‘Nice to meet ya,’ I say.
‘You too.’
I stare at him in his blue polo shirt and sweatpants. He carries a backpack over his shoulders. The hairs on his face look spiky, and the hair on his head sweeps to the sides at his forehead and drapes over his ears.
‘Jackson, why don’t you take Aunty Pam’s and Tomas’ stuff upstairs?’ Mum asks.
Tomas nods to a duffel bag on the floor next to Aunty Pam’s purple travelling bag and I grab them and head upstairs. He follows, stepping heavily on the wooden stairs. I drop Aunty Pam’s bag in Henry’s room across the hall and place Tomas’ duffel bag against the wall in my room.
‘I’ll go get you the mattress,’ I say as he drops his backpack to the floor.
I race back down the staircase and search in the storage space underneath, finding it squeezed into the back corner. I pull it out with all my might. It’s thicker than those the kids will sleep on, and I’m annoyed as I drag it back up the stairs. I like having my own room. I hate sharing. What if I need to fart or something while I’m in bed? Do I just hold it in forever?
I slide the mattress across my carpet and lay it flat. Tomas drops himself onto it with a sigh. I fetch him a sheet and blanket and drop them onto the floor beside his mattress, then take one of my two pillows from my bed and hand it to him.
‘Make yourself at home,’ I say.
After a shower, I pass by my bedroom and stop there at the doorway. Tomas has kicked off his shoes and rolled onto his side, and he’s snoring away on his mattress. He’s not a quiet snorer, either, and it worries me to think he may snore all night. His face has fallen flat and still, and his hair is messing all over my pillow.
I want to wake him, ask him if he really just got out of jail, what he did to get in there. Maybe we could talk more, about random shit. But I just stumble down the stairs instead, ready for the craziness, already able to hear the kids chattering at full volume. An image burns itself into my mind, of Tomas lying there on the mattress. I think I was thinking something weird when I stared at him. I think I thought he was cute.
2
It takes some adjusting, having all the kids in the house, even though they come every Christmas. They run and laugh and play and swear and just don’t stop. They just have so much energy.
I help Mum bring in the thin mattresses from the back shed. We carry them into the lounge room and spread them on the floor, between the TV and the couch.
‘Jackson,’ Mum says, ‘me and Aunty are heading to town to finish off our shopping. Look after the kids – make sure they’re all alive when we get back.’
She and Aunty Pam practically run out the front door and I’m left at home with all the kids. I’m in charge of them all. All eight of them! I just sit them in the lounge room and put on The Incredibles. They pile onto their mattresses and the couch, reciting all the words. It’s so annoying. My head feels like it’s being drilled into by a blunt pair of scissors twisting at my temples.
I bake them some chicken nuggets and side it with tomato sauce. Sleeping beauty (Tomas) joins us on the couch just as the boys swarm on the nuggets like seagulls. I only eat one in the end. One chicken nugget. One.
Tomas is quiet as he gets comfortable on the couch, at the other end of the assembly of boys with their butts planted. All of them turn their heads together when Mum and Aunty Pam come through the front door.
‘Cover your eyes,’ Mum says as they pass. I watch as the kids all do cover their eyes.
After a headache of a day dodging the energy of the kids, I’m happy when night comes. The comfort of my bed is hollow, though, because Tomas is snoring on my floor. And it’s so hot in here that I don’t know how the hell he managed to fall asleep in the first place.
Behind Henry’s bedroom door, Aunty Pam is snoring too, but she’s not as loud as the whipper-snipper on my floor.
I stumble down the stairs with a dry throat. Henry and his cousins are sleeping on their mattresses. I gaze over Henry as he sleeps, sharing a blanket with little Bobby. I remember being his age. I remember being so excited for summer because it meant all the cousins were coming to stay. We would run around and spray ourselves with the hose, walk our wet and sandy feet through the house, and get shouted at by the Aunts and Uncles and Mum – even by my father, before Mum got rid of him. I remember not wanting to sleep in my own bed, because I preferred to sleep downstairs with Kalyn and our other cousins. We would watch cartoons all night on the TV until one of the Aunties stormed in and told us to turn it off.
I take a sip from the tap in the kitchen, then creep back up the stairs, stepping as lightly as I can. The stairs creak anyway, because the wood is old and I’m not the smallest of boys. I reach the top and Mum’s door swings open. She’s carrying a big box wrapped in Christmas paper and she gasps as she spots me.
‘Jesus, Jackson, you scared the shit outta me. Come give me a hand with this, will ya?’
I take one end of the box and we carry it down the stairs together.
‘Gotta get these under the tree before I pass out,’ she says. ‘I forgot how much Pam can drink.’
The box is heavy, and the stairs creak loudly under our combined weight. We sneak past the lounge and kitchen to the living room, which is lit by the colourful Christmas lights decorating our tree. We place the box underneath and then make a few more trips back and forth, until the presents fill the floor beneath the tree. And there are so many presents. I’m jealous of these spoilt kids.
‘Goodnight,’ Mum says back upstairs once we’re done. As she closes the door, I get a peek inside her room at all the artworks she’s made. Years’ worth of canvases – dot-paintings – rest piled against the wall, while some hang above from nails. When I think of Mum, I always think of her as an artist.
I go to my wardrobe and get out the two small wrapped presents stashed there, labelled Mum and Henry. I tiptoe back downstairs and place them on one of the branches of the tree.
The kids scream down the house, because it’s Christmas morning, and Christmas is the most exciting morning in any kid’s year. They belt out their joy from downstairs as they rip open their presents.
Tomas’ mattress is already empty. I take my shirt and shorts from the floor, then check my phone. No messages from Tesha. No messages from anyone. I head downstairs and pour myself a glass of water, dodging the kids zooming around the house with their new nerf guns and lightsabers.
‘There you are, Jackson,’ Aunty Pam says. ‘Give Aunty a kiss.’ I give her a kiss on the cheek and a smile. ‘How’s school going? You must be nearly finished now, right?’
‘Just finished Year 11. Not sure about going back next year,’ I say.
‘Well,’ Mum interrupts as she enters the kitchen, ‘you wanna get a job quick, boy, or you’re going straight back there.’ She checks the oven, and the aroma of cooking meat fills the house. I’m starving right away. I notice Mum’s wearing the necklace I got her for Christmas.
‘Santa treated you all right,’ I say. She smiles and presses her fingers over the locket. I’ve placed a photo of me and Henry inside.
‘If you see Santa, tell him I’m very thankful,’ she says, planting a kiss on my cheek.
The time comes for Christmas lunch, and we bring another table from Mum’s room into the kitchen. Juvie-boy Tomas sits opposite me, beside little cousin Bobby and his ten-months-older brother Ryan, who has his new Darth Vader mask resting on the top of his head.
‘Before we start,’ Mum says, ‘let’s say a prayer.’
All the kids close their eyes and force their palms into the praying position. Tomas’ eyes dart to mine. His face has whitened and I start to think maybe he’s never heard someone say a prayer before, or prayed himself. I mean, I’m not all that keen on religion or whatever, but I’ve prayed and meant it before, and I think it’s kind of a nice thing to do, even if you don’t fully believe in god. And besides, Mum takes thanking the Lord very seriously. I close my eyes, hoping he’ll do the same, for his sake.
‘
Dear God,’ Mum says, ‘we give our thanks for the food we are about to eat. We thank you for a good, safe year, and for all the great things you’ve given our family. Please watch over us in the year to come . . . and tell Jackson he should go back to school and not throw his future away.’
I nearly choke on my own spit as the laughter bursts its way out.
‘Amen.’
‘Amen,’ everyone repeats.
All the kids dig into their food and I’m ravenous. Tomas is ravenous too. He’s a loud chewer, and he chews with his mouth open, which I’m sure would piss off Mum if only she was noticing. She’s always going on about table-manners. I kind of feel like throwing my fork at him. Not the jagged end first, obviously.
‘So, Tomas, what’s it like living in Sydney?’ Mum asks.
Tomas looks up from his plate. ‘It’s all right,’ he says.
‘Are you still going to school?’
‘Yeah, most of the time.’
‘What do you do when you’re not at school?’
‘I dunno,’ Tomas says. ‘Hang out with my mates, kick back in my room.’
‘He does nothing good when he’s not at school,’ Aunty Pam interrupts. ‘Which is why he’ll be going more from now on. Right, Tomas?’
Tomas nods and we share a look of lecture-fatigue.
After my stomach settles, I help Aunty Pam hang out the washing in the backyard. It’s a shitty, boring, sweaty job – one I think would be better suited to juvie-boy. But it’s not the worst thing in the world, because Aunty Pam is making me laugh. After a few of her stories, though – including the one about how she and Mum spilled Nan’s ashes on a taxi-driver while they were drunk – she gives me the look that tells me I’m in for a lecture. At least me and Tomas have one thing in common – we both get lectured by old black women.
‘Back when we were kids, we didn’t have the same chances as you kids these days. I never really knew a blackfella who finished school until I met your Uncle. But you kids these days got a chance. Everything’s different now.’
‘I know,’ I say, rolling my eyes.
Mum comes out and sets up a big canvas on the grass, then she lays out her paints, all spat onto a plastic sheet, with her brushes of all different sizes stacked in a little bucket of water. This is the artwork she and Aunty Pam work on every time Aunty Pam comes to visit. It’s of a river, with three mothers on one side and their children on the other. It’s something about the Stolen Generations. Mum explained it to me when they first started it, but I can’t really remember what she said – they’ve been working on it for years. I’m starting to doubt they’ll ever finish the thing.
‘Jackson,’ Mum says, ‘why don’t you get Kalyn and take all the boys down the river for a couple hours?’
‘The river? But I’m stuffed from lunch. We’re all stuffed.’
‘Just take ’em down there, so they can try those new inflatables and snorkels out.’
‘I’m tired, though,’ I say, throwing my head back as Aunty Pam follows me inside.
‘Just do what your mother tells ya,’ Aunty Pam says. ‘Give me and your mum a break so we can do some painting, yeah?’
‘Fine,’ I say. And then I announce loudly to the whole house, ‘Boys, we are going for a swim.’
Their cheers ring out from every direction.
‘You going with them, Tommy?’ Aunty Pam asks. She’s still following me.
‘Nah, I should get started on this project while I got some quiet,’ Tomas says.
While I got some quiet. He sounds like an old man.
I text Kalyn to drive us, and before long his ute pulls up out front. He greets all the kids with high-fives as they pile onto the back tray. We speed off, out of the Mish and onto the highway. Henry and Bobby try out their goggles in the back seat. We turn into town and pass the footy fields, then take a left at the traffic lights before the shops and head along the dirt road through the bush.
I’m worried that there’ll be townspeople and tourists there, but when we pull into the car park there are no other cars there. The boys don’t mess around – they run straight from the ute to the river and dive into the current. Kalyn and I walk to the water and there’s still no one about, not a soul. We have it all to ourselves.
‘Get anything for Christmas, cuz?’ Kalyn asks.
‘Mum just gave me a hundred bucks last payday,’ I say. I don’t mind though. A hundred bucks is never a bad present.
‘Far out, me too.’
The current is strong as I walk into the river and lower myself onto my knees. Tiny rocks glisten on the riverbed. I reach down and scoop up a handful, hold my hand to the surface and let the rocks flow away with the water. The water is shallow, but that’s fine considering it’s usually all dried up in summer.
I dunk my head under and join Kalyn back on the bank. We sit with our feet in the water. Henry, Bobby and a few of the other boys venture into the bush.
‘Don’t go too far,’ I shout as they disappear.
‘Me and Jarny are gonna head down to the camping ground tonight. You in?’ Kalyn asks.
‘Yeah. Anything to get away from these kids.’
Kalyn chuckles. My thoughts turn to Tesha as I lie back on the sand. I should text her, right? I should be a good boyfriend and get myself hard enough to have sex with her, just like she wants. I wish it was as easy as wishing then getting, but I worry I will never be able to get hard with anyone. Maybe I should go to a doctor and get some Viagra.
The trees’ branches and leaves sway against each other in the breeze. It’s such a calming sound. Then screams ring out from the bush. The screams come again, and I know it’s the kids. Kalyn has jumped to his feet.
‘Jackson!’ I hear from somewhere among the trees, and I’m up and gone, into the bush.
3
I follow the cries of my name and spot the boys ahead on the path. Three of them are trying to carry Bobby. His little arms and legs flail about.
‘Help, Jackson,’ Henry screams.
Bobby’s face is red and there are tears all over his cheeks. I reach him and halt my feet like I’ve just used a handbrake.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘Snake,’ Bobby’s brother Ryan says, with such urgency and panic. ‘Snake got him. Red-belly, I saw it!’
I take Bobby into my arms and cradle him. There’s a small gathering of blood behind his ankle. I don’t know what to do. I put him down, rip off my shirt and wrap it tight around his leg.
‘Kalyn,’ I shout, but he’s right behind me. ‘Get the car started. We gotta go.’
I pick up Bobby again. He feels heavier. He’s still crying. The other kids race past, ahead of me. I move as quickly as I can along the path, ignoring the rocks and twigs pressing into my bare feet.
I reach the riverside and hear the ute kick over. Kalyn is in the driver’s seat and the kids pile onto the back tray and into the back seat.
‘Quickly,’ someone yells, ‘before he dies.’
I slide Bobby onto the laps of the boys sitting on the back seat and jump into the front. Kalyn takes off and we speed along the dirt road. My hands are shaking and my heart is beating so fast and hard it could break my chest.
We drive out of the bush and the dirt road turns to tar. We speed along, hit a red light as we come into town. I turn back to Bobby. He’s asleep. Well, he looks like he’s sleeping.
‘Bobby?’ I ask. He just moans. ‘It’s all right, we ain’t too far.’
The light turns green and Kalyn spins the wheels.
‘Careful, fuck ya,’ I say. I look out the back window to see the boys on the back tray holding on for their lives. ‘Slow down.’
Everyone on the main street – locals as well as the tourists, carrying their shopping bags, pushing their trolleys – looks at us as we pass them: a ute carrying a bunch of Aboriginal kids on the back, speeding through town.
We turn another corner. It feels like we’re going to roll, but Kalyn straightens up. The medical centre is just ahe
ad. I turn back to Bobby. He’s still moaning.
Kalyn slams on his brakes. I’m out of the passenger door before we’ve even come to a complete stop. I wrench open the back door and drag Bobby out, take him in my arms. He starts crying again as the other kids jump out and race ahead into the centre, their shouts echoing from inside.
Kalyn beats me to the door and holds it open. The air-conditioning hits me as I rush inside. The receptionist is trying to quieten the boys, but she stops and comes out from behind her desk when she sees me.
‘He got bit by a red-belly,’ I say.
A nurse wheels a hospital bed out to us, and I lay Bobby down. He’s still crying. ‘His name’s Bobby.’
‘Bobby, I need you to calm down,’ the nurse says.
Another nurse joins her and examines the wound. ‘Red-belly black snake?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘It’s okay. He should be fine.’
They wheel him away through some doors and I follow. We go into a room and a doctor arrives. It’s all a blur, what happens next. I can hardly concentrate on staying still in this room.
‘Is he your brother?’ the first nurse asks.
‘Cousin,’ I say. ‘He and his family are visiting for Christmas.’
‘You should go give the mum or dad a call. He’ll be okay.’
I’m still hot and I feel like I’m bouncing, even though I’m sitting quite still, on the edge of the seat. I walk back to reception, where Kalyn is sitting with all seven of the other boys. They’re all around Bobby’s age.
‘I called Aunty Kris. Her and Aunty Pam are on the way,’ Kalyn says as I take a seat beside him.
‘Aunty Pam’s gonna kill me.’
Jude, one of Bobby’s older brothers, asks, ‘Is Bobby gonna die?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘But I might.’
He just sits there with his eyes drooping and his mouth sagging.
I take his hand. ‘Come on, he’ll want you to be there.’
Little Ryan springs to his feet too, and with Jude’s hand still in mine, I take them both back through the corridor to the emergency room. The first nurse from earlier is feeling Bobby’s forehead with the back of her hand.
The Boy from the Mish Page 2
