wallet, took out three notes and gave them to his father. Behind him, he sensed that his mother had tensed.

  His father took the board money and pocketed it, muttered a quiet �Thanks.�

  �No problem.�

  Dan opened the fridge. There was a six-pack of Cascade on the top shelf.

  His first beer, that tasted of earth and light, the touch of the first summer sun on wet ground.

  He pulled a bottle from the carton. �Mind if I have a beer, Dad?�

  His father nodded and Dan sipped his beer as his mother placed the plate of chicken stirfry in front of him.

  He ate slowly, knowing that if he let himself eat too quickly he would wolf it all down, and that would mean he�d overeat. He remembered Bennie�s sly remark about his belly, how it had got under his skin and made everyone laugh.

  Dan put down his fork, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then drank from the bottle.

  �Is that all you�re having?�

  Dan and his father traded glances. Stop fussing, said his father�s look, just sit down and leave the kid alone. As if he had spoken it aloud, his mum grabbed the plate and threw what was left in the bin. It was Dan giving his father the money for board that had upset his mother. It always did. She and his father had argued about it for years. His father thought that at eighteen a youth should take on adult responsibilities, but his mother would shoot back, �No, I�m a wog and we don�t do that to our children�we look after them.�

  His father would groan and respond, �That�s what I am doing. Teaching children about responsibility is looking after them�it�s preparing them for the real world.� His mother wouldn�t listen, saying she�d never allow it. �What about when they turn twenty-one?� his father would counter. �Can we ask it of them then?� and his mother would spit angry words back at him.

  Then his father would lose his temper. �And what if he�s here when he�s forty-fucking-one? Are we still not allowed to ask for fucking board?�

  �No!� his mother would scream. �Not even when he�s forty-fucking-one!�

  It had all stopped the year before on his nineteenth birthday when Dan had come home from work and given his father three notes, a fifty, a twenty and a ten. �Will that do, Dad?� he�d asked. �Is eighty a week fair for board?�

  His father had smiled, a real, full smile, and Dan could still remember the pleasure on his father�s face and the relief in his father�s words. �Yeah, Danny, thanks, mate. I reckon that�s fair.�

  �Can I have another?� Dan pointed to his empty bottle.

  His father nodded but he wasn�t looking at Dan, he was looking at his wife, who had her back to them at the sink. He began to sing, �Something told me it was over when I saw you and her talkin�.�

  Dan could see that his mother�s stance had relaxed, her hands were no longer gripping the bench.

  His dad�s voice was low and resonant, there was a croak to it, but it suddenly lifted. �Something deep in my soul said, Cry, girl, when I saw you and that girl walkin� by.�

  � Dan�s mother had turned and was smiling, and singing along. His dad kicked away the chair, and took her into his arms, and they swayed together, her hand draped around his shoulders and the other hand resting in the small of his back.

  �I would rather, rather go blind, boy, Than see you walk away from me, child.�

  � Regan had slipped into the kitchen and leaned on a chair watching their parents dance. Dan thought they looked so good, dressed up to go out dancing at their favourite club. They would dance all night, to Motown and to rock and roll. His mum was wearing a strapless black-and-white-checked dress, finely patterned red lace stockings and her best shoes, shiny black pumps. His dad was wearing his favourite cowboy shirt, black with white piping, and his black suede oxford dancing shoes. His hair was gelled and quiffed and made him look youthful, even though there were flickers of white in his once sandy-blond hair. They looked beautiful together. Dan stole a glance at his sister. Regan was scowling. She hadn�t cut her hair in months, it hung lank and greasy; her clothes were all cheap, sweatshirts and jeans from the Northland mall. She isn�t trying, thought Dan, she doesn�t dare compete with Mum. He swigged his beer, looking down at his own crumpled work shirt, the shapeless grey trousers and nondescript white sneakers. His mother and father looked good, their children looked ordinary.

  Regan sat in a chair beside him. Their parents were still dancing, not singing now, but swaying to the song in their heads. Regan leaned across to whisper to him, �Theo�s upset�he wants you to stay and watch the opening ceremony with him. Do you have to go out?�

  He couldn�t hear anything in her tone, no anger or reprimand. But still her words made him furious. He took another sip of the beer.

  �Just go and talk to him, OK?�

  He was ready to dismiss her. She couldn�t make him stay. He watched his parents, who were still lost in themselves, far away from their children.

  Regan whispered again. �I�ll stay home, Dan, don�t worry about it. But go and say something to him, tell him you�ll watch the replay tomorrow. You know what it means to him.�

  There was no anger in her voice, but there was urgency. She couldn�t bear conflict, couldn�t stand an argument. He feared for his sister, how she would cope when she found out that the world just happened: you couldn�t take something wrong and make it right.

  �OK,� he answered, winking at her. �OK.� He picked up his beer and headed into the lounge room.

  Dan fell into the couch, in between Theo and Joel. The boys slid further apart, grabbing an arm each of the sofa, still entirely focused on the TV, even though an ad was running. Dan noticed that Theo was wearing a Sydney 2000 baseball cap
, he was wearing it backwards.

  Let it be a failure.

  �Mate, I�m sorry I have to go out.�

  Theo didn�t respond.

  Dan turned to Joel. �You into sport, mate?�

  The boy nodded timidly and moved further into the corner of the sofa. Though spring had yet to beat back winter, both of the boys had on baggy shorts. Dan�s knee was touching Joel�s, the boy�s leg hair long and fine. In contrast, Theo�s legs were plump and almost smooth; he might not have even grown pubes yet but his mate was hairy, his mate would have a bush down there.

  The shot cut back to the sea of people in the stands in Sydney. There were a million lights flashing from cameras, but the crowd was hushed, expectant. Let it be a failure, let it be a disaster.

  �You think it will be any good?�

  Theo had his thumb in his mouth. He nodded emphatically. He wouldn�t countenance the possibility of a disaster, would never listen to his father�s complaints about all the money spent, about the marketing bonanza that was the Olympic Games. Dan knew that his brother had been waiting for this night as keenly and as hopefully as he himself once had.

  Regan flung herself into the armchair across from them. Dan could tell from Joel�s sudden stir that the boy was checking out her tits.

  �Are you sure you can�t stay, Danny?� Theo was pleading. The crowd in the arena had started to cheer and roar.

  Dan got to his feet. �Sorry, mate, I can�t. I�ve got to catch up with Luke and Demet. How about we watch the repeat tomorrow?�

  �OK, Danny.� Theo was nodding reluctantly but started to grin. �That will be good. Yeah, we�ll watch it together tomorrow.�

  �And I�ll stay till it�s over tonight,� said Regan, smiling at Theo but it was a smile for Dan as well. Theo shrugged and Regan shifted in her chair and crossed her arms. She�d spotted how Joel was watching her.

  Their mother called out, �Danny, if you want a lift into town we have to head off in twenty minutes.�

  Dan checked the time. Good, twenty minutes was just before the opening ceremony started. Twenty minutes meant not having to be there for the Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi. Dan rushed to the bathroom, showered, brushed his teeth. In minutes he had on his jeans and shirt, a thin woollen V-neck jumper and his best shoes.

  �See you,� he said to Regan, and squeezed his brother�s shoulder, reminding him they�d be watching the replay tomorrow. Then he was out in the cold, dark night. Looking down the street, he could see through the gaps in the curtains that everyone had their televisions on. And that it was the same image, the expectant waiting crowd: Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi.

  Please let it be a disaster, please let it fail.

  He didn�t know if it was because his parents were conscious of him there in the back of the car, but they didn�t play music on the way into the city. His mother just hummed, a ghost of a melody, and from time to time turned to smile at him. He wished she wouldn�t look at him. He could read the love in her smile, he saw that, of course. But also, always, there was the pity.

  Between being dropped off and going into the pub, he experienced a warm delicious relief. He could have quite gladly stayed there, in the cold, in the darkness, in the in-between. A drunk couple were sauntering up the street, the man with his arm around the thin girl, and Dan had to step aside so they could pass. The man called back over his shoulder, �Sorry, mate,� and then, jokingly, �Happy Olympics, man,� and the girl sniffed, �It�ll be shit.�

  The feeling of comfort didn�t last long once he was inside. It was an old-school pub, the kind that was fast disappearing; there were no pokies in the intimate, cramped space, and there were fading beer and whiskey posters on the wall, and a signed poster of the 1990 Collingwood Premiers took pride of place behind the bar. And it was crowded. But the first thing Dan noticed was the television sitting at the end of the bar. It was plain that the TV didn�t ordinarily sit there�it was a squat domestic model casually put there for the night. Everyone was watching it. Dan�s eyes were drawn to the screen, he was seeing the stadium in Sydney, shrouded in darkness, with flashes of light moving across the black sea. Then the lights took shape, filling with colour and taking on the form of the Serpent, and suddenly�in the pub, on the screen, in the arena�it was the first day of Dreamtime. A young woman sitting on a chair beside him exclaimed, clearly shocking herself, �My God, it�s beautiful!� She was dressed in black, except for a purple beret. Her boyfriend, with a goatee and shaved head, nodded in agreement. They had probably been whining a week ago, thought Dan, about how much it was costing, and how all the blackfellas had been moved off the streets of Sydney, but now they thought it was beautiful. Stupid pricks.

  From beneath the drone of the didgeridoo a new music emerged, and a European clown in top hat and tails rode into the arena on a bicycle, on the back of which was a rabbit in a cage. A woman near the bar said, �That�s good, that�s us bringing our serpent into the Garden of Eden, that�s great,� and a man�s voice boomed, �Fuck me, I think it�s going to be good. I think they�re going to pull it off.� There were explosions of light on the screen and Dan was sickened, thought for a moment he couldn�t support his own weight. He felt he was sinking into earth. But then he heard his name being called.

  Demet and Luke were in a booth around the corner from the bar. Demet was there with Leanne, her girlfriend. When she�d told him about Leanne, he was not at all surprised; but he was still unnerved by the fact that she had someone else to share a life with. He worried that Leanne didn�t approve of Demet�s friendship with him, that she didn�t think he was worth it. She hardly acknowledged him now, she was tilting her chair back, trying to get a view of the TV. Luke was standing up, beckoning him over. There was a woman with them that he didn�t recognise, smiling shyly up at him.

  The first thing Luke did was to hug him. They�d never touched, never embraced at school, but since starting university the year before Luke had begun hugging him. Dan accepted it but stood there stiffly, not sure how to respond, not knowing how to hold another body. Luke let go quickly, as if sensing his friend�s discomfort, but not before whispering, �Mate, sorry, they�ve never had a TV in this pub before�that�s why I chose it.�

  Dan forced a smile onto his face, widening his mouth and squaring his jaw. �It�s alright,� he answered, turning to the screen. �Fuck me, eh? I think they�re going to pull it off.�

  And then Demet was hugging him and Leanne was blowing him a kiss, and Luke was gesturing to the other woman and beaming as he said, �Danny�sorry, Dan�this is Katie.�

  Katie rose, kissed him on both cheeks and said excitedly, �I�m so glad to meet you, I�ve been so wanting to meet you.�

  And Dan knew at once that Katie and Luke were together.

  �Dan, what do you want?� asked Luke. �It�s my shout.�

  His first bourbon, that was the taste of sugar and sulfur, the sting to the nose of toffee burning.

  �A bourbon and Coke,� he said.

  There were no chairs and Katie indicated that he should squeeze in beside her on the bench facing the wall. He was glad to�from there he couldn�t see the screen. He could hear the music, could sense the celebration behind him, could even imagine the lights and the colours. But not being able to see it was good, he couldn�t stand for it to be in his face.

  �How did you get here?�

  �Mum and Dad dropped me off,� he told Demet.

  �They�re off dancing?�

  He nodded and felt Katie�s hand on his wrist.

  �Luke�s told me how your folks are rock �n� rollers. I think that�s so cool.�

  �Neal and Stephanie are cool,� Demet agreed. �They�re the coolest parents in the world.� She had her body tilted away from the table, she too was looking at the screen. Even bloody Demet couldn�t look away. And he knew that she had protested about the huge expense of it, had written articles for her uni newspaper on the racism of the cl
ean-up of the Sydney streets. Even bloody Demet was being taken in by it.

  Luke came back with the round and Dan had to tell himself not to scull the drink in one go, though the sickly sweet heat of the alcohol was exactly what he needed.

  He sat and listened to Leanne and Demet and Katie and Luke talk about uni, about people he didn�t know, ideas he didn�t quite comprehend, futures he couldn�t share. Demet and Luke didn�t even attend the same uni, but it was as if just by being students they had a life in common.

  Dan kept stealing glances at Katie; he thought she was so beautiful. Her skin was translucent, her features elfin, delicate. He wondered what her skin would feel like, how smooth it would be. He imagined his friend�s hands touching Katie�s breasts, touching her all over. Dan had never touched a woman. Would it be warm and dry down there, or would it be moist? Would the muscles there clamp tight on your fingers, squeeze deliciously on your prick? Dan downed the dregs from his glass, shattered the melting ice with his teeth. He stretched out his legs, and his thigh softly nudged Katie�s leg. She subtly shifted away from him.

  She was so good, and he was so disgusting; he was an animal.

  Dan looked up from his drink. Demet was now observing him keenly�was she going to keep a close watch on him all night? He was both touched and resentful. If she wanted to mother him, the least she could do was buy him a fucking drink.

  She reached over and tilted his empty glass. �Do you need another, mate?� She knew him, she was going to look after him all night. He nodded gratefully.

  The pub was packed, filled with shouts and cheering. Dan could hardly hear Katie, but all that din was also drowning out the music and commentary from the television. Demet was making her way through the throng, carefully balancing a tray of drinks. Dan got up to help her and as he did so the bodies around him surged as if they were a current sucking them towards the television. Dan used his elbows to ease through the crowd. He took two of the drinks off the tray.