One truth doesn’t mean another truth doesn’t lurk in the murk as well, Mick.
Lurk in the murk? Now that’s a stinker. Lurk in the murk. Lurk in the murk.
You’re trying to distract from the issue. Are you feeling guilty?
Jesus!
And then they were home and the kids were kicking at the flywire door, moaning about the shopping, waiting to be let in, desperate for Playstation or whatever.
*
It was only a week later in the supermarket that Mick Li stumbled across the woman and her baby again. He was there with his son, Sam, because the girls were playing netball and his wife had refused to go to the supermarket since, well, the last encounter.
The baby saw Mick and called out Mum-mee, Mummee. Mick glanced confusedly at the baby, then the mother, who was smiling at him. She wasn’t red-faced; she didn’t seem embarrassed. She seemed … confident. He looked to the ground and walked briskly by with Sam in tow and did not turn back. Straight to the checkout and then up the hill, home.
At dinner he said to his wife, Saw the baby and her mother again.
So? I’m not interested. Keep your filthy goings-on to yourself.
What is your problem? I’ve told you a thousand times, I’ve never seen the woman or her baby before we ran into them last week. I’m sorry I mentioned it. Let’s just eat.
Women like that like an audience. They like to rub it in. She wanted the truth out without saying anything. She wanted the confrontation. When did it happen? I’ve done the math – on one of those in-service courses you took in the city last year? Or after school when you ‘stayed back, marking’? On a weekend when I was down in the city with the kids? Any or all of the above.
This is sick. And in front of the kids. Look at them – you want shame, you want embarrassed? They are really learning how crazy you are!
The kids know more than you think. They saw it.
Well, Sam didn’t see anything this afternoon, because there was nothing to see. The woman didn’t flinch.
Women like that are different around men. She knew I was there with the girls last week. It was fake embarrassment for our benefit, to let us know. You ask the girls.
I will not ask the girls. Leave them alone. Eat your dinner, girls, and don’t listen to this rubbish your mother is speaking.
They heard it, Mick. Dad-dee, Dad-dee, Dadee …!
Well, the baby called me Mum-mee today! She did. Didn’t she, Sam?
So it’s okay to bring Sam into it but not the girls?
No, it’s just that he was actually there today, and none of you were!
You can shop on your own from now on. That’ll suit you!
The baby just says Dad-dee and Mum-mee because that’s all it can say! Bloody cans of baked beans are probably Mummee or Dad-dee! Isn’t that true, Sam? Didn’t she call me Mum-mee?
And Sam said in that annoying ‘private school’ way he had, Why don’t you let it go, Dad? It’s history now. We won’t have our faces rubbed in it like we do at school. Everyone knows who you are. Different schools aren’t enough. I wish you taught in a completely different town a long way from here … from us. You’re always drawing attention to yourself and us. We are not the same as you. We’re Australian, we’re local. This is your shame, not ours.
ON DISPLAY
The railway society had done a great job: a classic restoration of a classic steam train. The restoration had been done in the early seventies, and kids had been climbing over it and enthusiasts photographing its fine engineering ever since.
He’d just moved to Northam for work and found it difficult being so far away from his four-year-old son. But since he and his girlfriend had split up, he’d just had the boy on weekends. He picked him up on Saturday mornings and returned him Sunday nights to the Fremantle flat they’d all shared for years. He was sober now – had been for a year – and was hoping one day they’d all reunite. In Fremantle, but something better than their Homeswest flat.
He let Joey free, expecting him to try clambering up the train’s steps into the driver’s compartment, but Joey was having none of it. He gripped his father’s legs and whimpered.
Come on, mate, I’ll give you a hand up. I’ll get up with you.
There were other kids mucking around near the train, and a grandmother looking on in a supervisory way. Hey, you kids, she called, leave those bloody cigarette butts in the dirt.
He hoisted Joey up but Joey started screaming and the other kids were alert. As Joey kicked they asked, Is there somethin’ wrong with him, Mister? He could feel embarrassment rising and he glanced over to the grandmother who had a knowing smile on her face. She said, Best leave ’em to their own devices. Putting Joey on the ground, he went and sat beside her.
You from around here? he asked.
You joking, mate? We’ve been around here forever.
He shook his head and they were both comfortable, though Joey was just standing and staring at the engine, ignoring the other kids who were trying to entangle him in a game.
I came here when I was a kid, he said. I didn’t remember till just now.
I know, the grandmother said.
Joey was just standing there, staring staring staring.
Sorry? I missed that. What were you saying?
I know, she repeated. I’ve seen you here before.
No … that was over twenty years ago. I was a kid.
That boy of yours … Joey? He’s been here before as well. That’s what’s upsetting and interesting him at the same time. He belongs and he doesn’t belong.
Shuffling in his seat, he resisted the urge to move away from her. He glanced at the old woman out of the side of his eye. She was staring at Joey staring.
Why do you keep moving around? she asked.
I don’t. Not really. I’m here to work. Just work. I’d rather be in the city. I just visited as a kid. I have relatives in the district.
I know.
There, she was doing it again. It was irritating. He wanted to grab the catatonic Joey and go elsewhere … anywhere. One of the grandchildren jumped down in front of Joey and yelled, Boo!
This made him angry, protective. He was about to say, Hey, cut that out … but felt the old woman’s warm, firm hand on his, and when he tried to speak nothing came out. Maybe his mouth stayed closed. Boo! Joey snapped out of it, laughed, and chased the other boy around the train before switching and being chased. The other children joined in.
How do you know me? he found himself asking the space between his face and the steam train, whose heavy, riveted plating drew him towards it.
Fine piece of engineering, she said. Used to carry essential supplies.
Essential, he echoed.
Yes, the lifeblood. These towns needed to feel connected. The lines like veins reaching out from the heart and back without ever finding it.
Blood with no heart, he added.
No home. No beginning. No end.
It’s a fine display, though, he said. Bit of history. A diorama. History you can get up close to. Can experience.
It doesn’t go anywhere now, she said. Kids like it.
Trainspotting without movement. A train that doesn’t move loses its place in the scheme of things.
Scheme of things. Yes, that’s it. This train was part of the scheme of things; now the kids play on it. Most of the sharp edges have rubbed off. It’s better than playing on the road.
He felt her grip loosen – how long had she been holding him? She yelled, Come on, kids, time to head home for some tucker.
Woo woo woo! Okay, Grandma. Hey kid, what’s your name? Joey? That’s cool. We’ll call you Roo! We’re out of here, Roo. See you soon. Let’s play again.
*
Picking Joey up from Shirley’s the following Saturday, he was hauled aside and warned against overexciting the boy. Joey couldn’t sleep Sunday night and was a handful on Monday.
I know this is a wrench for him but we’ve got to make it work.
Just tak
e it easy with him – nothing too exciting, please.
He was okay with this. He was playing with some kids at the steam train display and maybe got a bit overexcited. I’ll keep him at home, we’ll watch a DVD and play a few quiet games. He wanted to be on his ex’s good side, but also wanted what was best for Joey.
What’s best for the boy? Staying inside on such a glorious day? That’s what the grandmother said when he came across her at the supermarket, Joey in tow. He’d planned on going straight home but remembered he’d run out of orange juice and Joey loved his orange juice. Joey watched the adults talking, transfixed.
Yes, I know. It’s a lovely day.
I’ll be down at the train with the kids this arvo. Come down for a half-hour and let them play together.
He found himself saying okay, but had no idea why.
*
Thickly coated red and green paint both absorbed and deflected the sun. Glary and comforting at once. It looked hot but it was tepid to touch, and inside the cabin, almost cold. He pulled at the levers and spun wheels with Joey. He made train sounds. Then the grandmother and the other kids arrived and he stepped down, helping Joey to the ground, took his seat next to the old lady and watched ‘Roo’ muck around with the others. He pulled to the edge of the seat as Joey tried to climb up the iron steps into the cabin, and then crawled under the train, weaving his way through the bogies.
Don’t be anxious, the woman said, her hand on his again. He relaxed. Gotta let them be kids and work things out themselves, she said.
I’m working at the grain handling facilities.
Yes, I know.
Yes, I guess you do know.
Isn’t it nice to see Roo … see Joey so happy.
He does seem to be enjoying himself. Good clean air.
When those steam trains were running they poured out the pollution.
No heart to leave, no heart to return to.
And now just on display.
Yes, that’s the way of it.
*
Shirley was furious. If Joey comes back in that state tomorrow evening I’ll go to court and keep him from staying with you. He was so worked up again that he wandered out into the street in the middle of the night. I found him staring at the stars in his PJs. Come on, you’re a better dad than this. Get your act together. Don’t get him so overexcited.
She calmed down, but he knew she meant business.
He thought, Maybe we’ll stay down at Mum’s place this weekend. She loved spending time with Joey. Shirley thought it was a good idea, too. Marilyn is soothing with the child. When he called Marilyn, she said, Come straight over. Actually, I’ve got a present for Joey.
Now Joey, said Marilyn, you know big presents are only for Christmas and birthday, but Nanna won this in a raffle, and if Mum and Dad don’t mind, I think it’s got your name written all over it. She looked at her son, who nodded approval, guessing Marilyn would work it out with Shirley on the phone at some point.
Now, come with me, young man. She led Joey into the bedroom that was his when he visited, and there, assembled with the train at the station ready to go, was a railway track with a steam engine. It was green and red and glinted under the electric light. Isn’t she a beauty? said Marilyn. Look, look at the box. It’s called ‘Heart of the Country’. It’s a model of an old steam train. As an aside to her son, she whispered as Joey fell to his knees and began pushing the train around the tracks – Woo woo woo! – You know, it was for a good cause, raising money for children’s playground equipment … I think businesses donated display models – this was second prize. The box is a bit worn and there are a few marks on the engine, but otherwise it’s as good as new. And the scuffs add to the realism, I’d say. Doesn’t he look pleased! Woo woo woo!
He stared and stared at Joey and the train and into the void between himself and everything else and screamed out loud like a child.
THE LITTLE FLOWER OF FOREST POOL
The swimming pool among the karri trees had a frozen skin. Mid-winter, not long after dawn, and the sun was shining through the bare trunks of the great silver karri trees, their canopies different planets. The children were herded from the bus, already in their bathers, towels wrapped around them, freezing. The boys covered their nothings in their Speedo bathers, and the girls kept their towels over their bothered chests. They were eleven and twelve, and it was their first school camp. For many, the first time away from their parents up in the city, three hundred kilometres away.
Three teachers and four parent-helpers. So some of the children did have a parent nearby. The parents had volunteered for many reasons, but none would have pretended not to be happier keeping an eye on their child. One or two even thought less of other parents for not being there and doing the same.
There were meant to be twenty-two children – ten boys and twelve girls – confirmed by a headcount as they stepped off the bus. Mr Dryer, the schoolteacher, did the count, but Mrs McDonald, mother of Andrew, did her own count just to be sure. There were two male teachers and two female teachers, but all the parent-helpers were women.
Okay, single file down to the pool. They shivered and marched and shivered. It was too cold and they were too young for it to be a truly beautiful place. The forest pool. A creek had been dammed fifty years earlier and a diving board built out of an old karri trunk. It was deep, with a shallow area for wading. It is still a famous swimming spot in the region. All the children at the camp were doing swimming certificates at school, and two of the teachers were trained swimming instructors.
Who will break the ice this morning? cajoled one of the teachers.
Silence, other than Carnaby’s cockatoos up in the interplanetary system of the canopies. They were so noisy when they got started!
Come on, show some gumption! A volunteer.
They all chewed over ‘gumption’.
Harry, Harry … came a whisper from behind, then a poke in the back, why don’t you break the ice? Go on. Go on.
The boy doing the coaxing and poking was Andrew. Harry knew this without turning around; he also knew that Mrs McDonald was standing beside her son. He could feel her cold warmth. He wished his own mother were standing beside him; he was close to her. But then again he didn’t wish it. He was being independent. He could stand alone. Harry’s mother was always saying things that made him laugh about himself, made him laugh inside. Not in a nasty way, but in a fun way. He tried to laugh inside now, but it wouldn’t work.
A volunteer, kids! Come on! First to break the ice. A noble thing.
What do we get? one child yelled out. Do we get a prize or a treat?
Ha! Only our respect and admiration. Want to have a go?
Nah, sir! Looks like you could get an injury jumping onto that. I mean, it’s all ice.
A thin layer, son, a thin layer. As soon as you jump in, it will shatter as easy as sugar glass.
Harry felt the poke in his ribs, this time a fingernail between the vertebrae. Go on, Harry, go on.
Harry listened to the cockatoos and watched a rain of foliage fall to the forest floor; the birds were gnawing away up there. He thought about their survival, his survival. After much agony, he had agreed to attend the camp, to show he wasn’t a ‘wimp’. Not that his mother had suggested as much, but she and he both knew that his life would probably get easier at school if he could see it through. They were always working on ways to make it easier, but this one he could only do on his own. Staring it down, looking it in the face.
So far, he’d survived, but it hadn’t been easy. The other boys never picked him for teams and the girls said he smelled, though he was the cleanest boy in the camp. Cleaner than the teachers.
Sir! Sir! Harry said he’d have a go. He did. I heard him!
Harry looked around, confused. He turned to see the McDonalds’ smiling faces. His heart filled his mouth and no words came out. He shook his head vigorously – no, no, no. But Mrs McDonald was already herding him away from the line, towards the ice, towards the diving b
oard.
After taking a few steps, his feet slipping on the wooden rungs, Harry tried to back down, but his body was enclosed by Mrs McDonald’s substantial form. He looked around at her and saw the leer he’d often seen on her son’s face. Andrew wasn’t a bully at school; like Harry, he tended to be picked on. Andrew was extremely pale, and burnt in the sun – the only child allowed to wear a T-shirt when swimming, even in the middle of winter. Harry had never ragged Andrew about it. The other children had. Sissy, sissy. But not on this camp, not with the formidable Mrs McDonald nearby. In fact, grace and favour were working their temporary charm, and this camp was the highlight of Andrew’s tormented school life. Harry couldn’t begrudge him. On this camp, any child who was nice to Andrew found extra food on their plate, and mysteriously never found themselves on potato-peeling duty. The louder of the male teachers had even said to Mrs McDonald, Nice to see your boy coming out of his shell. This camp has done him the world of good.
Climb, said Mrs McDonald, pushing against Harry with her ‘ample bosom’, as Harry had heard adults call it.
He climbed. At the top of the ladder, he stepped onto the board, and felt his testicles retreating up into his body. He was facing away from the crowd, which had broken its line and formed an arc behind the diving board. They can’t know what just happened, he told himself. If I stand here long, they’ll see my privates are vanishing and I’ll be in for it. So he walked briskly to the end of the board, glanced once at the glinting, gleaming, opaque surface, the shadows of karris forming great but indecisive blurs, lost in the flawed mirror of a great reflector-telescope looking back into the origins of the universe – and jumped.
Somehow, in falling the eight feet down to the surface, Harry managed to writhe and twist his body so he landed on his back, banana-fashion. This probably came about because he was clutching his Speedos so they didn’t come adrift and destroy his life.
When he broke through, the world went dark. His back felt as if it had been cut, and the cold shocked him into nothingness. He was drowning, and the big bright world was fading from him. But something sparked inside, and the first gulp of freezing water sent his limbs flailing and floundering for surface and light. He shot upwards and spat and gasped, and gaining his bearings, thrust for the bank. He could see the mob cheering him on, their hands and faces melting into neatly mown green grass that crept out to the edge of the karris. He pulled himself up onto the ground and began to cry and clutch at his back.
Crow's Breath Page 4
