Home Boys

by Beckett, Bernard

  ‘Well, what about the sheep we tried to catch? That was funny.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It is.’

  Someone had dragged him to his feet and Dougal looked back to Colin for one last expression of encouragement, and then he began.

  ‘Well the thing is, my friend Colin here and me, we were mighty hungry. So I said to him, what food is it you feel like? And he told me he longed for a roast of lamb …’

  The first burrs of nervousness in Dougal’s voice quickly disappeared. Not that Colin was listening well enough to notice, or watching close enough to see the way people leaned forward to better enjoy his tale. The girl across the fire had stood and was walking back along the beach, and Colin followed her with his eyes, until she had gone farther than her reflected light could travel. Even then he stayed concentrating on the last spot he had seen her, waiting for her return.

  The stories must have worked, because before the party broke, and the embers were kicked over, Dougal and Colin were given their invitations to stay. It came in the form of an official edict, issued from the grandest piece of driftwood at the fireside, which tonight had served as a throne. Ron was the one who did the talking, but it was obvious from the way Mary watched carefully the shape his mouth formed, that the decision was mostly hers.

  ‘Well Colin and Dougal, a friend of Gino’s is a friend of ours, and a body who can follow Gino as far as this should not be turned away. So if you’re happy to sleep on his floor for now, and do the work we ask you to do, then we’re happy to have you here. And if you break any of my rules, you will be gone. Do you understand?’

  ‘What rules are they?’ Dougal asked.

  ‘You’ll know when you’ve broken them,’ Ron replied with a chuckle that quickly spread through the group. Despite warnings of an early start, Colin and Dougal stayed awake well into the morning, questioning Gino’s stories, and the embellishments he had remembered since, and then chronicling their own escape from the valley. It was Dougal who did most of the telling, and most of the interpreting too, but Colin didn’t mind. He lay back beneath the heavy blanket Gino had borrowed for them and listened as if he had heard none of it before. He noticed the way Dougal avoided mentioning the Grey Man, and the way Gino asked so many questions every time the dreams were mentioned, but he didn’t dwell on either of these things. Instead Colin enjoyed a new and wonderful feeling; the three of them under the same roof, his new friend by his side, an old friend he’d only just met swinging above him.

  The smells of that night were instantly familiar, as if somewhere in his memory this place already existed. The smoke from the driftwood fire, the salty air, the crumbling concrete floor and the oilskin hanging at the door, these were the smells of home. When he did finally feel himself falling asleep Colin tried to think of the girl again, as a way of inviting her into his dreams, but it didn’t work. Or it did, but he didn’t remember.

  * * *

  A storm came up in the night, and by sunrise had washed the settlement clean of its welcome. In its place was an angry low-swirling sky. A bitterly cold wind ripped white-frothed tops off dark waves and blasted sand against the side of the bach. Colin huddled low and ran sideways like a crab, his back to the worst of the weather, as he hurried in from the outhouse.

  ‘A southerly,’ Gino told them, swinging down from his hammock and almost landing his foot on Dougal’s face, who still hadn’t stirred despite the rush of cold that swept across the floor every time the door opened. ‘You’re lucky you’re not still in the bush. Or maybe not. It is no day to be starting out. They won’t be putting you on the boat I don’t think.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he kicked Dougal in the side. ‘Time to be up. You need to start well, or they will think Gino told them lies about you.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Dougal asked through half-closed eyes.

  ‘I told them you were hard workers.’

  ‘You told them lies then.’

  ‘Not today I didn’t,’ Gino replied with another kick before pulling the blanket from him. Dougal was curled up like a baby, and still wearing his clothes from the night before.

  ‘I knew you would like that jersey.’

  ‘I’m cold, that’s all.’

  ‘Breakfast is eggs.’ The pan on the range was already spitting fat, and the smell of burning driftwood filled the room.

  ‘They’ll be knocking on the door soon, so you should eat quickly.’

  It was Mary who did the knocking. She came in without being invited and took Gino by the arm, leading him across to the window so their backs were to the boys. The two of them spoke in whispers and Colin thought Gino was protesting about something, but with the noise of the wind he couldn’t be sure. The consultation finished abruptly and Mary turned to the boys.

  ‘Morning. It’s not a good day to start you on the boats. Gino has a net that needs mending. Dougal, you will help him.’

  ‘What about me?’ Colin asked, when nothing more was said.

  ‘Oh, you’re coming with me,’ Mary replied. ‘Have you got a coat?’

  ‘There’s one Gino gave me, if he doesn’t

  ‘Take it,’ Gino said.

  ‘We’ll need to find you some boots then. Come on, don’t keep me waiting.’ She lurched for the door, like one of the boats fighting its way out past the breakers, and Colin followed without question, as had become his habit.

  Mary led the way back to the orange palace and left Colin waiting huddled in the porch while she disappeared inside, re-emerging with two pairs of Wellingtons to choose from, two large sacks and a pair of long serrated knives. Colin chose the boots that were the nearest fit, only two sizes too large, and followed her back out into the storm. They walked down to the beach, where the boat trailers stood already empty, and then turned left, so the wind was behind them. Despite her size Mary moved quickly and when Colin looked back twenty quiet minutes later he could no longer make out the baches, or even the point where the stream broke the cliff face. Mary had stopped and was considering the sharp rocks which ran like a jaw of broken teeth ahead of them, at right angles out into the sea.

  ‘Tide’s not quite right, but it’ll do,’ she told him. ‘Do you know what paua look like?’

  ‘Are they fish?’

  Mary laughed, and her head bobbed up and down on broad shoulders, as if connected to her body by a spring. She had a woollen hat beneath the hood of her black coat and a scarf that came as high as her chin, so only the middle of her face was visible. It was bright red with the cold, or the exertion, or just amusement.

  ‘You don’t know much do you?’

  ‘That’s what Dougal says.’

  ‘Well, there are some things that need saying. Come on then. Take your boots off or they’ll fill with water.’

  She did the same and led him into the pools that formed amongst the rocks.

  ‘How deep are we going?’

  The waves spilled over the rocks, filling the pools, then sucking them shallow before the next one came. Colin could feel the sharpness of the small black shells that clung to the rocks beneath his feet, and the thick slimy weed that twisted its way past his legs. Apart from that he was numb.

  ‘Just here’ll do. If you see a big wave coming, grab on to the rock like this. But don’t let go of the knife. Look, come closer. See this, this is one. No, wait for the wave to pull back and you’ll see it. There’s plenty here. You want the big ones. Go on, see if you can get one off.’

  Colin bent forward, plunged his arm into the icy water and felt for the large light-coloured shell Mary had pointed to. It had a coarse surface and it was easy enough to get a firm grip, but try as he might he couldn’t twist it free.

  ‘I think this one’s stuck.’

  ‘Well that’s a surprise.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Why do you think you have the knife?’

  Mr Sowby would do the same thing, and his teachers back home too. Ask questions that could only be answered by a person who d
idn’t need to be asked. But at least Mary was smiling.

  ‘For cutting it?’

  ‘Here, like this. Dig it in, underneath the shell, then twist it see? One paua for the sack. The trick is to be quick about it, before they suck on properly. You get the rest on this rock, I’ll just be over there.’

  It was hard at first even finding them, and harder still prising them free of their holds. Twice he dropped the knife and could only find it by feeling about with his hands, bent over so the water crashed about his ears. Another time he was knocked to his backside by a wave he didn’t see coming, but with practice it became easier and concentrating on the task kept the cold at bay. Whenever he looked across at Mary she seemed to have her head down, interested only in her work, but still Colin was sure she was watching him. After no more than an hour she came back over, her sack already full, and inspected the state of his.

  ‘Not too bad I suppose. You cold?’

  ‘A little bit,’ Colin admitted.

  ‘Come on then. We’ll go back and get something hot inside you.’

  The journey back took longer, because of the weight of the sacks they carried, and the icy resistance of the southerly, which if anything had become stronger. With the sound whistling about their ears it was impossible to talk, and that suited Colin. He wasn’t ready to forget all that had happened since he first saw the ship. Better to watch and listen, better to be careful.

  So he opened his mouth only to sip at the large mug of soup Mary provided, or to tear at the slab of bread that accompanied it, while she sat on the other side of the narrow table and watched him carefully, her own food untouched. It was clear she was waiting for him to say something but Colin was well used to silence, and knew how to hide amongst it. He looked past her, absorbing the details of her home. It was the same size as Gino’s, but a closed door in the far corner suggested other hidden spaces. The floor was covered with a dark red lino, and at the doorway it was worn back to reveal wood beneath.

  ‘You’re the one with the dreams aren’t you?’ Mary finally said, when it became obvious Colin wasn’t going to help with the conversation. She leant forward on the table, so her ample bossom was in danger of toppling her soup, and stared into his eyes. Colin stared back, and was surprised to see how small her eyes were, and how deeply dark. Not in a way that was menacing, but it was difficult to look away.

  ‘We all have dreams.’

  ‘Yours brought you here.’

  ‘No, not really. It was Dougal. I just followed him.’

  ‘That’s not the truth you know,’ Mary told him, shaking her head without letting her gaze waver, so it was as if the eyes were commanding the rest of the body to move around them. ‘You’re no follower. I can tell these things. I have spoken to Gino. He was meant to come here, but not in the way he thinks. I think maybe it was his job to bring you here.’

  Mary reached across the table and took Colin’s hand, and the cold of it and the hard calloused skin reminded him of the Sowbys. He tried to pull away, but gently, because this wasn’t the Sowbys, and being careful meant watching out for friends as much as dangers, but she held him tightly.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ Mary replied, the corners of her mouth hinting at the smallest of smiles. ‘I saw you watching her, last night at the fire.’

  ‘Who?’ Colin asked, already feeling the burn of embarassment on his cheeks.

  ‘My girl, Veronica.’

  ‘I wasn’t, I…’

  ‘Are you a Christian Colin?’

  ‘What? I sort of am, I suppose,’ Colin shrugged. He’d been inside a church plenty of times, with school.

  ‘So you believe in God?’

  ‘Yes,’ Colin said, and it was another of those things which wasn’t true and wasn’t untrue either.

  ‘Let me give you a warning Colin.’ She came even closer, using his hand as an anchor as she pulled herself forward, her body folding around the mug which miraculously did not fall.

  ‘Some people see more than others Colin. You might call that a gift, or you might call it a curse. Either way, you have to be careful. Even the things that are meant to be must be fought for. You must be careful of Ron, he does not have our understanding. I’ll help you, if I can. But sometimes, things get dangerous.’

  Colin had no idea what she was talking about, and while a part of him wanted to ask, the greater portion was more interested in escape, now that she had finally let his hand go.

  ‘Um, thank you for the food. I was wondering, do you need any more help here, or should I see if Gino needs me to do something for him?’

  ‘You’re a good boy really, I can see that,’ was all she said in response.

  ‘Right, well, goodbye then. I’ll be seeing you later I suppose.’

  ‘You certainly will.’

  Colin stood and backed his way to the door, his stare still locked to hers, and a chill down his back colder than any southerly wind. He had decided before the door was closed behind him. They wouldn’t be staying here long.

  * * *

  But leaving would be difficult. Colin knew that as soon as he opened the door of Gino’s bach and saw the two of them sitting cross-legged on a blanket laid out on the floor, a game of cards in progress. A game Colin recognised from his time up north, when Gino and his fellow prisoners had taught it to him in exchange for smuggled food and cigarettes. He recognised the look too, the complicit smiles on the faces that turned up at his intrusion, like there were years of shared secrets between them, layers of closeness that couldn’t possibly have been built in only twenty-four hours.

  ‘Have you finished with the net then?’ Colin asked.

  ‘As far as anyone can tell,’ Gino replied, turning to wink at Dougal who flashed back a smile. ‘How about you? Has Mary finished with you?’

  ‘I hope so. She said I could come back and help you.’

  ‘Well then,’ said Gino, ‘so you can. You know the rules I think, and Dougal is getting tired of losing all by himself. It will be better with two of you to beat. Have a seat.’

  Colin settled next to Dougal and Gino got up to stoke the range.

  ‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ Dougal whispered. ‘I told you I knew where we were going.’

  ‘You never knew this place existed. It was just luck.’

  Good luck or bad luck, Colin wondered, but there was no saying that here.

  ‘It’s brilliant though isn’t it? And Gino, he’s brilliant too isn’t he?’

  ‘Did I hear my name?’ Gino asked, walking back to the game.

  ‘Nothing you need to know,’ Dougal told him; the old Dougal again, laird of every conversation. ‘Come on, deal out those cards. I have an eye for the game now. You’re both of you in trouble.’

  Dougal played with more confidence than skill, and Colin, who struggled to recall the rules, but didn’t want to ask and appear the outsider, survived on luck alone. But it was a good time, a time of warmth and laughter, where the battering of the southerly’s thickening rain and the icy draughts swirling beneath the door and bending around the window frames only deepened Colin’s feelings of belonging. To play, and laugh, and forget, was a feeling so old it felt foreign. Like being back in London, running the streets with Gwynn, finding trouble and calling it fun; not ignoring Dad and the problems, just finding a way of not letting it matter. And now, on the other side of the ship and the Sowbys and the dreaming, the laughter touched him more deeply, and Colin decided not to think about Mary, or the decision he had made, at least not that afternoon.

  The card game lasted two hours, and ended with Gino remembering his promise to collect more driftwood for the fire. The storm had become worse, but the job was hard and kept them warm. With three working together they were able to bring in some of the bigger logs, too heavy for lone combers, but not big enough to be worthy of a trip with the tractor. They dug away the sand that waves and wind had built up and then dragged the awkwardly shaped branches back to a place behind the baches,
where Dougal and Gino worked a double-handed saw and Colin used the axe. With the heaviness of the work and the fury of the weather there wasn’t much space for conversation. So it wasn’t until that night, after Gino had cooked a dinner of potato and pork from a pig Ron had traded with a hunter for fish, that Colin and Dougal had a proper chance to talk. They had just stoked up the fire for the night and were settling beneath the blanket the boys shared, when Gino announced he was just ‘popping out’.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dougal asked. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘There are things need doing,’ Gino replied.

  ‘We can help,’ Dougal offered, ‘if you like.’

  This provoked from Gino a round of laughter, powerful enough to cause him pain, and when he recovered there were tears needed wiping away.

  ‘I am sure you could, both of you. I am sure you could. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be quiet when I come in.’

  ‘Where do you think he’s gone then?’ Dougal asked, as soon as Gino had left.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Do you like it here?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What do you mean maybe? Of course you do. It’s grand here. You must think it.’

  ‘Like I said, maybe I do.’

  ‘Well, you can walk back to the Sowbys any time,’ Dougal told him, sounding suddenly offended. ‘Would you rather be there?’

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Good then. You’d have to be soft in the head, not to like it here.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried, that they’ll find us? We haven’t come so far.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The police. Someone from here will talk, in at the pub, say there’s two young boys here, people’ll hear.’

  ‘I’m not a boy. I’m a man now.’

  ‘So aren’t you worried?’

  ‘Course I’m not. We’re not worth worrying about. We’ve gone, that’s all that’ll matter to them.’

  ‘But,’ Colin stopped and measured the words inside his head before he spoke them. ‘You killed someone.’

  ‘I never said that.’