Home Boys

by Beckett, Bernard

Colin shrugged, which seemed to anger Mr Sowby more. He picked up the spade at his feet and swung the dull blade of it hard against Colin’s stomach, winding him and taking his balance. Colin fell back into the hole, landing directly on the cow’s stomach, and the dead creature let out one last mighty fart.

  * * *

  Colin was awake when she came. Since the Welfare Officer’s visit, three days before, he had hardly slept. The little energy he had left was saved for planning his escape. The first parts were easy, waiting for a night like this, when Mr Sowby had gone out drinking, creeping into the house, finding his trousers, maybe stealing some food, and running off into the darkness. But that darkness was so unknown, and he was so tired, and the plans always foundered there. Perhaps Dougal was right. Perhaps he had no imagination.

  She didn’t knock. The first Colin knew the door was slowly opening and Mrs Sowby drifted in with the moonlight, glowing strangely blue and hideous. She had to stoop as she entered, the same as always, only it wasn’t normal for her to come here except with his dinner. Her hair was down, which Colin had never seen before. It was long and twisted, and in the weird light could almost have been alive. Colin sat up straight and waited for her to say something. She stayed silent, and slowly closed the door behind her. The room was dark again.

  ‘What do you want? I was sleeping.’

  There was no reply, but he heard her coming closer. He could smell her too, something strange and heavy, sweet more than fragrant; the sweetness of decay.

  ‘You made me sad you know Colin.’ She was so close he could feel the warmth of her words, and it terrified him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The things you told Mr Wilkes. You told him we weren’t good to you.’

  ‘I just told the truth, that’s all. What are you doing?’

  Colin felt a hand on his knee. The grip was firm and definite, like you’d use on an animal. He realised the smell was on her breath. Some sort of drink.

  ‘I want to be good to you Colin.’

  ‘Then leave me alone.’

  She stood back and he brought his knees up to his chest, straining to see what she was doing, see if she was leaving. There was silence, thick with danger. Colin swallowed hard. He could feel beads of sweat growing full on his forehead. This was a new kind of fear. She came forward again and this time she fell on top of him, hot and heavy, breathing hard like a cow trapped in a swamp, pushing him back onto his narrow bed.

  At first Colin thought she had tripped, and tried to help her get off, but every move he made she moved against it, and he realised it was worse than that. Colin was suffocating. The heat and the smell pressed down on him, and he felt vomit rising in his throat. He squirmed to get free but Mrs Sowby had her arms around him and her hold was strong. He screamed but the sound was lost in her body. He pushed forward desperately and managed to get halfway to sitting before her weight swung back over him. She pulled him close, so his face was squashed against her breasts, and Colin couldn’t breathe well enough to cry.

  She pulled him up, and closer still, and rocked him backward and forward, as if he was an infant. Her voice vibrated its way down her body, muffled and distant.

  ‘He thinks I blame him you know. I don’t. I don’t blame him at all. It was an accident. A dreadful accident. He didn’t always drink Colin. Not like he does. Before it happened, he was different. We were different. We never meant it to be this way. I’m sorry Colin. I’m sorry. I miss him. I miss him so terribly. He’d be your age now you know.’

  Her voice gave way to sobbing, and her grip loosened enough for Colin to think this might be finished. But then somehow she was on him again, her mouth was at his neck, kissing at him, and her hands were clawing at his leg, and there was a dumb groaning coming from her throat, the sound of a wooden bridge giving way to the weight it was asked to carry. Let me be dead, Colin pleaded to the world. Just let me be dead.

  And the world was listening, and took him halfway, or he passed out and dreamed, or he became numb and all that remained was the world he wanted to see, a world of darkness and silence, and solitude.

  The sound of Mr Sowby’s truck brought him back, the last spasm of its engine shaking the walls of the shed; back early tonight, earlier than Mrs Sowby was expecting. She moved quickly, rolling off him and slapping her hand over his mouth.

  ‘Make a sound,’ she whispered, ‘and I’ll tell him you dragged me in here. Understand?’

  Colin nodded, because he needed to breathe, and now she would go and that was all that mattered. They both listened to the sounds of Mr Sowby’s unsteady progress. The truck door slamming, swearing, slamming a second time. Two feet plotting their course across the dirt, each with its own sense of direction. Fists banging on the door of the house, boots on floorboards, heavy body crashing against a wall.

  ‘I don’t blame him you know,’ Mrs Sowby whispered through the darkness. ‘I don’t blame him.’

  Then she was gone, and the emptiness she left was total, stretching forever in all directions. Colin felt as if he was shrinking, disappearing inside himself, leaving the world of hope behind.

  FOUR

  Escap

  PERHAPS Dougal was watching, the way he said later, or perhaps it was just luck. It was two hours since she’d gone and Colin was still awake. Not thinking, not remembering, not making plans, just awake. Her smell was still there, as if the air was having the same trouble shaking her off. Dougal walked in without knocking, and at first Colin was sure it was just a dream.

  ‘Come on, get up. We’re leaving here.’

  ‘What? What are you… What do you mean?’

  ‘Here, put these on.’

  Even in the darkness Colin could tell they were his own trousers. He didn’t move.

  ‘Will you hurry, you damned idiot.’

  ‘What do you mean we’re leaving?’

  ‘Come on.’

  Dougal took him by the hair and dragged him out of the bed, and into the world again.

  ‘Ow. What did you do that for?’

  ‘Because you’re stupid, that’s why.’ His voice was different, sharp enough to cut. ‘Be quiet or they’ll hear you.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Away.’

  ‘Away where?’

  ‘Ask another qestion and I’ll leave ya behind. Follow close and don’t make a sound. Do you have shoes? I couldn’t find any.’

  ‘I don’t need any.’

  ‘Good.’

  Dougal pulled the door back slowly and the same sick moonlight leaked in. Enough for Colin to see things, and any other time the things he saw would have made him think twice about following; Dougal’s eyes, as urgent and as fierce as his voice, darting from one side to the other, like a creature of prey searching for its next victim; the knife he held in one hand, grasped so tight that his knuckles bulged. Any other time.

  Dougal moved quickly, back behind the truck and down the drive as far as the first cover of trees, black cut-outs of macracarpa against the night sky. He turned for the fields, and without a word of explanation, and with Colin close behind, he headed for the hills. As they ran Colin’s eyes adjusted to the strange half-light, and his other senses slowly woke. He became aware of the pattern of Dougal’s stride, long and easy, like they weren’t in a hurry at all. The dark sleeping shapes of cows, like they had been there forever, as ancient as the land itself. The twisted silhouettes of pines, planted as shelter belts, top-heavy and distorted, leaning down to the boys as they passed. And fire. Mostly in his mind there was fire. A distant flickering of orange in the blue landscape. The flames too big and determined to be rubbish, or even a tree; the smell of burning already reaching them. A house, somewhere down the valley nearer the lake, making its last statement. Back down where Dougal had come from.

  They ran on, into the hills, and never once did Dougal stop or make a comment, or even seem to slow. Following was harder when they hit the scrub. Dougal would change direction suddenly, and be lost amongst the shadows,
and Colin would have to listen for the crashing sounds ahead, and hope it wasn’t a pig he was chasing. Later, time had stopped counting but it was still dark, the hill steepened and the scrub gave way to bush. The grass beneath their feet became decaying leaves and new smells filled the air; damp smells, but full of hope, not dead like the smells of the farm. Dougal stopped without speaking at a point where the land flattened out. He said nothing, just went from running to standing, and checked behind him to make sure Colin had done the same. Then he took his knife and began to hack off the fronds of some sort of fern. Colin, who had no knife, and was beyond feeling anything, even cold, fell to the ground, face down. He stretched his hands out either side of his body and his fingers dug through the leaves until soft new earth spread through his fingers. And just before he slept, Colin smiled.

  * * *

  Coldness came in the night. By the time Colin woke it had reached his bones. He sat up and wrapped his arms around himself.

  ‘You’ll be warmer once we’re moving.’ Dougal was sitting a few yards further up the bank, perched on a fallen log. Through the gaps in the trees Colin could see the day was thick and grey. He felt thirsty, and could have done with a bowl of cold porridge.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You know my name already. Are you forgetful as well?’

  ‘As well as what?’

  ‘Bloody hopeless.’

  ‘You lit that fire didn’t you?’ Colin asked.

  ‘What fire?’

  ‘Last night. There was a fire further down the valley.’

  ‘What if I did?’ Dougal didn’t look at Colin. He seemed more interested in something he could see back down on the flats.

  ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

  ‘You asked me to follow you,’ Colin replied.

  ‘Didn’t.’

  ‘You did too. You came to my room. You brought my trousers with you.’

  ‘It wasn’t a request. It was an invitation.’

  ‘You should have said so.’

  ‘I bloody did.’

  ‘So where are you leading me anyway?’ Last night anything had seemed better than staying there, but last night was over now. Cold and hunger had taken its place.

  ‘So you’re following me now are you?’

  ‘You asking?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You got to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re too scared to go by yourself,’ Colin challenged.

  ‘You want to see scared?’ Dougal leapt to his feet and slid down the bank so they were facing one another. Dougal produced his knife, blade and handle together as long as his forearm, and held it to Colin’s face.

  ‘Step back or I’ll cut your throat.’

  The blade trembled in front of Colin’s eyes.

  ‘I said step back.’

  ‘You step back.’

  ‘I will. I’ll cut you ear to ear.’

  But Colin didn’t flinch. Flinching meant caring, and he was past that.

  ‘You’re too scared.’

  He stared into Dougal’s eyes and Dougal stared back. His dark eyeballs seemed to be shaking. Then they darted quickly down to the left, just for a second, and before they locked back on to Colin’s face, Colin had made his move. With his stronger left hand he took Dougal’s wrist and drove it up, so the knife went high, back over Dougal’s head. At the same time he drove forward from his legs, hitting Dougal as hard as he could with his shoulder. Dougal fell backwards and Colin fell on top of him.

  This time was different. This time Colin wasn’t deceived by Dougal’s size, and this time there was a knife, lying on the ground within easy reach of the first to gain control. Colin managed to get a hand around Dougal’s throat and pushed down hard, forcing the face below to fill with red. Dougal’s thrashing subsided and Colin relaxed, the way he was meant to. It was then Dougal exploded in a fit of wriggling and flailing. The unpredictable force of it took Colin down. Dougal was on top of him in a second, and his wild energy only grew more intense. Colin got one good punch to the stomach and tried to turn himself around but Dougal was too strong. Soon Colin’s elbows were pinned beneath Dougal’s knees, as they had been once before; only this time it wasn’t shit Dougal reached for, but a knife sharp enough to cut an animal in two.

  Colin didn’t feel a thing. It was as if all of him, not just his body but his mind too, had become completely numb, and the only thought to pass by was, perhaps this is the beginning of dying. But the numbness passed and his eyes refocused. He saw the blade hadn’t moved from its position held high above Dougal’s shoulder, and the grip on it had loosened. He saw a tear too, running a clean trail down the grime of Dougal’s face; grey like a light covering of soot, now he looked closely. Something else he noticed, on the blade, near the handle, a rust red crust of dried blood. But it was Dougal’s face that held him, and the tear. Dougal stood and turned away. Colin stood too, dizzy with fear and adrenalin, and all he didn’t know.

  ‘You ever say you saw me crying,’ Dougal said, turning to face him, the knife held strong at his side now, ‘and I’ll cut your throat in the night. You understand?’

  Colin nodded.

  ‘All right then.’ He looked long and hard into Colin’s eyes, and then a smile slowly took hold of his face. ‘I whipped you didn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah, you did.’

  ‘Whip you again, any time, if I need to.’

  Colin didn’t argue. Dougal walked to the far side of the flat ground and sat down. Colin didn’t follow him. It suited better to negotiate from a distance, so he could run if he had to.

  ‘So where are we going?’ he asked again.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Course it does.’

  ‘No it doesn’t. We’re not going back there, that’s all. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Go back then, if you want to.’

  ‘At least they fed me.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Can’t you feed yourself?’

  ‘Not without food.’

  ‘There’s plenty here.’

  ‘Don’t see any.’

  ‘There’s pigs in here, and deer. Plenty.’

  ‘If you know how to catch them.’

  ‘Do anything, if you gotta.’

  ‘Let’s see you then.’

  ‘Might start with a sheep. They gotta be easier.’ Dougal looked up at Colin and grinned, and it was the old look, a look of fun and trouble. Colin smiled back with the joy of seeing it. It was a long time since he’d seen fun, even from a distance.

  ‘And where are we going to find a sheep?’

  ‘On a sheep farm. Come on.’

  * * *

  It wasn’t a sheep farm exactly. There were sheep, but only a few, scattered amongst the sounds and smells of a startling variety of other animals; as if this might have been the place where the Ark had settled. Two huge pigs wallowed in a muddy enclosure, marked out by a crooked fence of manuka trunks and corrugated iron. Hens pecked about the wider area, seemingly oblivious to the presence of a black cat which sat at the porch of the run-down shack and licked itself clean. Farther off two horses grazed, and the three sheep Colin could see shared their grass with the same number of cows. There was a goat too, and ducks, all clearly visible from the place where the boys had stopped; at the edge of the scrub, fifty clear yards from the nearest animal. It had taken two hours to walk there. The farmland this far south was different, raised between channels dug to drain the swamp that gave the area between the lakes its bright green glow.

  ‘We could maybe start with something smaller,’ Colin suggested. ‘Like a hen.’

  ‘There’s less meat on a bird.’

  ‘Easier to carry though.’

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘What say there’s someone in there? Or a dog. There’s got to be a dog.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s everything else.’

  ‘We’l
l check first.’

  ‘How?’

  Dougal took a stone half the size of his fist and standing, hurled it towards the only building, a small shack more than a house, made of iron, with a chimney and a door and a single dark window to the front. The throw was short, landing on the larger of the pigs, which didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Aiming at it were you?’

  ‘I’d like to see ya do better.’

  ‘I can.’

  Colin looked around for a stone of his own. He had a good throwing arm. He took aim, relaxed, and let it go. The stone sailed perfectly, landing on the iron roof with an impressive clatter. There was barking from behind the building.

  ‘Told you there’d be a dog.’

  ‘It’ll be tied up.’

  ‘Someone’ll hear it.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see.’ The barking lost energy and then faded to uncertain growling. There was no sign of life from within the house.

  ‘Right, let’s go then,’ Dougal said.

  ‘We should check again, to make sure.’

  ‘We’re wasting time.’

  ‘Better’n being caught.’

  ‘Be quick then.’

  Colin watched the arc of the second stone. Another loud clatter. More barking. Nothing else.

  ‘Satisfied now?’

  ‘Do we have a plan?’

  ‘What’s there to plan? I’ve got the knife. You grab the sheep, I’ll slit its throat.’

  ‘You done it before?’

  ‘Can’t be difficult.’

  Dougal was up and moving before Colin could argue. He followed along, crouched, not sure how he would approach the task. Once, up north, three of them had tried to ride a sheep, but it had been faster than it looked, and they’d never got close. This time he approached cautiously, circling around to stay behind the animals.

  ‘One in the middle,’ Dougal told him. Colin looked at it. It didn’t seem any different than the other two. A hen that hadn’t seen them coming squawked and flapped past their legs. One of the horses looked up at the sound of it but decided they were far enough away to ignore and returned to grazing. The sheep didn’t move. Colin concentrated on the one he was to grab. From behind, its backside looked wide and ungainly. It couldn’t be that fast. Colin stopped, only a few yards from the oblivious creature.