Home Boys

by Beckett, Bernard

  ‘Well then?’ he said to Dougal.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Shoudn’t we go and see them?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think? The people in the houses.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m just getting my breath back.’

  * * *

  The man was bent down with his back to them, his hands working through the knots and tangles of a fishing net, blue checked shirt sleeves rolled high on his sun-darkened biceps, and there was something about him Colin recognised immediately. In the way he was whistling, as they approached, the way he stopped, as soon as he heard them coming, and turned and smiled. That look he gave the world, even at its most surprising moments, like nothing could knock him from his path. That sparkle in his eyes, like somehow the world looked better from there.

  ‘Careful,’ Dougal whispered at Colin’s ear, but there was nothing to be careful of.

  ‘Colin!’

  ‘How does he know your name?’

  ‘Gino!’

  Gino stepped forward and took his old friend in a warm embrace that smelt of salt and fish and a hard day of working.

  ‘Ah, Gino, this is Dougal.’

  Gino wiped his hand across the front of his shirt and offered it to Dougal. His hair was longer, his face darker with the sun, and roughed with stubble where before a beard had been.

  ‘Hello Dougal.’ Gino smiled, looking them up and down, from their bare feet to their filthy faces.

  ‘So, how did you find me then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Colin confessed. ‘We just got lucky I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t tell Mary that,’ Gino replied. ‘She’s not one to believe in luck.’

  ‘Who’s Mary?’ Dougal’s voice bristled with suspicion. Colin wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about, that seeing Gino made everything all right.

  ‘She’s the woman who’ll decide whether or not to let you stay.’

  ‘Never said we wanted to stay here,’ Dougal replied.

  ‘Course we do,’ Colin said.

  ‘You can then,’ Dougal said. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Blood brothers.’

  ‘Your timing’s good,’ Gino shrugged, as if there was no argument. ‘There’s plenty to do right now. I will tell you what. I will go and find Mary, and while I’m away you can decide if you would like to stay. Is that fair?’

  He turned and wandered off before they could answer him.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Dougal demanded.

  ‘Gino.’

  ‘I know. But how do you know him?’

  ‘I met him up north, during the war. He was my friend. And then again on the boat. He was a stowaway. The Welfare Officer said he’d been caught but he must have been lying. And now he’s here. I met him in my dreams too. Don’t you see? This is good. We’re meant to be here. You did know where you were leading us. You were right.’

  ‘Dreaming people is soft,’ was all Dougal replied.

  ‘But we can stay though, if they let us?’ Colin pushed.

  ‘Just for one night, to get some rest and some food.’

  Colin wanted to argue, and plead for something more, but Dougal was immune to both, and often his mind shifted without being pushed.

  Gino returned without Mary, but with his smile still shining.

  ‘She must still be out getting shellfish. Doesn’t matter though. You can help me now, with cleaning out this net, and we can swap our stories, and when we’re done she’ll be back and we’ll see what can be sorted out.’

  ‘I’m not working for nothing,’ Dougal told him.

  ‘You’ll be working for your dinner then,’ Gino replied. ‘I’ll feed you tonight, either way. You must be cold like that. Come with me and we’ll find you some clothes.’

  Gino led them back to the first building they had walked past, the least impressive of them in what was a close competiton. The light blue of the walls had faded to a sort of invisibility. The front door was buckled and had to be kicked before it would open. Inside held no surprises. Along the far wall was a bench with a single tap over the sink, and a window showing not much more than the rock face which was less than twenty yards away. To the left a black cooking range, to the right a canvas hammock slung across the corner. There were two chairs, old and comfortable looking, some clothes spread about, and not much else. A single room dressed up as home, but after the nights in the bush, a mansion too.

  ‘Here, you can wear my coat. It’s warmer than nothing.’ He handed it to Colin. ‘And somewhere here there is a jersey I think. Here, here it is.’

  Dougal took the jersey. It was light brown with dark stained sleeves and smelt of smoke and fish. Dougal pulled it on over his head and Colin was surprised to see it was slightly too small, its sleeves finishing before Dougal’s wrists began, the rest of it stretching about his thin frame, making him appear awkward. Colin wondered who it belonged to — Gino was far taller than either of them — and smiled at the sight of Dougal trying to move his arms.

  ‘It doesn’t fit,’ Dougal complained, his face showing he thought little of the joke.

  ‘But it is better than being cold,’ Gino replied. ‘And you can keep it. Here, come on, there’s work needs doing.’

  Gino led them back outside, and Dougal grabbed Colin’s arm, holding him back at the doorway, so he could whisper without being heard.

  ‘I don’t like him.’

  ‘That makes no sense. You don’t even know him.’

  ‘There’s something strange about him.’

  ‘You can’t know that yet.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ Dougal told him.

  ‘Let’s just wait and see. Please.’

  Colin looked at Dougal but Dougal looked to the ground instead and shrugged.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Come on then.’

  There were two nets, each stretched from the beginning of the stony beach down to the water’s edge where two empty boat trailers waited, their wheels half buried in the thin strip of sand at the sea, a distance of over thirty yards. Gino was working halfway along the first of the nets, and it was easy to see from the progress he’d made what his task was. Ahead of him the net was fouled with driftwood and seaweed, crabs, fish deemed too small when they were first cleared, and knots where the last struggles of larger specimens had taken place. Colin and Dougal watched him work and then mirrored his efforts on the second net. Although Gino worked quickly, using short efficient movements which spoke of practice, by combining their efforts the boys were able to keep pace with him. And as they did they talked, or more they listened, because Gino was happy to tell his own story first.

  ‘You won’t believe it boys, but it is like Mary says, some things are so unbelievable they have to be true.’

  ‘Who’s Mary?’

  ‘You’ll meet her soon enough. She runs the village. Ron thinks he does, but that’s just the way Mary is. Now, back to my story. Mary likes a good story. So that would be my advice to you. Tell a good story and she’ll find a way of letting you stay here. We get a lot of drifters here, but not all of them can tell their story well, so not all of them are welcome.

  ‘You remember how it was on the ship Colin. I was without my tickets, and so the only way to shore was with swimming. The night before we were due to land, as we came in to the harbour, I sneaked out to the back of the ship, where Henry was waiting for me. I had a small bag, with my clothes and a few other things beside, and that was all. Henry told me he had done this before. There was a point, which could be found by lining up certain lights on the shore, and if I jumped just when he told me, the tides would help carry me in. So what I did is I paid Henry with the last of my money, and I climbed up on the railing and waited for his instruction.’

  ‘How did you know he wasn’t lying?’ Dougal asked.

  ‘He hadn’t turned me in.’

  ‘Because he wanted the money,’ Dougal countered. Apparently, it wasn’t just Colin who Dougal thought was stupid. Dougal knew better tha
n the whole world. Not that Gino seemed to mind being challenged. He just smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Ah, you see, now that should have been obvious. But I am not that kind of thinker. I trust people. I trust life. I could hear the water rushing by the side of the boat, far far below me in the darkness. Jump, Henry shouted, and so I jumped, as far out and as high as I could, just the way he told me.

  ‘And you will never have jumped off a ship before, so you won’t know this, but the sound is terrifying. The booming of the engines, it fills your head, and at night there is no up and no down, either way is black. So I felt a little bit of dying, but a little bit of living too, because some things are not meant to happen, and that night I was not meant to die.’

  As Gino became more excited by his story his hands worked the net more furiously and Colin swapped a grin with Dougal as they struggled to keep up.

  ‘So I did the only thing I could do. I relaxed, and put my arms out, and let God decide. And he took me to the surface. There was air, the most wonderful air I have ever breathed, like kissing a beautiful woman. The ship has gone ahead, and the police and the city will have to wait, and I thank God, but too soon. Because the harder I swim towards the lights, the smaller they become, and I know then that the tide is carrying me back out to sea. Henry was mistaken, or like you said my new friend, Henry was just interested in my money. So, I think to myself, I will not drown quickly tonight. Tonight, I will drown slowly instead.

  ‘But it is like I say, the road to this place is complicated. They have, in the harbour, a buoy, and I cling to it, thinking that if a tide can run one way then it can run another, and all I must do is wait. But it is freezing there. The wind is knocking my teeth together and below my waist I feel nothing at all. I think of sharks and snakes, but also I think of a beautiful beach, in a picture in my wallet, which now is full of water.

  ‘Then the next strange thing, in the list of strange things that become this story. I feel myself falling asleep, and I try not to let it happen, because if I sleep I let go of the buoy, and if I let go of the buoy I drift out to sea and end my time in no place at all. But sleep is strong you see, and you know why it is strong? Because it feels safe boys. Even when you are clinging to your life in the middle of the night, and you know falling asleep will kill you, sleep feels safe.

  ‘So I would like to say I fought all night, but I gave up before the dark did. And the funny thing is, and Mary says this is the most important part of the story, so I leave it in for her you see. The funny thing is I remember the dream, floating out into the night, better even than I remember being awake. Does that make sense?’

  ‘It does,’ Colin told him, and waited for Dougal to say something sarcastic, but instead he asked the question Colin wanted to ask.

  ‘So what did you dream?’

  ‘I dream I am on a beach. A beach in a picture. And maybe you don’t believe this but I dream you are there too. And we are swimming and the sun is hot, and then I catch a fish, and then I wake up, and you know what?’

  ‘What do you mean we were there?’ Dougal demanded. ‘You’d never even met me.’

  ‘No, I hadn’t,’ Gino replied, as if this hardly mattered.

  ‘So you can’t have seen me in your dream can you?’ Dougal continued, determined to make his point.

  ‘It’s a dream,’ Gino reasoned. ‘I can see whatever I like, can’t I Colin?’

  It was possible, Colin knew that, but he could also tell it wasn’t that way for Gino. Gino was a teller of stories, nothing more.

  ‘You didn’t recognise me, when you saw me earlier.’

  ‘Ah no, well that’s the thing about a story,’ Gino smiled. ‘It is not like any other thing that gets used up a little every time you use it. A story grows a little instead doesn’t it, every time you bring it out to look at it. Mary will like this new bit, when I tell her. And it isn’t finished yet, so listen, and try to keep up with the net. There are two of you, it should be easy. Now, when I wake up from my dream it is the earliest part of morning, and I have become the fish. People are pulling me up on to a boat, and I think maybe this is a part of the dream too, or maybe this is dying, and God is happy to be a fisherman, like they say. But it is real. They tell me they are bringing in their net and there I am, and they think I am dead but I am not and this makes them happy, but it makes me happier.

  ‘They are good people. They don’t ask many questions, or mind that I don’t want to stay with them, when they bring their boat back in. I rest a day and a night and then I walk along the road, waiting for a ride. And the ride I get, just outside the biggest city this country has, brings me all the way here to the smallest town of all. Yes, this is true. It is Ron, and his truck, that one over there, and he stops and tells me he is going south, and I tell him so am I. There is someone with him, a boy not much older than you, and smaller. That is his jersey Dougal.

  ‘His name is David and Ron is his father, and David has run away and Ron has followed him all the way to Auckland, and is taking him back home. But then we stop for petrol, and David runs away again, and Ron is so sad that I stay with him all the way, to keep him company. He thinks this is strange so I take a risk and tell him my story, and that is when he tells me he is a fisherman, and with David not wanting to be a fisherman too, there is work for me if I would like to stay.

  ‘So, I am here now, catching fish in a net, and there is no other place I want to be, because I am meant to be here. And maybe, so are you.’

  ‘So, which parts of the story are true then?’ Dougal asked, eyeing Gino suspiciously. ‘I think you made it up, all of it. I think you were running away from something when Ron found you. I think you knew he was a fisherman, you could smell it in his truck, and the rest you made up. You’re a criminal you are. That’s what it is. And this Mary and this Ron’d have to be daft to believe you.’

  ‘So what’s your story then?’ Gino asked, unmoved by the accusation. ‘What will you tell Mary brought you here?’

  Colin looked at Gino, at the two deep wells of possibility beneath his eyebrows, and at the scene behind, where the waves beat out a steady rhythm on the steep shore, and he knew he wanted to stay here.

  ‘It’s the dreams that brought me here,’ Colin announced. ‘I dreamed of you first, on the ship, and then, in the bush, it was Dougal’s dreams that brought us to this place.’

  And although Dougal scowled at the invention, he didn’t contradict it.

  ‘It’s a good story,’ Gino smiled. ‘Good enough for both of you.’

  ‘They’re just soft dreams,’ was all Dougal said, when Colin looked to him, to thank him for the chance.

  ‘It is all right for you to think that Dougal,’ Gino told him. ‘But never ever say it to Mary.’

  * * *

  Mary was a big woman, almost as round as Ron, who was her husband, and when they walked together along the beach they wobbled in time, swaying from one side to the other as if the next step might be the one to topple them forever. They were King and Queen of the fishers; their palace the orange bach nearest the sea and their kingdom the coastline as far as a day’s walk could take you in either direction. Their subjects numbered thirty-four, Gino and children included, and that night, after the boats came in, they gathered around a huge bonfire under the stars and drank beer and told stories, and insisted Colin and Dougal share stories of their own.

  Colin was nervous. It was a long time since he’d had so many eyes upon him, and he tried to say he had no stories to tell.

  ‘What about when you met me?’ Gino suggested and there was a murmer of approval from around the fire, to tell him there was no getting out of it. So Colin told the story the best he could, but he knew it wasn’t as good as theirs had been. He couldn’t be as clever, or as funny, or even as loud. And he didn’t know the words they knew, or did but had always been taught not to use them. But still they listened, as he told of the meeting on the boat, and the picture Gino had shown him, of the beautiful beach that had visited him in his d
reams. And then, with the heat from the fire lifting his words, he told of how he had sneaked up to the deck, on the night Gino had jumped, and how later he had crept into Henry’s room and stolen back the money Henry had cheated from Gino. And with each invention the story felt more real, and his presence amongst them more fated. Nobody questioned him when he finished. They just called out their approval, and raised their beer bottles in welcome.

  It wasn’t until Colin sat down, with the sweat from the telling still beaded on his forehead, and the circle’s attention turning to Dougal, that he saw her.

  Colin had never seen beauty before. He had seen plenty of women, pictures and real ones, and had heard people say some of them were beautiful, but he had never seen it himself. Not in the way he saw it now. He had to stare, even though he knew how he would blush with embarrassment if she was to look back. He couldn’t even blink, despite the heat and the smoke stinging in his eyes. She had long dark hair that blew across her face, and high white cheeks that glowed in the firelight, dark eyes that were full of dancing shadow, and a wide mouth made to smile. He imagined he saw sadness too, in the way she sat alone and looked away from the group, out to sea. He would have imagined other things too, if Dougal hadn’t pulled his mind back, tugging at his shoulder.

  ‘What story shall I tell them?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s my turn. What shall I tell them?’

  Colin looked to his friend and was surprised by the nervousness on his face. Dougal, who made every remark a story, who never hesitated in sharing an opinion.

  ‘You’ve lots of stories,’ Colin whispered, while the crowd and their bottles shouted encouragement.

  ‘I don’t,’ Dougal replied, desperation in his voice.